Callum's conundrum
Episode 1
"So, as long as we're keeping an eye on recruitment expenses, which means," Mike Stoner's attention flicked between the two directors , "that I need more notice of the resources Dave needs, not that I'm disputing any of them". Joe Grbowski's expression had taken on his inscrutable mixture of amusement and indulgence. "We'll be showing a respectable profit until the completion of present work, which, of course, doesn't yet include Sven's proposal."
As the January storm lashed impotently at the windows of the south wing, obscuring a view of the valley which would be breathtaking in a day or so ("...followed by brighter, showery, but colder weather on Wednesday.."), Alfred Mellor's Georgian fortress seemed almost to echo the smugness of the eight men.
"OK, guys, unless there are any further matters arising from Joe's report, we'll call it a day. I'll be in Munich next week so Joe, you'll be in the chair. Dinner will be served at eight, and Brad has some sort of entertainment planned in the Billiard Room." " Shall I minute that?" Alex Winter's squirrel-like manner always amused Mike Stoner. "I'd rather you filmed it actually", which drew a snigger from the secretary.
Callum Blake frowned at the empty glass in front of him and nodded his assent as Dennis fluttered his fingers at the pump labeled "Realman's Own". "Stood you up again, as e?" The degree of insincerity had been calculated as subtle enough to warrant no string of expletives in reply, but audible enough to sting. "So it appears, Doris". Callum emphasized the last word in an attempt to get rid of the wizened form that was beginning to drape himself around his shoulders. "Now, now, only asking," Doris wined, sliding onto the stool next to the burly taxi driver. "Yeah, well that's twice this week." Callum sank more than half the pint effortlessly. Doris's lips pursed and his eyebrows twitched in anticipation of further revelations, which, at the rate that Callum was drinking, wouldn't be long in arriving. "Nearly a year you two've been together, innit?" Twisting the knife a little further. " More or less, I suppose. " Callum wasn't depressive by nature, but he could have done without the verbalization of his every thought. It wasn't as if Matt was any better a catch than he himself was -- the sex was awesome, and neither of them took each other's one- nighters seriously -- but somehow, Matt had changed, and all of Callum's attempts to get inside that head, with its tousled hair and thick, black eyebrows, were met with granite resistance. "E's an arrogant bastard, if you'll pardon me for saying so". Doris wasn't usually one to apologise for any of his opinions, but perhaps the anger and frustration developing in Colin's demeanour prompted the afterthought. "He can be as arrogant as he likes as far as I'm concerned, it's one of the things I like about him", Callum growled, " It really doesn't matter... if he doesn't turn up to the pub, it's just..", Callum's thoughts materialized into a concept, " it's a symptom of something, and I've no idea what it is".
Even the unobservant among us have a prodigious memory for details that involve the ones we love. Patterns are noted, changes become incorporated into the multi-dimensional picture of another human being as the data is filed, indexed, and cross- referenced. But Matt's behavior had become secretive. They used to enjoy exchanging anecdotes about the other guys they got off with. Now Callum had the extraordinary conviction that some of Matt's accounts were pure fiction. Callum's conundrum had begun.
Episode 2.
The atmosphere in the boardroom at Mellor Hall bore many resemblances to that of last weeks gathering, but now the honed instincts of the eight were engaged in battle. Joe Grbowski was in the chair, having drafted Carl Ormorod from Toronto to replace Mike Stoner. The original constitution had stipulated that eight, and only eight board members must be present, on the grounds that this number would encourage balance deriving from the array of specialist skills, whilst allowing polarized views to be widely challenged. The weakest majority vote of five to three (abstentions were not permitted) represented an acceptable risk of error. Their idiosyncratic ways were designed to arrive, in Aristotelian fashion, at their consensus, unconcerned by the metaphorical blood they shed. "I warned you about this." Alex Winter's secretarial hat was gone and in its place was something more akin to a bishop's miter. The others would accept his intuition with the deepest respect, but would attempt to shatter his insights with maximum force. Joe looked to Carl first. After a few seconds thought the statistician, who still sported his blond military buzzcut, launched a restrained assault, "You were right to do so but the risk is no greater than it was a week ago and your repeated warnings are an exaggeration of normal variables." " One or two aspects fall outside the domain of your variables." Alex's voice was soft, like his features, but this was no attempt at seduction. "They were correctly predicted in my report four weeks ago" "Partially predicted," Dave Halpin interjected. "You told us that Matthew Grant was the weaker of the two candidates, and I think we're all agreed you were wrong, which supports Carl's analysis. However, the scenario you suggested is taking shape before our eyes and if your extended forecast is correct, we must reject him." Joe Grbowski chose this moment for his next pronouncement, which he knew would sharpen the mental claws of his board. "Wrong! Risks must be balanced against the potential gain. As our recruitment officer your role is to maximize the strength of our personnel. This man is ideal for the Hudson Bay project and to reject him now would delay its commencement by more than a year". The retort from Andreas Hubner was characteristically cool, "We have taken risks, yes, and they have created problems, yes, and these problems have all been solved. You will understand I can solve some problems and erase others, that is why I am here." Alex felt the stakes rising as he saw that his abjurations were almost certainly going to be overruled. "I don't deny there's an elegance to the employment of Matthew Grant, and without these complications I would have regarded Carl's data as the final analysis. I'm simply making you all aware of an unusual combination of human factors." Now he had to back down and leave them with the responsibility that would make them uncertain and lead to the most accurate judgment possible. "Sven's conception could result in a most staggering contribution to the world. No country will be left untouched by our munificence. I have no further data so we must proceed on the basis of our combined insights."
The vote was taken after another two and a half hours of discussion, followed by much needed relaxation in the Greenhouse, which offered the heat and humidity of a summer night on the banks of the Mississippi. The air was thick with human musk and Carl, the newest director on the board, marveled at the opportunity that had been offered him, as he and the hirsute German began their third coupling. In another corner Alex and Dave writhed in their own lubrication until, at the point of exhaustion, they collapsed, scarcely able to untangle themselves. " I wondered about taking both of them, you know", whispered Dave. "Yes, I knew you would", replied Alex, before drifting into sleep.
" I'll be in Toronto for a couple of days," said Matt, spreading foam over the weekend's growth which had transformed him from cute to sinister -- a metamorphosis that Callum never tired of. He smiled as he saw the towering form of his lover appear behind him, and closed his eyes luxuriously as one massive hand slipped across his nearly hairless chest, while the other traced an obvious outline through the front of his white boxers. "Thanks for being patient. I can't promise you more than I have, but at least you know there's no-one else. You do know that, don't you?" The pain of last night's interrogation was still apparent as Matt looked at the reflection of Callum's chiseled features, now softening into a concern that was sublime. "Yes, I know," said Callum, with just a hint of resignation. "But if there are going to be secrets then just keep them that way, because if you disguise them the way you did it just spoils our fun. And we do have," Callum's touch became firmer, "a lot of fun".
Later that morning Callum took a break and parked outside the nondescript terraced house in Vining Street. The sight of his mother's neighbour at the top of a ladder cleaning windows made him stare in astonishment as he got out of the car. "Mrs Beale, I thought your son normally does that", he chided, waiting until she looked down at him and checking to see if the ladder was anchored firmly, which it was, either side of a clump of polyanthus, one of several in bloom. "Yes, well he isn't here right now and I'm not paying those rude boys to do it any more", she snapped, rubbing the glass with a vigour that could scarcely be exceeded by the "boys", who he took to be around his own age. "Please, Mrs Beale, let's get you down from there and I'll find someone decent for the job," insisted Callum. The sounds of bolts and chains from inside his mother's house didn't distract him as he held the ladder for the ex-headmistress who was now descending. "Thank you Callum, right, well, I'll just go and see to that patch in the back garden, it should be soft enough to dig with all this rain. Don't move the ladder, Ben said he'd be back to put it away and he'll wonder what's happened to it". Callum shook his head as he stepped over the strip of grass to the path leading to his mother's front door.
"It's all a million miles from what we knew, Callum". Joan Blake sipped her tea after dunking a digestive (I know they're not proper ones and prob'ly made in China or somewhere, but they're so cheap!) "You boys with yer casual encounters and that. I dunno ow you keep up with it all, mind you, yer father ad a roving eye an e never seemed to ave any trouble, if yer know wha' I mean." The jovial face cracked into laughter, which prompted a minor coughing fit. "Mm, and I hear you've been spotted in the Bay Horse with Chris Uppington," responded Callum cheekily. "Anyway, he's signed the Official Secrets Act, so I suppose I should be proud of him." "Yes, well you should. E's got it up ere, as your Matt, and this country needs men like im. We're turning into a whaddycallit, a nanny state, that's what that chap said on telly last night."
That evening, in the Realmans, Callum smiled neutrally at the insolent teenager who flaunted his youth and film-star looks at the older and more masculine types. It was almost tempting to give the boy a shafting he'd never forget, just to teach him some manners, but Callum felt pretty sure that this would make him even more insufferable. Better to deny him the opportunity, thought Callum and returned to the object of his real concern. Plenty of people do work for the government and many of them are obliged to sign the Act, but the secrecy is normally limited to facts and figures. There was no reason to conceal the identity of those that Matt had to meet. How sensitive could this mathematical modeling be, anyway? The stuff was academic, published in scientific journals, for goodness sake. And he's actually mentioned one or two specific names, like that departmental head in Toronto. No secrecy there. Now they had cleared the air and he could not justify any further intrusion into his partner's professional life. He would have to wait, wait for the elements of the conumdrum to multiply until they reached a critical mass.
Episode 3
Brad Mannering began his final check on the simulation. The model barge with its array of sensors cruised up and down the lake, sending back readings as it passed over each of the fifty grid-points. He noted one discrepancy and clicked on one of the twelve larger circles marked on the diagram, then selected "power" and adjusted the level until the anomaly was corrected. He could see no difference in the brightness of the source above him, attached to steel girders which had made an eyesore of the natural cavern.
Finally he was satisfied with the effect. It was not completely uniform but then neither was nature, and after all, this was only the first medium scale test. Later that day he would meet with Mark Chin and collect the improved monomer. Stretching himself in the black leather chair, Brad clicked on Alex's latest update and grinned as he watched once more the scenes in the changing room at the health club frequented by the slim chemist from Penang. As usual, Alex was spot-on. That icy control would not flinch at some bad luck in the casino later, but it was Brad who was going to lose, and with each loss Brad's composure would falter, and the other's ego would swell. Brad squirmed and bit his lip at the prospect of milking the situation in every possible way.
"Busy day ahead, Sir?" Callum wasn't expecting much in the way of an answer from the rather intense looking character in the back of his cab. "Er, yes, many meetings", replied the man, glancing up from the lap-top with an air of embarrassment. A Swiss banker perhaps, thought Callum, scowling in his rear mirror as the car behind failed to notice his deceleration. Callum just managed to choke the emerging obscenity but his gesticulations drew a look of confusion from his passenger who twisted round in his seat. Immediately he turned back again and muttered something, the meaning of which was clear to Callum in spite of the language barrier. "Excuse me, it is very important that these men behind us do not follow me to my first appointment. Can you help, please?" The man appeared annoyed and uncertain but not frightened. Callum hesitated for a moment, then said, "Well, if you don't mind walking a short distance, yes, I think I can. I'll stop at the Savoy. I'll bring your bag, you limp a little, ask me to follow you to the bar, then I'll show you another exit. They'll assume you're staying there and wait for you to come out again. The route you'll take from there will be along the embankment then first left. How about that? " The man looked down at his open briefcase and then up again. "Yes, thank you. I know the way. You are very kind." He began hurriedly putting things back in his briefcase, pausing to withdraw a banknote from his wallet.
Inside the hotel, Callum couldn't help being impressed by the way in which his somber companion warmed to his role. He remembered the last occasion he had been there, when he'd been asked to wait while a georgeous young guy assembled a gaggle of women for a shopping expedition. He'd heard music from the gardens beyond, which turned out to be an open-air event featuring a childrens' opera group. Now, he guided the man to the exit leading to those secluded gardens, which lie between the hotel and the main road that runs alongside the Thames. The man rather formally offered the red note. Callum raised his eyebrows. "Best of luck with your meetings," he said, after the man raised his hand slightly to indicate that the transaction was over.
"And you've no idea what it was all about?" accused Matt, savouring the Bordeaux for which Callum had unearthed the best crystal (an anonymous present from an admirer several years back). "No business of mine". Callum played it down, enjoying Matt's look of consternation. He had quite enough excitement, with his various consultations in all corners of the globe. Now it was Callum's turn. He had Matt hooked and begging for details. For the first time in recent weeks, Callum felt in complete control.
Episode 4
Alex Winter was lost in a new and awe inspiring scenario which added yet another set of pathways to the already labyrinthine matrix of action and response in his latest assessment of the future interactions of present and prospective personnel. Along one route he saw the inevitable creation of a new and powerful adversary but a fork in the road revealed the same man as a valuable ally. The data gathered by Andreas (in unusually creative fashion, thought Alex) had entirely vindicated him and drawn warm appreciation from the others, both in the weekly board meeting and afterwards in the Greenhouse. His aching muscles were due testament to that. Now, however, the game had reached a stage which would test his powers to their limits. There was still time to turn back from the hideous complications, but Alex knew he couldn't bottle out unless the project was threatened. The question of idealism had not been answered by the recent input. He even considered venturing out into the field himself but of course Brian was the man for the job. It was gratifying that Matthew Grant had responded so well to the trust that had been placed in him, but then, Alex had never doubted that he would.
Friday night at the Realman's offers a spectacle not to be found in any other pub in Richmond. As if to demonstrate that all inhibitions and social barriers have been abandoned along with the monotony of the working week, a most unlikely mixture of humanity gathers and an even more unlikely mixture of interactions ensue. Doris was listening to an account of the relativistic effects recorded in the Apollo missions of the sixties. He was clearly enraptured, though not by the science lesson. The cherubic student seemed oblivious of the question uppermost in the minds of the group surrounding him, which could be reduced to "which of us are going to fuck you, and when, and where?"
Callum's mental processes ran along similar lines but the object of his attentions was a quietish fellow (in his late thirties, perhaps) whose gaze wandered deliciously from the thick hair on Callum's wrists to the tuft protruding from the neck of his white T-shirt and back to Callum's hungry expression. "But surely you must agree that people need government and they need discipline", slurred Darren, who was apparently a financial consultant. "Yes of course, but I can't see - that abolishing our judicial system - flawed though - it is - is going to rid us of our - social evils. The problem's global -- and - until we find solutions to - worldwide issues - we don't have to right to play God". Callum had forgotten exactly how all this started and Darren was massaging his left thigh, so the debate rather changed course. "Anyway, I've got lots of - red wine - at my place so why don't we - continue this discussion -- elsewhere?" asked Callum, the last traces of his usual reserve vanishing rapidly.
Matthew Grant glanced again at the initial conditions of the Bernhadt model. There seemed no arguing with the projections -- somewhere in Southern Asia there would be starvation, the effects of which would dwarf those of the Black Death. Elsewhere, notably in Australia, the Southern United States and North Africa, heat deaths would soar. Until the publication of Rees's groundbreaking work on the history of modeling assumptions no-one had taken this perspective seriously, after all, they were all bound to be imperfect notions of how nature really behaves. Now it appeared that the variations in predicted climate change had, after an early period of pessimism, been consistently over-optimistic.
More worrying still was that the analysis showed a deepening rift between successive long-range forecasts and the data recorded ten years later. Rees's work had been regarded by some as a weak attempt by a retired historian to play the modelers at their own game, but Bernhadt's brilliant modeling of the models cast doubt on the accepted wisdom of basing one's prophecies on the usual parameters of average temperature and rainfall. His version of the truth counted only suffering and death, and Matt had now to add his own insights, based on more traditional investigations of high latitude spring snowfall, so that Bernhadt's thesis could be tested. Then of course there was the meeting with Carl at the University...