The Business Read online

  The Business

  Iain Banks

  Who Do You Work For?

  The Business, a nearly omnipotent enterprise, is so infinitely discreet that even its top executives are vague about its actual business. It predates the Christian church and counts among its vast riches dozens of Michelangelo's pornographic paintings and several sets of Crown jewels. The only thing it lacks is political clout, a problem the Business plans to solve by buying a nation and joining the United Nations. Kate Telman, the Business's foremost expert on emerging technologies, is chosen to lead the effort. As this beautiful, ambitious American woman pursues the ultimate prize for her highly secretive transglobal employer, Iain Banks -- whom The Times of London calls "the most imaginative British novelist of his generation" -- offers a portrait of today's ubiquitous multinational corporations. Already a bestseller in England, The Business paints a picture that is at once wickedly satirical and frighteningly familiar.

  THE BUSINESS

  IAIN BANKS

  PROLOGUE

  'Hello?'

  'Kate?'

  'Yes.'

  'Itsh Mike.'

  'Mike?'

  'Mike! Mike Danielsh! Chrisht, Kate, don't - '

  'Mike, it's…it's four thirty-seven.'

  'I know what time it ish!'

  'Mike, I'd really like to get back to sleep.'

  'I'm shorry, but it'sh fucking important!'

  'You should get some sleep too, maybe whatever it is won't seem so important after you've slept. And sobered up.'

  'I'm not drunk! Will you jusht lishten?'

  'I am. I'm lishtening to a drunk man. Go to sleep, Mike. Hold on, aren't you due in Tokyo today?'

  'Yesh!'

  'Right. So get some sleep. I'm going to switch the phone off now, Mike. I didn't mean to leave it on in the first — '

  'No! That'sh what I'm calling about! Tokyo!'

  'What? What about Tokyo?'

  'I can't go!'

  'What do you mean? Why not? You have to go.'

  'But I can't!'

  'Calm down.'

  'How can I be fucking calm? Shome fuckersh taken out half my teesh!'

  'Say that again?'

  'I shaid shome fuckersh taken out half my fucking teesh!'

  'Is this some sort of joke? Who the hell is this?'

  'It'sh me, for Chrisht'sh shake! It'sh Mike Danielsh!'

  'It doesn't sound like the Mike Daniels I know.'

  'Of courshe not! I've had half my teesh taken out! Fuck'sh shake, Kate, wake up!'

  'I'm awake. Prove you're Mike Daniels. Tell me what you were going to Tokyo for.'

  'Oh, Chrisht…'

  'Ah, pull yourself together. Tell me.'

  'Okay, okay! I wash going to Tokyo wish X. Parfitt-Sholomenideesh to shign the firsht part of the Pejantan Island deal with Kirita Shinizhagi, Shee-Ee-Oh of Shimani Aeroshpace Corporation. Shatishfied?'

  'Hold on.'

  'What? What are you — ? Hello? Hello? Kate?'

  '…Okay. Go on. What's this about your teeth?'

  'Your voish shounds echoey. You're in a bashroom, aren't you?'

  'Very astute.'

  'Where are you? You here in London?'

  'No, I'm in Glasgow. Now tell me what the hell's going on.'

  'Shome bastard'sh taken out half my teesh. I'm looking at it in zhe mirror now. My moush ish all pink and…the fuckersh!'

  'Mike, come on. Get it together. Tell me what happened.'

  'I wash out. I went to a club. I met zhish girl.'

  'Uh-huh.'

  'Well, we ended up back at her playsh.'

  'Clubbing and picking up some floozy. Perfect preparation for the most important business trip of your career.'

  'Don't fucking go shanctimonioush on me!'

  'Don't go what?'

  'Shanctimonioush! Shancti-fucking-monioush!'

  'Right. So you went to a club and you scored. How did this lead to you losing half your teeth? Were they full of gold fillings?'

  'No!'

  'Well, was there a jealous boyfriend waiting for you back at her place?'

  'No! Well, I don't know! All remember ish having a shnog and a drink and then nexsht shing I know I'm waking up in my own flat and half my teesh are mishing! What the fuck am I going to do? I can't go to Tokyo like zhish!'

  'Hold on, you woke up in your own flat?'

  'Yesh! In my own bed! Well, on it. About ago!'

  'Nobody else there?'

  'No!'

  'Have you checked your wallet?'

  'Eh? No.'

  'Check it now. And try to find your keys.'

  The phone clunked down. I sat frowning at the tiles on the far side of the bathroom. Mike came back.

  'All zhare.'

  'Keys? Money? Credit cards?'

  'Everyshing. All zhare.'

  'Nothing missing in the flat?'

  'Not zhat I can shee. Everyshing'sh here. Apart from my fucking teesh.'

  'I take it you'd never met this girl before.'

  'No, I hadn't.'

  'Can you remember the address of her flat?'

  'Notting Hill shomewhere. I shink.'

  'Street?'

  'I…No idea. I wash…I wash being dishtracted while we were in the takshi.'

  'I bet. You go to that club a lot?'

  'Fairly oshten…Kate? You shtill there?'

  'Still here. Mike, are you in pain?'

  'Mental fucking anguish. But my moush ish numb.'

  'Bleeding much?'

  'Nnn…no.'

  'See any puncture marks on your gums?'

  'What? Umm, hold on…'

  I shivered. I pulled a towel from the chrome rack above the bath and wrapped it round myself, then sat on the toilet again. I could feel my frown deepening. I looked in the mirror. Not attractive. I pulled a hand through my hair with some difficulty.

  On the phone, Mike Daniels said, 'Hnn. Could be. Few of zhem. Maybe four.'

  'So your teeth weren't knocked out, they were extracted.'

  'What short of fucking nutter takesh out half shomebody's teesh? Was zhish a dentisht?'

  'Sounds like it. A central London dentist working serious overtime in the small hours of the morning. You better hope they don't send you the bill.'

  'Thish ishn't funny!'

  'No, actually your voice is quite funny, Mike. It's the implications that aren't.'

  'Well, I'm sho fucking glad I'm shtill able to amushe you, Kashryn, but what the fuck am I going to do?'

  'Have you reported this to the police?'

  'The polishe? What, you mean Shecurity?'

  'No, the London Metropolitan Police.'

  'Uh, no. I didn't think — '

  'Have you told anybody else?'

  'No, jusht you. Shtarting to regret it, now.'

  'Well, it's up to you whether you call the civilian police or not. Personally…well, personally I don't know if I would. But do call company Security and let them know.'

  'What can zhey do?'

  'Nothing, I guess. But you'd better let them know. And call the company credit-card hot-line. It's twenty-four hours. You on platinum?'

  'Gold twenty-four.'

  'Well, if they give you any shit, tell them you're calling on my authority. They might be able to find you a dentist who can do something.'

  'What, half a moushful of teesh before ten a.m?'

  'Is that when the flight is?'

  'That'sh check-in time.'

  'You on scheduled?'

  'Yesh.'

  'Could we find you some more time by sending you on a company jet?'

  'Been dishcushed before all zhis happened. Too many fuel shtopsh or shomeshing.'

  'How long after you arrive are you supposed to meet Shinizagi?'

  'About fou
r hoursh.'

  'Hmm. Mike?'

  'What?'

  'Exactly which teeth were removed?'

  'Eh? Well, I don't know! I mean I don't know what zhare all called. One of my front teeth…molarsh…left wishdom…jusht about half of zhem. Looksh random. Can't shee a pattern or anything. Disherent on top and bottom, disherent on each. shide…Well?'

  'Well what?'

  'Any ideash?'

  'I've told you: call the hot-line. And call Adrian; Adrian George. You should have called him in the first place. I'm on sabbatical, remember?'

  'I know you're on fucking shabbatical! I'm shorry I dishturbed your beauty shleep, too, but I shtupidly shought you might be able to help me.'

  'I am helping you. I'm telling you to call Security, the company credit-card hot-line and Adrian. So do so. But, whatever happens, you have to make that flight.'

  'But I can't go like zhish!'

  'Stop wailing.'

  'I'm not wailing!'

  'Yes, you are. Stop it. You have to be in Tokyo tonight. Tomorrow night; whatever. It'll look very bad if you don't show up. Kirita Shinizagi is a stickler for these things.'

  'A shtickler? A fucking shtickler? What about being a shtickler for executivsh having all their teesh? What if it'sh shome horrendoush crosh-cultural inshult in Japan to turn up to shign a deal wish only shishty per shent of your shmile in playsh?'

  'I thought as well as speaking the language you were well versed in Japanese culture, Mike. You must know whether that's the case or not.'

  'Look, can't we shend shomebody elshe? It'sh Parfitt-Sholomenideesh who'sh doing the shining, not me; I'm jusht there ash a glorified bag-man.'

  'I don't think so. You've been in on this from the start. Kirita Shinizagi trusts you. And Mr Parfitt-Solomenides doesn't speak Japanese. Frankly even if Mr Shinizagi wasn't expecting you, you'd have to go because Mr Parfitt-Solomenides's expecting you to be there and if you ever hope to leave Level Four, you don't go upsetting Level One executives because you have a dental problem. And Mr Shinizagi is expecting you. If you didn't show we might…Never mind.'

  'What?'

  I didn't quite succeed in stifling a giggle.

  'Are you — ? You're laughing! I can't fucking believe zhish!'

  'I'm sorry, I was going to say we might lose face.'

  'What? Oh, very fucking funny, Kate!'

  'Thank you. Now, make those calls. And make that flight.'

  'Oh, Jeshush.'

  'This is no time for superstition, Michael. Orthodontics is your only hope.'

  'You vishish bitch, you're enjoying zhish, aren't you?'

  'Not in the least. And never call me a bitch again, Michael.'

  'I'm shorry.

  'Make the calls, Mike, and be sure you have some pain-killers to hand for when the anaesthetic wears off.'

  'Okay, okay. Shorry to have dishturbed you.'

  'That's all right, given the circumstances. I hope it all works out, and give my regards to Kirita Shinizagi.'

  'If I can shtill talk Japanezhe with no teesh.'

  'Just do your best. I'm sure they have very good dentists in Japan.'

  'Huh.'

  'Good night, Mike. Safe journey.'

  'Yeah. Good night. Umm… shanks.'

  The phone went dead. I looked at it, wondering, then I switched it off. I draped the towel over the side of the bath, unlocked the door and returned to the bedroom, feeling my. way across the unfamiliar space to the bed.

  'What was that?' a deep, sleepy voice said.

  'Nothing,' I said, slipping between the sheets. 'Wrong number.'

  CHAPTER ONE

  My name is Kathryn Telman. I am a senior executive officer, third level (counting from the top) in a commercial organisation which has had many different names through the ages but which, these days, we usually just refer to as the Business. There's a lot to tell about this particular concern, but I'm going to have to ask you to be tolerant here because I'm intending to take things slowly and furnish further details of this ancient, honourable and — to you, no doubt — surprisingly ubiquitous concern in due course as they become relevant. For the record, I am one point seven metres tall, I weigh fifty-five kilos, I am thirty-eight years old, I have dual British/US nationality, I am blonde by birth not bottle, unwed, and have been an employee of the Business since I left school.

  Early November 1998 in the city of Glasgow, Scotland. Mrs Todd the housekeeper cleared away my breakfast things and padded silently away across the pine floor. CNN babbled quietly from the television. I dabbed at my lips with a crisply starched napkin and gazed out through the tall windows and the light rain to the buildings on the far side of the grey river. The company apartments in Glasgow had been shifted a few years earlier from Blythswood Square to the newly fashionable Merchant City area on the north bank of the Clyde.

  This building had been in company ownership since we built it, in the late seventeen hundreds. It was a warehouse for nearly two centuries, was leased out as a cheap clothing store for a decade, then it lay unused for a number of years. It was renovated in the eighties to create office and retail units on the ground and first floor and loft-style apartments on the three remaining floors. This, the top floor, was all Business.

  Mrs Todd glided back to complete the tidying of the table. 'Will there be anything else, Ms Telman?'

  'No, thank you, Mrs Todd.'

  'The car is here.'

  'I'll be ten minutes.'

  'I'll let them know.'

  My watch and mobile agreed that it was 0920. I rang Mike Daniels.

  'Yesh?'

  'Ah.'

  'Yesh, "Ah" indeed.'

  'They couldn't find you a dentist.'

  'Zhey found me a dentisht but zhere washn't time to do anyshing. I shtill look like a fucking footballer.'

  'Pity. Sounds like you're in a car. I take it you're on your way to Heathrow.'

  'Yesh. Everyshing'sh on schedule.'

  'Any pain?'

  'A little.'

  'Did you call Security?'

  'Yesh, and Adrian G. Zhey were even lesh help than you. I don't shink Adrian George likesh me. He'sh calling Tokyo and Pee-Esh'sh offish to let zhem know, sho it won't come ash a shock.'

  'Very considerate.'

  'He shaid Shecurity would want to talk to me when I get back. Anyway, zhey're going to inveshtigate. Had to hand my flat keysh over to shome flunkey before I left thish morning. Oh, who'sh Walker?'

  'Walker?'

  'Shumshing to do wish Shecurity.'

  'Colin Walker?'

  'That'sh him. Adrian G said he thought he'd sheen him in the Whitehall offish a couple of daysh ago. Sheemed to find it mosht amuzhing that he might be doing the inveshtigating.'

  'I doubt that. Walker's one of Hazleton's people. He's his chief of Security. Well, more enforcement, in reality.'

  'Enforshement? Oh, shit, ish thish shome department I haven't heard of? Shomeshing not for ush Level Foursh?'

  'No. Officially Walker's Security. It's just he's usually regarded as Hazleton's…muscle.'

  'Mushle? You mean like shum short of fucking henchman?'

  'Henchman's a bit fifties B-movie-ish, don't you think? But I believe you could call him a person of hench. If we had hit-men, he'd be one. In fact, he'd probably be their boss.'

  I know a little more about this sort of thing than most execs at my level because I started out in Security. That was before an interest in gadgets, technology and future trends got me angled across the company's career tracks and on to the plutocratic mainline. Maintaining contacts in Security may well prove to be one of the more astute investments I've made in my own future.

  'Hazhleton. Shit. Ish he azh shcary azh everybody shesh?'

  'Not normally, but Walker is. I wonder what he's doing in the country?'

  'I heard a rumour zhere wash shome short of meeting nexsht week, at…umm, in Yorkshire.'

  'Really?'

  'Yesh. Shumshing to do wish the Pashific shing. Maybe he'sh
here for zhat. Maybe Hazhleton's coming over from the Shtates. Advanshe guard. Checking out the grim old pile before Hazhleton showsh.'

  'Mmm.'

  'Sho, izh zhere a meeting, Kate?'

  'Where did you hear this rumour?'

  'Izh zhere a meeting?'

  'Where did you hear this rumour?'

  'I ashked firsht.'

  'What?'

  'Oh, come on! Ish zhere shome high-level meeting or not?'

  'I'm sorry, I couldn't possibly comment.'

  '…Shit, doesh zhat mean you're attending?'

  'Michael, you ought really to be concerning yourself with your own assignment.'

  'Ha! I'm trying to take my mind off it!'

  'Anyway, I have to go; there's a car waiting for me. Have a safe and productive trip.'

  'Yeah yeah yeah. All zhat shtuff.'

  I was on sabbatical. One of the privileges that comes with my rank is that I'm allowed one year in every seven, on full pay, to do just as I please. This has been a Business institution for those at my level and above for about two and a half centuries and seems to be working well. We'll probably keep it. Certainly I had no complaints, even though I had not taken what most people would regard as full advantage of such a serious perk.

  Nominally and for tax purposes I was based in the States. I spent about a third of the year travelling, generally in the developed world. I was still enjoying this largely airborne lifestyle, but when I did want to feel the earth under my feet I could always retreat to the modest but comfortable cabin I owned in the Santa Cruz mountains just outside the town of Woodside, Ca, within easy reach of Stanford, Palo Alto and the rest of Silicon Valley (that's 'modest' and 'cabin' in the Californian Opulent sense, with a pool, hot tub, five bedrooms and a four-car garage). If home is the place that best displays your character, then this was my home. From the stuff on the shelves you could have told that I liked German composers, Realist art, French films and biographies of scientists. Also that I was addicted to technical journals.

  My European base was Suzrin House, the company's monolithic warren of offices and apartments overlooking the Thames at Whitehall, which I preferred to our Swiss base at Château d'Oex. I suppose Suzrin House was my second home, though in terms of architectural cosiness that's a bit like regarding the Kremlin or the Pentagon as a pied-à-terre. Never mind. My job, wherever I might be, was to keep abreast of current and incipient technological developments, with the brief of recommending which of those technologies the Business ought to invest in.