Chapter 65

Insider Trading

Teach: They think I what?

“You think he what?” Leo asked. How had they gone from implants and murder to insider trading?

“Do you know what insider trading is, Leo?” Special Agent Jones said. “It's trading of a company's securities while having access to confidential or non-public information about the company.”

Teach: Assholes! Ask them if they're investigating Congress, not to mention Body Booster's Board of Directors. People who actually did commit insider trading.

“You're willing to overlook a murder, but your anti-terrorism task force is investigating insider trading?” Leo asked, trying to understand the situation.

“I knew you were a bright kid,” Special Agent Lopez said. Turning to her partner, “I told you the principal was wrong about him.”

“Are you investigating Congress?” Leo asked.

Special Agent Lopez shook her head and looked sad. “Congress in their infinite wisdom carefully reviewed the stock trading done by Congress, and Congress's wealthy friends, and they decided neither Congress, nor their friends, needed to be investigated. Yes, I know it seems very unfair. But they pay my salary and provide decent health care, so what can I do?”

Teach: Congress did that over the weekend?

“Congress did that over the weekend?” Leo asked, echoing Mr. Osmond.

“I believe they did it Friday evening,” Special Agent Lopez answered. “Congress can be far more dedicated and efficient than most people believe, especially concerning affairs that matter to them.”

“Also, we're reasonably sure they weren't using implants, so it's not our concern,” Special Agent Jones said. “Your teacher, Mr. Osmond, timed the short-selling of Body Booster perfectly. How did he do that? Tell us what you know about Mr. Osmond and his implant contacts. Now.”

Teach: Ask to see the confession.

“Could I see the confession?” Leo asked.

“Certainly.” Special Agent Jones pulled out an official-looking sheet of paper and put it in front of Leo. He tried to read it, but it was full of complicated legal language.

Teach: It's what I was afraid of. They're using you to get to me. In the confession, you acknowledge you're an implant wearer and that you are communicating with Mr. Osmond, another implant wearer, who you believe is committing illegal insider trading using information gained through implant use.

Leo could feel Mr. Osmond's frustration and weariness through the implant.

Teach: I will, of course, deny everything and get a lawyer. It should be possible to overturn a confession signed by a twelve-year-old boy under duress. But with our legal system being the way it is, this will take years. Tell them as little as possible, but sign the confession. Act stupid. That shouldn't be hard for you.

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Future Man 10/16: What's that supposed to mean?

“You have a special quest,” Imp said. “Do not sign that horrible confession. Reward for quest completion unknown.”

“Unknown reward? What's that about?” Leo asked Imp silently in response to the special quest.

“This quest involves too many unknown factors to accurately access your reward,” Imp responded. “I can assure you that, assuming you are not killed carrying out this quest, the reward will be significant.”

Future Man 10/16: Mr. Osmond, sorry to get you into this. I'll get you as much time as I can. Take care of yourself.

Teach: You don't understand, Leo. If you don't sign that confession, they will torture you. There was a man who refused to sign his confession and maintained his innocence. They chopped off the fingers of his left hand since he was losing that arm anyway. They chopped his fingers off slowly, one by one, and they got more creative from there. It's impossible to verify this man's story because he was killed in a horrible car accident soon after posting his story online. Sign the confession. You will be signing it in a couple of hours, regardless, so you might as well sign it now.

Future Man 10/16: This is not my first rodeo, Mr. Osmond. Besides they think I'm twelve. I'm the more expendable of the two of us and your imprisonment would hurt our mission far more than mine will. I don't know how long I'll be able to hold out, especially if they use drugs, but I'll do what I can.

Leo tore up the confession, crumpled the pieces into a ball, and threw it at the Special Agents. “I have nothing to say without a lawyer present.”

There was silence...

Special Agent Jones pulled out his cellphone and turned it so the screen faced Leo. “Look.”

Leo did. It was a video, and it was real. Some things you just can't fake.

Like the terror on the man's face, strapped to what looked like a medical chair. “I don't have an implant! I swear. Please!”

“Man, I hate chopping off fingers,” a female voice off-screen said. “It's so messy.”

“Mr. Demsfield,” a second off-screen voice said. “We will not stop until you make the implant in your wrist turn violet. We know you can do this...”

“Stop! Stop! Please don't do this! I'll sign the confession!”

“Too late for that,” the second voice said. “Continue with the amputations.”

The video moved downward, focusing on the man's left arm strapped firmly to the chair's metal armrest. The left hand was hanging over a metal bowl that they used to catch the blood dripping from the stumps of the man's three missing fingers. From the looks of it, they'd started with the man's pinky and were moving their way across his hand to the thumb.

A woman in a lab coat holding what looked like some over-sized cutting pliers stepped forward. She grabbed the man's index finger and proceeded to cut off the first joint.

The man screamed.

“Make the implant glow violet, now,” the second voice said.

“In case you're wondering, that man is dead,” Special Agent Jones said. “It's entirely possible he didn't have an implant.”

“People make mistakes,” Special Agent Lopez said. “You know how it is. To err is human.”

“We are people you do not want to fuck with, Leo,” Special Agent Jones said. He pulled out a second copy of the confession and placed it in front of Leo. “Sign the goddamn confession. Now.”

Leo made a big show of yawning. Then he smiled. “Oh. I get it. You're trying to scare me.”

The two agents looked at each other.

“No offense, but you're just not that scary. I'd expect terrorist hunters like yourselves to be scary, and you're not. Terrorists must laugh at you guys. Sorry.”

“Suppose he's on drugs?” Detective Jones asked. “No eye dilation. He doesn't appear to be on drugs. Do you think we wouldn't hurt a twelve-year-old boy, Leo? You're wrong.” He turned back to his partner. “Could you hurt him, Dez? Just a little.”