‘Nothing.’ Libby’s expression was impassive.
‘Nothing at all?’
‘No.’
‘But you believe he was part of the Hacker’s organisation.’
‘Yes.’
‘What do you think his role was?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘But you think he played a big part in it?’
‘It looks like it, yes.’
‘And how does that make you feel?’
‘Like I said earlier, nothing.’
‘What would you like to say to him now, if you could?’
‘I wouldn’t.’
Katy Louise paused as the camera remained awkwardly on Libby, drawing in closer on her face. But Libby wouldn’t give the presenter the soundbite she craved and remained silent until finally Katy Louise spoke again.
‘Well, thank you for joining us, David Glass and Libby Dixon, spokesperson for pressure group TIAI, Transparency In Artificial Intelligence. Coming up next …’
The floor manager indicated with a wave that she was no longer in shot, so Libby was led away into the green room by a production assistant and greeted with an enthusiastic hug from her friend Nia.
‘Wowee girl, you were on fire!’ she enthused.
‘I just want to get out of here,’ Libby replied.
‘Honestly, Libs, you tore that arsehole a new one.’
‘Let’s just go,’ Libby replied, and felt her hands trembling. In front of the camera she had learned to hide beneath a thicker skin. But behind the scenes, it was asthin as it ever was – and particularly when the subject involved Jude.
The two made their way along a corridor and towards a set of glass lifts. Once at reception, they handed their visitors lanyards to the suited woman manning the security desk.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Nia. ‘Why is your face tripping you up? You handled yourself so well out there. Was it the Jude question?’
Libby threw her bag over her shoulder and let out a puff of air. ‘It’s always the Jude question,’ she replied.
Chapter 61
Libby was uncomfortable caught amongst the throng of London’s Oxford Street shoppers and tourists. ‘This way,’ she pointed and she and Nia turned into the less densely populated Rathbone Street.
Soon after the hacking, Libby realised she had become public property. Her face had been beamed onto billions of electronic devices and television screens, making her instantly recognisable. Even now, she could barely make it halfway along a road without being stopped and asked for a selfie. Some people didn’t have the manners to ask, they just thrust their arms around her shoulder or waist, held out their phones and clicked without so much as a please or thank you. She learned that if she wanted to avoid attention in her everyday life, she must steer clear of certain areas when they were at their busiest. Sometimes when she slipped out at night grocery shopping or to go for a run, she felt part vampiric.
Generally, the public was on her side. They had lived through the hijacking with her and they had hoped for the same happy-ever-after outcome as her. But they too had been deceived by Jude Harrison. Nobody, least of all Libby, knew who he really was or where he had vanished to.
However, there was only so much public sympathy Libby could tolerate. The media, columnists and bloggerswere keen to paint her as a victim but she didn’t think of herself in that way. The real victims were the Passengers who survived their ordeal along with those who hadn’t. Compared to them, Libby was merely someone who had her heart broken by a liar.
‘How about this one?’ asked Nia, pointing to the entrance of a backstreet bar. Its dark windows made it difficult to see though from the outside.
‘Perfect,’ Libby replied.
