скачать книгу бесплатно
No Harm Can Come to a Good Man
James Smythe
How far would you go to save your family from an invisible threat? A terrifyingly original thriller from the author of The Machine.ClearVista is used by everyone and can predict everything.It’s a daily lifesaver, predicting weather to traffic to who you should befriend.Laurence Walker wants to be the next President of the United States. ClearVista will predict his chances.It will predict whether he's the right man for the job.It will predict that his son can only survive for 102 seconds underwater.It will predict that Laurence's life is about to collapse in the most unimaginable way.
Copyright (#u15c6d3d1-bfdc-572f-b6da-94e96de10fa8)
The Borough Press
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2014
Copyright © James Smythe 2014
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Cover photograph @ Shutterstock.com (http://Shutterstock.com)
(Epigraph (#u6985cb33-b5fd-5aaa-bfb1-7ce8c015b729)): Extract taken from The Signal and The Noise by Nate Silver © Nate Silver 2012. Reprinted by permission of Penguin Books Ltd.
James Smythe asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007541935
Ebook Edition © May 2015 ISBN: 9780007541928
Version: 2016-02-16
Praise for James Smythe: (#u15c6d3d1-bfdc-572f-b6da-94e96de10fa8)
‘A writer of bold imagination and verve’
Lauren Beukes
‘Savage, intimate and inexorable’
Nick Harkaway
‘Powerful and distinctive’
Guardian
‘Smythe’s storytelling is pacey and addictive; he has a fiendish talent for springing surprises’
The Times
‘Fully formed, fundamentally affecting, forward-thinking fiction. The sort of story that reminds us why we read, and what we, the people, need’
Tor.com (http://Tor.com)
‘Like Ballard, Smythe understands, and ruthlessly demonstrates, the nightmare that results when our fantasies are realised’
Sam Byers
‘Science fiction for those who think they don’t like it’
50 Best Spring Reads, Independent
‘A book about memory, about the impossibility of making the future match the past, and the danger of following a desire too far’
Matt Haig
‘Very cleverly constructed and completely gripping’
Daily Mail
‘Creepy, compulsive science fiction, narrated with the kind of anxious interior perspective characteristic of JG Ballard’s finest work’
Metro
‘Quite brilliant’
Sunday Mirror
‘With his particular flair for speculative fiction, [Smythe] cooks up something pretty extraordinary’
Dazed & Confused
‘As if Philip K Dick and David Mitchell had collaborated on an episode of The West Wing. Unsettling, gripping and hugely thought-provoking’
FHM
Dedication (#u15c6d3d1-bfdc-572f-b6da-94e96de10fa8)
To my family
Epigraph (#u15c6d3d1-bfdc-572f-b6da-94e96de10fa8)
What is now proved was once only imagined.
William Blake
When catastrophe strikes, we look for the signal in the noise – anything that might explain the chaos that we see all around us and bring order to the world again.
Nate Silver, The Signal and The Noise
Contents
Cover (#u9fedf814-3070-5dd0-afe0-0163c156066a)
Title Page (#ua5a8724c-46bd-52df-b575-25384b923428)
Copyright
Praise for James Smythe
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Part Two
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by James Smythe
About the Publisher
Prologue (#u15c6d3d1-bfdc-572f-b6da-94e96de10fa8)
Laurence Walker presses play and the video begins.
On it, he is standing in a seemingly blank room. He is looking straight into the camera lens, or the facsimile of him is; a broken version, created from photographs and screen grabs. It looks like him, but only barely. There is something about the version of his face that the software has created – so blank and expressionless – that makes him feel sick to his stomach. Behind him he can see similarly wrong versions of his family, of his wife and daughters. This created version of him isn’t looking at them, his body language barely even acknowledging their presence. He wonders why they are so scared. Deanna and the girls are huddled together, clinging onto one another, terrified, backing away from him. Their faces are approximations of what that would actually look like: twisted and distorted and not at all real.
In the background, he hears a noise, a rustle that he cannot put his finger on; and then another noise, quieter in the mix. Sobbing. And then, finally, he notices that the version of him is holding something.
It’s a gun. He knows the thick black metal. The digital version’s thumb is on the trigger. The screen version of Laurence seems to shudder. More than a shiver: it seems uncontrollable.
Then the video cuts to black and a noise rings out that he knows can only be one thing: the crack, solid and sharp, the sound of a bullet leaving the chamber of a gun. The sobbing stops and turns into a scream, ringing through the darkness.
PART ONE (#u15c6d3d1-bfdc-572f-b6da-94e96de10fa8)
1 (#u15c6d3d1-bfdc-572f-b6da-94e96de10fa8)
Deanna wakes up. She lies perfectly still at first, because she loves these moments of being awake, of being in control of everything for just a second, before the day allows itself to interrupt. She can hear Laurence breathing, a harsh snore that’s developed over the past few years into something akin to a growl. She can feel the slow rise and fall of his chest travelling through the mattress. After a while she rolls over and looks at him. He’s still propped up as he was when she was falling asleep, his back against the giant pillows that they have taken to using as a headboard. His reading glasses are hanging off his face and his tablet is on his lap, his hands clutching it. He doesn’t move much when he sleeps these days, she thinks, not since he became a senator. He tends to sleep so heavily that he stays perfectly still. The world could shift around him and he would somehow stay static.
She doesn’t want to wake him yet – the alarm isn’t set to go off for another half an hour, and he needs his sleep for today – so she turns away from him and slides to the edge of the bed. The floor is freezing cold on her feet, the house so draughty, always carrying a breeze up through the floorboards. She pads to the bedroom door and he doesn’t even shift slightly as she opens it and sneaks out.
She heads downstairs, turning the lights on as she goes, straight into the kitchen. The glass along the back wall, looking out into the backyard, is darkened and she flicks the switches on the counter to bring it back to a clear state; no glare from the rising sun, just the light pouring in. She loves the feeling of the warmth of it coming through the glass, heating up the kitchen while she makes the coffee, selecting pods for the machine – they each take a different flavor, and she has to do nothing past setting the thing going. She stands at the counter, both hands on the marble, propping herself up; and she basks for a few seconds. All is silence.
Laurence wakes up as she comes back into the room, because she’s not trying to be quiet now. He feels his glasses on his face and swats them away, a knee-jerk reaction; and then he opens his eyes and looks at Deanna front on. He sleepily smirks at her. This isn’t the first time it’s happened.
‘I slept like this?’ he asks.
‘You did.’
