The Fear Index

was asleep before they reached the French border.

    THE GENDARMES HAD gone from the office building. One elevator was cordoned off by black-and-yellow tape and had a sign stuck to it – ‘DANGER: NOT WORKING’ – but the other was operational, and after a brief hesitation Quarry stepped into it.
    Van der Zyl and Ju-Long were waiting for him in reception. They rose as he came in. Both looked badly shaken.
    Van der Zyl said, ‘It’s just been on the news. They had shots of the fire, this place – everything.’
    Quarry swore, looked at his watch. ‘I’d better start emailing the major clients straight away. Better if they hear it from us first.’ He noticed that van der Zyl and Ju-Long were looking at one another. ‘Well, what is it?’
    Ju-Long said, ‘Before you do, there’s something you ought to see.’
    He followed them on to the trading floor. To his amazement, none of the quants had gone home. They rose as he came in and stood in complete silence. He wondered if it was meant as some sort of mark of respect. He hoped they weren’t expecting a speech. Out of habit he glanced up at the business channels. The Dow had recovered almost two thirds of its losses to close down 387; the VIX was up sixty per cent. The imminent UK election results were being forecast from a nationwide exit poll: NO OVERALL CONTROL. That just about summed it up, he thought. He checked the nearest screen for the day’s P&L, blinked at it and read it again, then turned in wonderment to the others.
    ‘It’s true,’ said Ju-Long. ‘We made a profit out of the crash of four-point-one billion dollars.’
    ‘And the beauty of it is,’ van der Zyl added, ‘that that represents only zero-point-four per cent of total market volatility. No one will ever notice, except us.’
    ‘Jesus wept …’ Quarry quickly did the calculation in his head of his personal net worth. ‘That must mean VIXAL managed to complete all the trades before Alex destroyed it.’
    There was a pause, and then Ju-Long said quietly, ‘He didn’t destroy it, Hugo. It’s still trading.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘VIXAL is still trading.’
    ‘But it can’t be. I just saw all the hardware burned to the ground.’ ‘Then it must have other hardware we don’t know about. Something quite miraculous appears to have taken place. Have you seen the intranet? The company slogan has changed.’
    Quarry looked at the faces of the quants. They seemed to him to be both blank and radiant at the same time, like members of a cult. It was eerie. Several of them nodded at him encouragingly. He bent to examine the screensaver.

    THE COMPANY OF THE FUTURE WILL HAVE NO WORKERS

    THE COMPANY OF THE FUTURE WILL HAVE NO MANAGERS

    THE COMPANY OF THE FUTURE WILL BE A DIGITAL ENTITY

    THE COMPANY OF THE FUTURE WILL BE ALIVE

    IN HIS OFFICE, Quarry was writing an email to the investors.

To: Etienne & Clarisse Mussard, Elmira Gulzhan & François de Gombart-Tonnelle, Ezra Klein, Bill Easterbrook, Amschel Herxheimer, Iain Mould, Mieczyslaw Łukasiński, Liwei Xu, Qi Zhang

From: Hugo Quarry

Subject: Alex

My dear friends, by the time you read this you will probably have begun to hear the tragic story of what happened to Alex Hoffmann yesterday. I will call you all individually later today to discuss the situation. For now I just wanted you to know that he is receiving the very finest medical care, and that our prayers are with both him and Gabrielle at this difficult moment. Of course it is too early to talk of the future of the company he founded, but I did want to reassure you that he has left systems in place which mean that your investments will not only continue to prosper, but will, I am confident, go from strength to strength. I will explain in more detail when I speak with you.

    The quants had taken a vote on the trading floor and agreed to keep what had happened confidential. In return, each would receive an immediate cash bonus of $5 million. There would be further payments in the future, on a scale to be agreed, dependent on VIXAL’s performance. No one had dissented: he supposed for one thing they had all seen what had happened to Rajamani.
    There was a knock at the door. Quarry shouted, ‘Come!’ It was Genoud.
    ‘Hello, Maurice, what do you want?’
    ‘I’ve come to take out those cameras, if that’s all right with you.’
    Quarry considered VIXAL. He pictured it as a kind of glowing celestial digital cloud, occasionally swarming to earth. It might be anywhere – in