Phillip's phone chimed. It was the customer again, looking for updates. It wasn't near the next deadline yet, so he ignored it. He saved his document and refreshed the main visualisation. It was a cross between a family tree and a timeline. He'd been given a dump of information, and an instruction. Maybe an instruction. More of a vague idea, and the instruction to examine it. Not the worst starting point (better that the fella who'd broken into his house to wave a stack of bills at him, franticly shouting 'help me!' in Portuguese), but not much to go on. But he'd followed the lead. It gave him 2 thin threads to follow, so he did. They led to more threads. Which turned into a web across the world. A web which actually held everyone in the world snared. Because, before the Bomb came on the scene, Mutually Assured Destruction lay certain for those who crossed the world order. It remained certain. He'd started with an Englishman in one of the colonial offices, and followed the connections. The arteries of the world had been rigged ready to be destroyed at a moments notice since at least the 1890s. Initially it had been explosives set in telegraph and telephone networks, then in bridges and electric plants, and now it was etched in the silicon that upheld the critical networks of the world. There was also the delicate matter of the 4 or so networks of seabed torpedo mines, which collectively denied access to all the important shipping lanes. That was probably not good information for anyone crazy enough to end up in politics to have. But, a contract was a contract, and he was bound to hand over what he found. At least he didn't have the frequencies and protocols of the radio systems that these systems were listening on, or very much about the automated triggering. But he could guess, and he'd be very surprised if he didn't get it in three guesses. This stuff was hiding in plain sight, guarded only by the professionalism of those creating it. Now he just had to check a couple facts and write up his report. Then he'd be paid, and could forget this, or at least try. It wasn't the most disturbing thing he'd ever found out, and this at least hadn't led to interviews with war criminals. And, by the magic of escrow, he didn't need to worry too much about not getting paid. That was a relief. Although, he might have a chat with a couple ex-Special Boat Service fellas he knew. This was worrying.