Athol Braaf snarled. Window of opportunity – what life coaches prate about – but in this case the window was red. Nowhere in his holiday destination were there four days not OCCUPIED. Even converted garden sheds. He kicked the computer; the dust squealed.
Athol Braaf quite often kicked the computer. A tower block, situated conveniently at his right foot, it served the purpose. He wrinkled his nose, fondly remembered trawling the streets in search of grubby lace curtains framing ACCOMMODATION, and wished online bookings weren’t his only option.
The Dark Web. Would there be accommodation on the Dark Web? He knew nothing about this apparent eminence more than its ghoulish name, but wouldn’t those who dwell in grots and caves sometimes have need of a clandestine destination? Of course he didn’t know how to find its domain – common sense told him that you couldn’t exactly google it and expect the real thing – but there was someone who might. He hadn’t been a friend of his at school, but had heard things about him at a school reunion some years ago. He had, of course, not been there, but contact details of the class had been circulated; his had been there; perhaps they hadn’t changed. If so, Athol would either have a phone put down on him or a more favourable response.
“Yes.”
“Athol Braaf…we were at school together.” Silence. “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but is there any way I can get on to the Dark Web?” Silence. “Can you help me?”
“Why?”
“I need accommodation in Cape Town.”
Perhaps Athol’s words cracked a password but the next thing he heard was a request for his email address, then a brief query about what he was doing with himself. He asked no questions of his friend, just thanked him profusely. Would that be the sum result he wondered and went to make a cup of tea.
It came. No sender address, just sets of letters and symbols which made little sense, but obviously had to be followed were there to be any outcome. Once he had followed the instructions from a prompt things became more intelligible. He suspected that his friend had made his problem easier (and blocked any further interest) by channelling him directly to “User-friendly accommodation”. There was only one: BRAWDEK. He read its home page.
BRAWDEK – We, the custodians of BRAWDEK, require the following of our guests:
- When entering the premises, all personal electronic devices must be surrendered. A short body search will follow. Any device you desire to use during you stay will be provided.
- As your and our security is paramount, no weapon is allowed.
- Entering and exiting the premises must be done under our control.
- No questions may be asked of the personnel.
- No visitors.
- The details of your flight and airport of arrival.
- Upon arrival there, you will find a car in Bay CC 101. Starting the vehicle will prompt further instructions.
It was not a make Athol recognised. Nor had it a brandname. What it did have was a door that opened, a pair of dark glasses on the ledge and an oddly-shaped key. Taking his seat, Athol inserted it. “Please put on the glasses provided.” The words came from the speakers on the console. Athol did as instructed. “Do not remove the glasses now or any time during your journey. This is a self-driving car, but will stop immediately if you attempt to remove the glasses or touch any of the controls. As no warning will be given either to cars behind or around you, this will endanger your and others’ lives. To ensure a safe arrival at your destination, which the automobile is programmed to reach, sit back and enjoy the ride.”
Athol had wondered what the experience of a self-driving car would be like. Nothing like this for sure: it was like those scary games he remembered as a child when someone led him blindfold while around him he could sense the giggles about to burst when he fell into some horrible goo. He felt the car move through traffic then hit speeds he would not have wanted with his eyes open. Had collision and death been what he had planned for his holiday, he would have wrenched the glasses off, grabbed the wheel and demanded a refund of his crypto (only crypto, paid up in full beforehand, had been accepted).
“Welcome to BRAWDEK. Please remove the glasses.” The muted lights in the underground parking garage came as a relief to Athol who had expected the blinding of sudden light. Someone was taking his suitcase from the boot. “Please come with me,” he said. Athol followed him into a lift which ascended two levels. The doors opened and they exited into a foyer encircling the lift installation. The guests’ rooms led off from the foyer in what must be a cylindrical tower block. But, when the porter opened the door of Number 5, instead of a massive span of glass Athol had expected to see, he was faced with a huge semi-circular screen. There were no windows. “I need to scan you and your suitcases.” The porter was speaking. “Please allow me to have any devices you may have brought; they were disabled when you got into the car, but will be returned, fully restored, when you arrive back at the airport.”
Little of what the man said or did (a brief frisking) held much interest for Athol. He stood and stared at the screen. Scenes of extraordinary wonder filled his eyes: landscapes of planets beyond the imagination followed by depths of seas unfathomable were immersing him in unknown worlds. He had once before been in such spaces in Disneyworld with its three-dimensional experiences. “What you are seeing may be altered according to whatever entertainment or pastime suits you.” The porter was making his way to the door. “This,” he held up a remote, “gives instructions of how to operate the interactive screens which constitute the wallspace. Use it also to request any device for your use during your stay with us. They are all highly functional, but you will appreciate,” the porter paused, “that their location applications have been permanently disabled.” He paused again and replaced the remote on a table near the door. “There is no dining facility but room service is provided: just order from the menu found on the remote. Do read the instructions about leaving and entering the premises: they are important for both your and our security. We hope you will enjoy your stay.”
Things were pretty simple after that. On his first day, Athol downloaded a map of the city and ordered the self-driving car. It took him where he wanted and fetched him when ordered. For that he paid BRAWDEK as he would for a taxi; the rate was quite a bit more but worth it: he felt more secure, more private and more exclusive. He liked the quiet of the place, too. If there were other guests in the rooms of the radial, he never saw or heard them. Nor did his initial contact man reappear. Snacks, when requested, were delivered to his door and his room was left for him to maintain. He began to wonder whether the location and identity of BRAWDEK was its most closely guarded secret not only for the protection of its guests but also because its operation was not legal. He recalled reading of some fancy establishment which arose in a salubrious neighbourhood, offering boutique accommodation and all the trappings. The mansions around it assumed it to be catering for exclusive high-enders and welcomed its tone, not realising that it was completely illegal, having been built purposefully off-grid to be anonymous . It was even possible that BRAWDEK was a hijacked building turned respectable. The sort of place which found its clientele on the Dark Web.
And Athol was enjoying it. He was pleased that his first choices had been occupied. He imagined rooms with noisy children around, busy people coming and going, music playing and smells of meals being prepared. What sort of holiday would that have been? Cheaper, but then he would have felt cheaper for it. Here he was king: guarded, chauffeured and cushioned from the outside world. His only complaint was that he was not allowed to ask: “May I extend my stay?”
Acknowledgement: Hossein Nasr on Unsplash for the image
