End It With A Lie

by Peter M. Atkins

Wednesday 1.50 pm

  Ben and Rodney made good time from the city. As they approached the Harbour Bridge, Ben saw why there had been concerns raised about possible traffic congestion, due to random truck searches.

  Traffic was light at this time of the day, but as the afternoon wore on it was obvious there could be problems during peak hour. The police presence stole away the use of one complete lane. As they passed over the threshold of the bridge, a large red sign ordered each and every truck or van to the left hand traffic lane. Where a short distance further on, a uniformed police officer stood by a blue lighted patrol car.

  Ben watched as the officer beckoned the driver of a light truck. It moved onto the stopping lane and travelled for another one hundred metres before it rolled to a stop. Directly behind another truck which was the last in a line of some ten.

  The lead search vehicle on the Western side was almost in the middle of the bridge. Immediately opposite the lead vehicle of the short line of trucks which were parked on the Eastern side of the bridge.

  It seemed to him that police manpower maximization was not the only reason for using only two search teams in the middle of the Bridge proper. It was good reasoning, that if the transformer was found, then the middle of the Bridge was an ideal place for containment. It was well away from the general population, well elevated and exposed to a constant sea breeze.

  He checked his weapon and added further rounds to its magazine before looking forward again. Into a brief blue flash of their police light, whose issue from the roof above his passenger’s seat reflected off the vehicle ahead.

  Ben’s occupation with his thoughts was interrupted by a word from Rodney. He looked toward him, and then followed the direction of his nod to the oncoming traffic on the opposite side of the bridge.

  There were two Land rover vehicles and a set of four olive army trucks. Their drivers were waved through by the traffic patrolman, and Ben looked around to see that each of the trucks were full of army personnel. An armed presence on the streets of Sydney would have been considered highly unlikely just yesterday. He wondered at the wisdom of such a move, but then concluded that the cities citizens might well see the troops as a sign of their own securities benefit rather than a reason for further consternation.

  A thought which dissipated as Ben wound down his window and removed their magnetically attached revolving blue light. He placed it onto the cars dash, before allowing himself to be pushed back into his seat as Rodney accelerated through the exit. Main street parking was a rarity in the central business district, so Rodney took advantage of a loading zone some twenty metres from the front door of Cooper’s office.

  Ben listened to Cooper’s phone, where the conversation between Cooper and Horton was still being carried out in a calm manner.

  It appeared to Ben that Horton had been up to that point in time, in no great hurry.

  Ben listened to yet another protest by Cooper. Her argument being that she did not have the power to grant Horton his wishes. Horton’s response was in a tone that suggested irritation.

  As yet the footpaths had not been cordoned off as normal procedure dictated, so Ben’s next move was based on the need to evacuate the other floors of the building.

  “We’ll go in, Rodney. You evacuate as quietly as possible the ground floor, while I do the second floor. When you’ve done that, meet me on the third floor and we’ll try to at least get Booth out.” He paused and then asked, “Are you ready?” Rodney’s quietness during the drive from the city was extended as he nodded. They left the car and made their way hurriedly through the light throng of pedestrians, until they reached the office block’s main entrance.

  Ben pushed at the heavy glass door and made his way into a small foyer. A direction sign of metal stood out on a dark brick wall, informing him that all of the offices, three on each floor were occupied. A quick mental calculation based on there being two or three people in each office, suggested that he and Rodney may have to move up to twenty people before they could concentrate their efforts on Cooper’s floor.

  There was an office to his immediate left. A second lay next to it though deeper into the building, while a third faced the second from the opposite side of the foyer.

  Ben looked to his right, where the elevator’s stainless steel doors stood defiantly. As he made his way to the elevator summons button, he pointed to the first office and quietly, with a nod of his head directed Rodney toward it. Ben was about to press the lift summons button, with the intention of bringing it to this floor and rendering it inoperable by pressing its stop button. Suddenly the lift mechanism whined into life, and he looked up to see the lift level light indicate that the lift was coming down. He had no idea why he had a sudden urge to move back from the lift’s doors. As he did, his left hand went to the knot in his tie, hoping that in loosening it he would help relieve the constricting knot in his throat.

  His hand dropped to his trouser leg to wipe its sweat away.

  The lift stopped at the third floor and Ben took the opportunity to dash over to the office doorway that Rodney had disappeared through. He caught sight of his colleague and beckoned him. Rodney stopped what he was doing and waved his hand palm down to his immediate audience, ordering by way of mime that they all hit the floor. He made his way to the door, and after closing it behind him he took up a position off to Ben’s right hand side where he copied his boss’s attitude.

  Ben’s posture suggested a relaxed preparedness that might be expressed by all humans who waited for lift doors to open. Although a brief glance in his direction gave Rodney visual evidence to the contrary. He could see its proof on Ben’s forehead, where small droplets of perspiration glinted under the artificial glow of the overhead fluorescent lights. It seemed like time was passing slowly, as if the lifts arrival might allow time to duck out and have coffee. Rodney’s abstract thought was fleeting, and it disappeared as he rearranged the position of his feet on the carpeted floor.

  The weight of his hand gun as it hung in a loose grip at the end of an extended arm seemed to drag at his shoulder. He readjusted, and moved it from beside and behind his right thigh to the small of his back by bending his elbow.

  At last the lift reached its destination, and for a moment after its whine had ceased there was a pregnant pause of inaction before the stainless steel doors finally slid open. It seemed to be a cue for a drop of sweat to drip from Rodney’s eyebrow and into his eye, where it emphasized its stubbornness by refusing to be readily blinked away. Rodney felt a shock of relief when his now unblinking eyes fell on Lynette’s lovely face. His relief almost died when the expression on it betrayed the existence of immediate threat. He looked directly to the figure beside her, who for those few seconds had only existed in his peripheral vision.

  Beth Cooper’s expression, although similar to Lynette’s, differed to the extent that it held more fear and less anger. A lone tear dropped from one of her eyes and travelled down through space, to where it splashed onto the hairy male arm which held her neck locked.

  It was a right arm and Rodney had no doubt that it belonged to Horton. Although the man’s face and most of his body was concealed by the lifts small front part wall where the lifts console was fixed.

  The weapon that the man’s left hand carried was more than conspicuous. Its size and black shape more pronounced by the white back drop provided by Beth Cooper’s blouse. He noticed a dark stain of oil where the tanned hand pressed the cold steel of the weapons working slide firmly against her belly.

  Rodney felt very exposed. Although the dark hole in the end of Horton’s weapon was not pointed directly at him, he knew that his well-being was within an inch or two of its adjustment. Some seconds dragged by as muted sounds of passing traffic outside drifted into the building. Their impact on Rodney’s eardrums was almost overpowered by the fast, even pounding of his heart, as his arteries delivered its noise directly to his brain.

  Suddenly Horton’s menacing hand moved. He pushed Cooper forward slightly in
his effort to peer around the corner of the lifts console wall. Rodney’s jaw clenched as he finally looked the mysterious mercenary in the eye.

  “Who are you?” Horton demanded.

  Rodney tried to hold the man’s steady gaze. When he failed, he allowed his eyes to rest upon the end of the gunman’s hooked nose. Then he made extra effort and stared into the man’s eyes.

  “My name is Rodney. I’m a Federal Police officer and I will point out to you that there more of my people outside, both front and rear. So there’s no way out for you.”

  Horton glanced briefly to the glass door which led to the street, and noted the passing pedestrians. He spoke through a light smile which made a bold attempt at softening his somewhat harsh features.

  “The amount of people passing by outside doesn’t lend backbone to your argument, Rodney? If there were more of your kind out there they would have had the area cordoned off by now, wouldn’t they?”

  “You can be sure that they are working on it right now, Henry Horton.”

  Horton’s smile faded with the mention of his name. His voice became more businesslike as he asked.

  “What’s in your hand?” Rodney pushed his luck as he held up his left hand. As he did he noted from the corner of his eye an admonishment in Lynette’s facial features at his seemingly careless attitude.

  “The other one smartarse!” Horton’s limited patience was emphasized by a slight, but curt motion of the barrel of the black heavy weapon. It had been moved away from Beth’s belly and was now held still and steady.

  Rodney was unsure as to how he might stall the situation. He hoped the pedestrians might disappear and add some backbone to his argument. He felt some security in the knowledge that Ben was close at hand and wished his older colleague could take over the talking, but he knew that as long as Horton was ignorant of Ben’s existence, then the trump card was at that moment in their hand.

  Lynette’s distressed expression had alerted Ben that the situation had suddenly become awkward. As the lift doors had opened, they’d revealed to him the bigger picture an inch at a time, until finally a clear view of Horton’s elbow.

  Ben had flattened his back hard against the outside wall of the lift bay as the lift doors had fully opened. He stood with his weapon trained along that same wall. The end of its barrel was just about flush with the point where Horton’s head would be if he stepped from the lift’s cube shaped room.

  Rodney informed Horton of his next move.

  “I’ll lower my hand and show you what it holds, will that do?” Horton nodded his acceptance of the proposal as he thumbed back the hammer of his weapon. It announced its destination with an audible click. With it came Rodney’s realization, that where his well-being had been dependent on an inch or two of distance, it now narrowed to a pound or two of trigger pressure.

  His eyes noted yet again the semi-automatics big bore, and knew that if it exploded in fire and flame he would be blown from arsehole to breakfast time. With great care he slowly straightened his elbow and allowed Horton full view of his hands contents.

  “Nice gun, but it’s a bit small isn’t it, Rodney?” Horton asked, with a tone that bordered on sour humour and malice, “Now are you going to get out of my way?”

  A slight tremble became evident in Rodney’s voice.

  “I can’t let you go. Even if I did, you’d not get past those outside. So how about you just put down your weapon and we can pull this up before it goes too far?”

  “No. That’s not going to happen, so back off now.”

  “Can’t do that Henry. How about you leave the two ladies in the lift while you step outside? Let them go back up in the lift. Then we can sort this out between ourselves?”

  Ben felt that Rodney was making headway with his suggestion of a trade. He would give it another few seconds to see which way Horton would go. Then let Horton know of his existence, and the fact that were two of them to get past.

  It seemed that Horton was now pausing to consider Rodney’s offer. It reinforced his decision to remain hidden, as he quietly prayed that the man would give up and they could all go home. Horton’s silence seemed to stretch, even in this time loop where everything seemed to be in slow mode. Ben could not help but notice his watch’s face. Its old and loose band had allowed it to turn to the inside of his wrist. Almost in direct line of sight as he viewed along the top of his cocked weapon.

  It seemed to him to be odd, that it had only been a minute since the lifts doors had opened. The fact that his gun arm had not yet begun to ache certainly substantiated the short time factor.

  Horton spoke.

  “It seems that you leave me only one choice.” Ben heard the words clearly, while wishing he could see the face of the man who issued the low toned menacing remark. He readied his mind to speak and let his existence be known, but was beaten to the crunch by Rodney who began a question.

  Ben took his eyes away from the sighted top of his weapon and looked towards Rodney’s face. In time to see his lips begin to form the word ‘what’, and then it seemed to be a second later that he actually heard the word. A split second later, his ears were assaulted by an explosion. In the enclosed area, the noise was magnified and it left him partially deafened, until an intense high pitched ringing invaded his brain.

  He held his post as his gut seemingly twisted to sickness. From the corner of his eye he saw Rodney lifted from the ground. Slowly, with his hands held out from his sides like that of the Saviour, he flew backwards until he hit and crashed open the office door which he’d earlier closed.

  Some screams issued forth from the occupants of the office as Rodney finally hit the floor. His once white shirt coloured by a bright red stain which exploded outwards from a point just below chest centre. Tears burnt Ben’s eyes as he tried to focus again on the sight line of his weapon. A rage built within him like none he’d felt before, and he trembled for the seconds it took for Horton to evacuate the lift.

  The ringing in his ears went on, until he felt that he would give anything to have free hands to massage the pain away.

  At last Horton’s closely shaved head came into view. For a short moment Ben saw sparkling intensity in the man’s eyes. It caused Ben’s brain to scream out for him to give way to his own vengeful need and gun the man down.

  Ben’s trigger finger, as if with a mind of its own strained at its own leash. It seemed to suck at his will until he nearly succumbed, but the need for complete satisfaction stayed his hand. He waited for Horton to notice his presence.

  Horton did not look surprised when he turned his face toward Ben. He could not bring his weapon to bear because of Beth, whose knees buckled under her and dragged his gun hand down.

  As he pushed her away from him, Ben could have waited for another second to see clearly his ultimate intention, but Horton’s fate was beyond him now. It was in the hands of someone whose existence Ben may have suspected, but up until this point in time had never known. It was this someone whose presence had been masked for a lifetime that pulled the trigger of his gun, and then watched as a small hole appeared in Horton’s forehead. Almost immediately a second hole appeared as Horton’s knees folded.

  Ben’s gun, as if by its own accord followed him down and he had to control himself so as to not keep punching bullets into the man. At last he raised the shaking weapon and sagged against the wall as if exhausted.

  He looked down at the lifeless Horton for some moments until suddenly he looked up. Almost as if he’d remembered something. He kicked Horton’s gun across the floor as he pushed himself away from the wall and walked like a drunken man across the narrow foyer floor.

  Tears rolled down Ben’s cheeks and his grief stricken hunch shouldered frame quaked as he tottered towards the doorway where Rodney lay.

  He called as he went, through a constricted throat his friend’s name. When he finally looked down upon the young man’s body, he knew with sadness that the only answer he would ever hear would be one recalled from memory
.

  *****

  A part of Ben’s inner ears still issued its form of protest. The unprovoked assault on its sensitivity gave it license to emit an unrelenting high pitched hum. It was not a sound in the real sense of the word. A sound is normally detected by an ear, whereas this noise was, it seemed, being generated by the ear itself and heard by him and him alone.

  He knew that sounds similar to these would undoubtedly be interfering with the thought patterns of both Booth and Cooper. He hoped their sounds would at least be a distraction from the related violence of Rodney’s end, rather than a reminder.

  Laura had learned the outcome of events, and had greeted him with tear laden eyes as he’d made his return to his office. She had tried her best to be supportive, but Ben had seen through her applied efforts at strength and quickly reversed their roles. Relying on the sedatives he’d been administered by the Departments medical examiner to achieve his aim.

  She’d expressed her grief in short sobs that had reverberated through to him. Until he’d disengaged the embrace and suggested she might like to go home early. At first she’d refused. As if it might suggest she was in some way deserting the team at crunch time, but relented when Ben pointed out that crunch time had already passed and he’d then, gently, ordered her to go.

  Now as he sat at his desk, he secretly wished he could give himself the same order, but the bold red digits which occupied his computer screen reminded him starkly his priorities. Ben cursed the web clock and its instigators for forcing him to prioritize his mourning for his comrade. He was also secretly thankful for it in a way. It allowed him to postpone coming to terms with the fact, that although he’d acted in self-defense with Horton, he’d had murder in his heart.

  A subject which, when finally confronted would bring into question his conscientious ability to act as a law enforcer. His report on the shooting would most certainly describe his actions as self-defense, but he knew in the back of his mind that he’d lost it and had stepped over the line.

  Horton had been the first person to die at Ben’s hands in a police career that spanned thirty-two years. In that time he’d most certainly shot people, but those occasions had been different because he’d felt some remorse after the event. Whereas with Horton he’d not only felt a lack of remorse, he’d felt something that bordered between exhilaration and satisfaction.

  It was a worrying thought, but he’d slotted it away into a private recess of his brain and tried to concentrate on the web clock. Its existence was a reality that could not be postponed to a time of his choosing.

  He sat and watched the web clock count down another minute, before deciding that it didn’t seem to be the right thing to do. Rodney’s time had come to an end and with it a reminder of his own mortality, which in itself was only a measure of time and certainly not time to be wasted.

  His thoughts were interrupted when he noticed a stain on the cuff of his shirt that appeared to be dried blood. He looked closer and discovered more of them. It registered in his brain then, that his gun hand had been less than half a metre from Horton’s head. In immediate range of the umbrella of pink mist that would have undoubtedly erupted as his bullets had impacted.

  Ben wiped his hand across his forehead and then looked closely at its palm. It occurred to him that there had probably been hundreds of tiny particles of skin, blood and bone in the umbrella, and much of it would have fallen upon him. The need to wash it away suddenly became overwhelming. He snatched up the overnight bag which held his fresh clothing as a brief glance at the web clock alerted him that he would have to hurry.

  In thirty-five minutes the bold red digits would become bold red zeros. The outcome of the countdown would then be made known to whole world. Everyone from the jungles to the deserts, from the icecaps to the open sea would make up the biggest audience that mass media had ever seen. Most of them secretly thankful they didn’t live in, or near one of the five affected cities.

  There would also be many amongst the audience who’d take great delight in seeing the West impacted upon.

  Either way, he thought as he walked hastily to the showers. The whole world is waiting.