by Brent Meske
Broken
(a tale out of Breaking Benjamin)
Copyright Brent Meske 2013
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“We can’t afford to take any chances with this one. He’s going to need a firm hand to guide him, if we’re going to take him into Killswitch.”
“Frankly, I don’t see another place for him.” Another man said, staring through the one-way glass.
“Aside from a hole in the ground,” said a third.
The first shook his head. “I’d like to resort to that option last of all and least of all, if we can. We’ve taken that liberty too much already, if you ask me.”
“Talbaine’s unpredictable and uncontrollable. I don’t need to remind you of the tapes from last month’s briefings. During those field exercises, how many did he tag?”
“Thirty.” The second man said. “And he broke a student’s leg after having been tagged.”
Jonathon Talbaine had his own part to play in what the officers called ‘Hell Night’ that rainy April evening. Everybody did, it seemed, but Talbaine’s part was the least known about and the least talked about, even among those running the Academy.
“We can’t just leave him for the bidding. We have no idea what type of reputation the Academy is going to get if he’s handed off to a Corporation.”
“You put him through Killswitch and he could end up running freelance.”
“I think that’s a chance we’re going to have to take.”
The third shook his head and looked back at the bloody mess inside the room.
“Who are we going to recommend to deal with him?”
“I say it’s Jennings’ problem. Let Jennings handle him.”
“Personally?”
The first man nodded.
***
William Jennings walked into the near-empty room and looked at Jonathon Talbaine, bound to the chair. The chair was bound to the wall. It wasn’t the first time they’d had a student here, nor even the first time Jonathon had sat there himself.
“It’s upsetting that you keep ending up in this chair Jonathon. I’ll have you know that the situation with Nick is being dealt with.”
Talbaine glared at him, chin on chest.
“Stop it with the pissed off teenager act, Jonathon, it’s not going to work. And don’t make me hit you. I don’t like doing it. I know you’re way past all of this crap. You’re going to have to buck up and become a man before you leave here, or the world is going to kill you and forget all about you.”
“I don’t care,” Talbaine whispered.
“Fuck your attitude. You know I’ve got almost twenty students who need to be in this chair? Need it way more than you. I don’t know what happened tonight, but this place is on lockdown right now.”
Talbaine just stared at him. Jennings shook his head.
“Tell me how I can help you, Jonathon. Because I want to help you. I do. If you don’t want my help, we can send you someplace where you can get it. But at least talk to me.”
“You mean kill me. Is that what’s going to happen if I don’t cooperate?”
Jennings shook his head and walked toward the door, scratching his close cropped black hair, already smattered with gray. It contrasted with the darkness of his skin.
“We’re not going to do anything like that, Jonathon. But if you keep this up, we’re going to put you though more schooling, you know that?”
Talbaine’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand.”
“I don’t care that your behavior’s erratic, Jon. I don’t care that you’ve beaten up and almost disabled four kids, and that’s just this year. But this school is supposed to send you into the corporate world, where you can make a good living.” He held the bridge of his nose and turned back toward Talbaine. “Do you think I can do that with you, Jon? If you were me…would you send yourself out into the corporate world?”
“Yes,” he said.
Jennings shook his head. “You’re lying to yourself then. And we both know what happens when you lie, right? We set up this agreement when you were fourteen, Jon. When are you going to keep it?”
Talbaine set his jaw. Jennings unclasped his belt and slipped it through the loops, pulling it all the way out in a smooth motion that spoke of frequent use.
“You don’t have to bring this side out in me, you know that Jon. I like it less than you do. I don’t think you need the heavy hand, but somehow you can’t seem to tell the truth. And that means everything you say is suspect.” He brought the belt down on Talbaine’s unprotected shoulders with a hard slap. He landed another on the teen’s broad neck, and another over his back and ribs. Jonathon, sixteen years old in body, took the beating like a man.
By the time Jennings finished with twenty lashes, he was more tired than his student. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dampened his armpits. He shook his head as he slipped the belt back into the loops.
“I think next time I’ll have something more painful on you, something that’ll draw blood instead of welts. Is that something you want?”
But Talbaine said nothing.
“I’m sending you on to another program, Jon. Once you’ve graduated they’ll take you in. And I won’t be in charge of it. I won’t be there to go lightly on you. Think about that.”
Jennings went to the door and paused.
“I want you to write two thousand words on the professional advantages and disadvantages of having you in the employ of a corporation over covert government work. I’m going to have one written also. We’ll compare notes.”
Talbaine looked at him.
“Due next week. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes sir,” Talbaine said, gritting his teeth.
***
Everyone else naturally assumed that someone from the Academy had visited Nick Tomlin and taken him away, along with his personal effects. By year six this was almost standard procedure for people failing out. Only three officers, William Jennings and Jonathon Talbaine knew the truth: Nick Tomlin had been on the wrong side of the mat during one of Talbaine’s Jujutsu classes.
Nick’s good grades enabled him to apply for perform sentry duty around the grounds. These occasions found him out near the edge of the compound, where it opened up into the forest.
Static came over the coms, along with burst of orders and requests for backup. The rain continued its steady roll over the school.
“Available units, send backup to year six dorm.” Or “Available personnel to the Parade Grounds,” and still others that were too garbled or overlaid to hear.
“Go,” Nick said to his partner, Jordan Wilkins. Jordan nodded without a word and headed off into the night.
“Hey Nick,” Talbaine’s voice drifted out of the darkness. Nick whirled, startled, when his com crackled.
“We have students fighting! Officers requested immediately at the Parade Field!” Other shouts erupted over the com, near the entrance where kids were trying to escape from the school, where one student had shot another with a newly discovered handgun, the list went on.
Talbaine pounced on Nick, dropping from the tree onto his back. The gun clattered away into the mud. Before he’d had a chance to react, Talbaine ripped the headset from his head and tore out the cord. He grabbed Nick’s spiky hair and shoved his face into the mud.
“Thanks for breaking my fall asshole.” Talbaine breathed. “Now, let’s see if you can figure out whether or not you’ll ever try to fight me again, eh?”
Twenty Years Later
“Can I be allowed to approach the benc
h, your honor?”
The judge started to roll her eyes but stopped herself. “Yes of course, Mr. Talbaine. Since you’ve waived the right to an attorney, you have the right to represent yourself. Come forward.”
The prosecutor started to stand but the judge raised her hand. He sat automatically.
Talbaine walked up, straightening his tie and running his fingers through short blonde hair.
“Your honor,” he started, and surprised her with a disarming smile.
“Mr. Talbaine,” she whispered, “this court is not in session to allow you to flirt with me. We have a case to decide. If you have something to say, say it.”
By now he knew the laws. He knew most of anything that had to do with the job, and operating in the shadows as a solo operator. The way to judges: through their hearts. Trouble was most judges had walls up, feet thick and titanium.
“I have a piece of evidence that might interest you concerning your profession.”
“And?” she asked.
“I know you’re in trouble. And I have the photographs to prove it.”
She blinked at him in obvious surprise.
“I know, not many people know it. But you’re going to be blackmailed until they decide to expose you or you run out of what they want. This is where our professions might be able to help each other.”
Her mouth worked open and closed.
“Call a recess. We can hash this out if you like…” He smiled. “Or you can throw me behind bars, and get rid of your only chance to wipe these problems away.”
“We’ll just talk things over,” she whispered. “I’m not agreeing to anything else.”
“You will, but not right now,” he smiled again and headed back to the bench. The prosecuting attorney stared at them.
***
The judge, her name was Allison Goddard, looked around the restaurant. She carried that obvious lack of training that all civilians seem to: the need to turn the head instead of the eyes, the uncaring manner in which they sit facing away from doors, how they walk as if they haven’t run in years and wouldn’t remember how.
He was lucky, really. He had posted his own bail, and convinced another judge he wasn’t a flight risk. All they’d done was tag him with a cybernetic signal emitter, and he could be allowed most places in the city. This wonderful little device meant that he could move almost freely, and converse with everyone who wasn’t carrying an emitter, like Allison Goddard.
Talbaine put a small disk-shaped object on the table and smiled, covering it with a napkin before anyone else saw.
“That guy emits an imperceptible white noise that allows us to converse without worrying about microphones. So unless they think you’re important enough to have more than one camera on you and find someone to read both our lips, we’re completely safe.”
She smiled at his smile and his confidence.
“I told you, I have my profession. All I’d need from you is a little help with my insignificant little legal issues…” he trailed off and let the implication hang in the air.
“No wonder you waived off the right to a jury,” she said, looking shocked. “Mr. Talbaine, you’re accused of some pretty serious crimes. If the evidence tells a complete story-” But he cut her off.
“It won’t help for you to know that I’ve done far worse,” he said, chuckling. “But I’ll tell you anyway. Allison…can I call you Allison? Your problems are going to stick around after you’ve dealt with me. Me? I won’t bother this city ever, ever again, you have my word on that. I’ll never take a contract in the whole state if you want.”
“You’re an independent operator aren’t you?” she hissed.
“You could say that…I used to work corporate. I’ve been independent for a few years.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t like my boss. He was a prick. I’ll tell you what, Allison. I haven’t told a lie in twenty years, whether you’ll believe it or not. I’m going to break that promise to myself in court tomorrow, and it’s going to hurt, and you don’t know what I’m going to have to do in order to get my conscience clean. But, if you ask me any question now, you’re going to get the absolute truth. You can ask anything.”
She grinned at the situation. It was absurd! That she could believe this man wouldn’t lie was utterly preposterous, to say the least.
“What were your parents’ names?” she asked first, testing the waters.
“I was orphaned by Susan Talbaine thirty-five years and nine months ago. Have never looked for my father. I was brought up in an orphanage until age ten and accepted by an independent private academy in its first operational year. It specialized in educating kids to do what it is I do. My training for the world of corporate espionage began age ten and ended at age twenty four.”
“You were at this academy the whole time?”
“Oh no,” he grinned. “We graduated after year eight. I was sent off with a few of the graduates into a program known as Killswitch. You can imagine.”
She smiled and looked sideways, thinking up another question. Their food came.
“So, if I were to look up Susan Talbaine what would I find?”
“I honestly couldn’t tell you,” he said. “I never kept up. The Headmaster at the academy was like my father in many respects. It only seemed to me that if my mother wanted to give me up, then she didn’t want to have anything to do with me.”
“You poor thing,” she said, but he only shrugged.
“I get by. Next question, or have I convinced you yet?”
“Umm, hold on. Did you do what you’re on trial for? Did you kill that girl?”
He sighed. “There’s an argument to be made for and against. I did rig the husband’s thermos to leak gas at a certain time. Once unconscious I would have remote computer control over the vehicle and crash it off the bridge and into the river. She was in the car when it happened as well, unknown to me. So her death was accidental, unintentional.”
“But you were supposed to murder the husband?”
Talbaine’s mouth twitched. “I…killed the husband. His breathing stopped at the hospital.”
Allison Goddard put her hand over her mouth. “He was already paralyzed from the neck down.”
“According to my dossier he was not only involved in the creation of experimental chemical weapons, he tested them on runaways and the homeless. If that makes you feel better.”
“Only somewhat.”
“And I’m well aware that corporate law takes precedence over national law, in the case of a corporate employee. The Nakizumi Corporation has decided to waive charges, which ought to tell you something.” He stared into her eyes a moment before going on. “Regardless of what comes of this meeting, if anything, just know that you’re not alone. Blackmailers always want you to think that they have the world on their side, and you’re alone. You’re not. If you’ll have me, I’ll stand with you.”
And like that, he had her.
***
He started telling his lies in court the next day, and showed up at a different hotel room every day for the next week. When he went to these dirty boxes with the barest of living essentials, Allison Goddard was there.
He showed up at the Days Inn the day after their dinner and knocked. She let him in without hesitation.
“So what can you tell me?” he asked, putting a small digital voice recorder on the room’s round table. She heaved a big sigh, as if gathering all the pain, and started talking.
“I had a husband, an affair, and a husband’s gambling problem,” she began. “Now I’m a widow with a hand me down debt, and a lover who’s scared of the debt collectors.” She shook her head. “Jonathon, I’ve been agonizing over this for weeks. I’m so glad I have someone to tell.”
“First, before we go any further, I just need you to tell me what’ll happen if I am able to find a solution for your problem.” He pointed to the recorder.
“Oh, well, if you do, I’ll find you not guilty of murder. But, what ab
out the recording? You could blackmail me with this you know.”
He nodded. “Which is why you will keep it. Since you’ve shown me a token of your trust, I’ll show you mine.” Were she to destroy the only copy, she could sentence him to death without a fight. She might destroy it, but she’d never expose it. Her voice was plainly recognizable on the recording, talking about her infidelities, and her intentions regarding an independent operative.
She nodded, thinking about the possibilities.
“So, tell me more,” he said. “Tell me everything.”
And she did.
***
Steven Goddard worked as a technology developer, and had created some of the most effective online threat detection systems out there. These things detected system hackers and sent intrusion countermeasures after them. So, with hackers plugged consciously into the International Communications Matrix, or ICM, countermeasures could be fatal. Which made Steven a party to murder, if you thought along those lines. This also made Steven very rich. Rich enough, anyhow, that he had plenty of money to spend on every vice one might think of. He also had enough assurance that his next checks would come that he sometimes overspent.
His work and habits left Allison Goddard in need of companionship. To that end she discovered a man with time on his hands and fewer obligations. Because what she needed was to be the time on someone’s hands, or one of their obligations.
His name was Joren Kirkenwald, and he spoke with an accent that gave Allison shivers. And she had no idea just how he made his living, but that only added to his sexiness. Plus, he fit into black leather pants and made them look good, which only distracted Allison away from the unimportant questions, like who was this guy?
Such things didn’t matter. Hiding their affair from her husband did. The man was worth over twenty million on paper, and she shared in that so long as nothing untoward happened, like her husband happened home while she was bent over their several thousand-dollar pool table. She knew he made art though, and had toured his painfully tiny loft apartment, seduced onto every piece of furniture.
***
“We’re going to have a talk with Joren,” Talbaine murmured, rubbing his chin.
Allison smiled at him. She liked him already.
“So he was good in bed, and made art, and was foreign. He’s probably in amazing physical shape too, right?”
