The Ruling Impulses

by Francesco Portone

  «You mean...», Charlie stopped, completely stunned.

  «I mean those scoundrels can't have a secret list of people with health problems for nothing.»

  «And it can't even be a coincidence that almost all the people in Numbered District have health problems!», Charlie stated.

  «Yeah, damn it. How is it possible that I never got a sense of what was happening?»

  William stood up, regretting he did not notice such a serious matter before, and he vented his frustration on the window. Charlie tried to exonerate him, explaining that not everyone used to air his health problems and it wasn't easy to find a common thread.

  «The deportations, Charlie. The deportations were planned years ago, you understand? They gathered problem people in one place and why else, if not to study them, to treat them like guinea pigs? At the time they spread rumors and nonsense to keep us quiet, but their goal has always been to make us die like rats.»

  «Bastards!», Charlie shouted. «They won't get away with it.»

  «They're controlling everything, there's no other explanation. Maybe I'm becoming a problem, that's why they falsely accused me. Minneman is the devil's forge! They must have paid off everyone.»

  «Or maybe they do the dirty work for Militia, both assumptions are likely correct», Charlie reasoned. «Think about it, Bill: that garbage they make you swallow might contain something that makes you traceable... or maybe it pretends to help you and works for keeping you quiet, instead.»

  «Hmm, I don't know. I don't rule it out. I tried not to use Sefinol sometimes, but my head hurts too much. Until I know more, I can't stop taking it.»

  The two confronted each other for several minutes. The discovery turned out to be chilling: a plan designed to implement a form of mass control, the purpose of which appeared obscure. Among the most plausible, William and Charlie came to the conclusion that it must be a covert experiment. Numbered District: a large concentration camp with invisible barriers, whose unsuspecting inhabitants were subjected to medical treatments like guinea pigs. Viruses created in a laboratory? Genetic alterations? High toxicity drugs? All options were open.

  And with regards to the accusations of sabotage, theft of confidential information and fraud made against William: how did they fit that context? It was likely that the events were somehow connected, within a much larger and more complex mechanism.

  Whatever the reasons behind that probable conspiracy, the two friends agreed that it was necessary to suspend the investigation for a while. Charlie was exhausted from nervous tension, even more than William. It was also dinner time, although neither of them would be hungry after such a discovery. In any case, they wrote down some ideas about how to proceed, before saying goodbye. There was still time, they had to ponder their next moves and avoid hasty decisions.

  In greeting him, William gave Charlie a grateful hug. He knew he could always count on his longtime friend. They both appeared a bit more serene, once they uncovered the plans of their common enemy: the system. They were aware that it was still preferable to know who or what to deal with, rather than going in blind.

  And as his grueling day neared its end, William found himself with a renewed enthusiasm, yet too much in the grip of euphoria to notice that Charlie had left his computer on the table and it had become the object of some kind of demonic possession, starting to report to remote and ruthless antagonists all the activities they had carried out in the last hours.

  Chapter IX

  She hadn't been going to work for several days, justifying herself by stating that she needed to take a break. She was the boss and could do what she wanted, yet she was aware that she had to respect her colleagues and could not take time off work without a warning. She spent many hours lounging around, sleeping until late in the morning and staying in her nightgown until lunch time. She did at least one hour of channel surfing a day, flipping through hundreds of thematic pay TV channels. In particular, the macaques documentaries were able to tickle her interest, in second place those on the building boom and on home automation. In the breaks between lazy moments, she flipped through fashion or gossip magazines. It was crucial that it was just trivialities, any activities that required the fewest synapses would be just perfect.

  The goal Lucinda Merritt set for herself was clear: she wanted to withdraw from the world as long as possible, or at least until that dyspnea that took her breath away and that feeling of not being at ease anywhere persisted. She did not want to go out for a walk or even cook. The only exception was mealtimes, to get some instant food. Whether or not it was correct, the approach she chose to deal with that state of mind was the only one which could give her some relief. The alternative was to hit the bottle, but fortunately she did not feel like she had sunk that low yet, so, until then, it could be enough to let off steam by emptying the packet of cigarettes.

  From time to time her colleagues sent her some message to update her about the latest news, or just to say hello, hoping she was fine and could come back soon. Most of the time Lucinda didn't even open them, letting them accumulate in her mail box. She feared that the content might somehow bring her back to real life, which she still did not like to do. She read advertisements, instead, although she had no actual interest in purchasing anything.

  She relaxed by brushing her hair, she was pleased she had no white hair. She cherished herself and considered herself attractive, though she felt no impulse to prove herself to anyone every day and preferred to keep a low profile. Taking care of the house, on the other hand, was something she did reluctantly. It was precisely that neglect that gave her the push she needed to take up her life again. It was too many days that she had left food scraps over the table, food boxes around the house and half-empty glasses in the strangest places. The whole house began to smell badly and not only because of the greasy, sticky cheap meals she had scattered everywhere: even some clothes lying on chairs and furniture did not give off a pleasant fragrance. She felt a certain shame for the way she was living, so she decided it was time to turn the page. She set a rigid schedule:

  Wake up at 7.00 am

  Half an hour of jogging before breakfast

  Breakfast with milk and cereals, no chocolate

  Shower and housekeeping

  Analysis of the reports from blades on mission

  Update on the latest news at work

  Homemade lunch with healthy food

  Reading break

  Work

  Break with herbal tea

  Work

  Evening refreshing walk with a theme of her choice

  The purpose was to go on like that until she would feel ready and toned up again to get back to office work. She expected to solve that issue in a week or two, but she did not set time limits: it would be all clear at the right moment.

  She could not allow William to affect her balance and serenity. As much as she cared for him and how many times she had tried to reconnect, she had a life to live. Her life had to go on regardless of William Deveux. She did not feel the urge to date other men, the priority was to restore an inner peace she knew she had long lost. However, if a crush happened - but the real one, the one that makes you see all things in a new perspective – she would not pull back.

  Things at work seemed to be going well, considered the content of the messages she received. Zephra Thomas, Janine Meltzer and the others seemed to be in a good mood and willing to joke. How much she needed something to raise her spirits! She couldn't even remember the last time she had laughed out loud.

  That slight sense of positivity which was increasing with the passing of the days induced her to take an unexpected decision: she would accept Zakhar Sarkov's request. That thing essentially intrigued and frightened her at the same time. It was well known that Sarkov was no saint. Perhaps on another occasion she would have been much more reluctant, but in that circumstance - given the price Sarkov was willing to pay, given the rough weeks she had faced and considered the way the Eastern magnate had courted her - that pro
posal excited her. That strange excitement that comes from the awareness of a potential danger situation.

  Lucinda asked Janine Meltzer if there was still a chance to finalize the contract with Sarkov. Janine was astonished, both for the pleasure of hearing from her after that long pause, and for her decision to give in to Sarkov's lure. Lucinda made it clear that her interest was exclusively aimed at concluding a good deal for the agency.

  At the end of the phone call with Janine Meltzer, Zakhar Sarkov congratulated Lucinda's assistant for her warm and charming voice. Before dismissing her, he demanded to be reassured that Lucinda knew that, for the pleasure of working with her, he had postponed his commitments in Western Europe.

  Georgian, of Russian origins, he looked younger than his fifty-seven years. Medium height and a thin body, short hair and a even shorter white beard, divorced father of two sons, Zakhar Sarkov was a multifaceted entrepreneur with plenty of interests, with ramifications in politics, speculative finance, up to high-profile organized crime. A very educated man, he was smart and had the ability of remaining calm, never sounding too arrogant or, on the contrary, too mellifluous. He got people's respect without ever being aggressive or threatening. He knew how to carefully measure the spontaneity of his utterances so as to appear assertive and never naive. He devoted part of his time and resources to charitable activities, with particular attention to the war orphans of South-East Asia, to whom he provided a house, food and a family that could take care of them. He always made sure that people became aware of his humanitarian deeds, but with discretion, letting them know just enough, without turning it into a media circus.

  Nikolai, his eldest son, as an adult, had traveled to Moscow to join the Grand Circle of Balalaika, the special army unit of the New Holy Kingdom of Russia. Rebellious spirit, in open conflict with his father, he wanted to show him he could become someone without living in the shadow of the cumbersome parent. What Nikolai did not know was that it was thanks to his father's help that he was accepted into the elite of the Russian armed forces and that, through his ability to negotiate, he had the chance to shine and have a brilliant career. Precisely thanks to the one from whom he had tried so many times to get away, not accepting his hegemony in managing his and his family's future. Something that had already led his mother Ana - who was originally from a town near Tbilisi, in the old Republic of Georgia – to flee from his father. The woman, despite being a fairly successful lawyer, was not able to obtain custody of her children: she was the victim of a devilish pact which allowed her, on the one hand, to preserve physical safety - something that those who stood in the way of Zakhar Sarkov could never take for granted - and on the other to maintain a more than decent standard of living.

  Ana Ketashvili had deluded herself that she could tame a predator like Zakhar Sarkov. She had been fascinated by his confidence, by the determination with which he faced things, as if they were his last deeds on Planet Earth. The two had liked each other instantly. They had met in the context of a biological damage compensation case. Khristofor Dzagoev, one of the employees of a factory that produced glue and resins, being part of Sarkov's empire, had promoted a class action against the Georgian magnate, attributing the serious respiratory problems by which he and some colleagues were afflicted, to the use of harmful substances during the manufacturing process. Actually, Sarkov did not care about every aspect related to the production process of his own companies, leaving control to trusted people. To cut it short, he was not always aware of any damage caused to third parties, nor did he care much about it. His mind was mainly focused on making the most of the quality time he had, and taking care of the well-being of his family.

  Ana Ketashvili was aware that getting a conviction against Sarkov would be difficult, that's why, apart from the press statements she had made, her strategy was directed to obtain a large compensation. Also induce the entrepreneur to take measures to improve safety in the workplace of his companies, but that was an ulterior motive: the main aim was to raise a lot of hell and make him much less appealing to the media, so to force Zakhar Sarkov to be more agreeable during the negotiation phase.

  «Do you realize», Ana Ketashvili had pointed out, during the third meeting of the plea bargaining phase, bypassing the defense lawyer and addressing the magnate directly, «that we have a moral duty to impose a compensation of no less than ten million credits?» Sarkov, without taking his eyes off of her for a second, had replied with a lapidary and unexpected I absolutely agree, surprising everyone and in particular Martin Kirilenko, his family's trusted lawyer. Ana Ketashvili had ironically asked him to spell out what he had just said, astonished by that interesting turn of events. Not satisfied yet, Zakhar Sarkov had clarified that they would have to define the details of the matter in a private meeting, perhaps over a cup of coffee, silencing Martin Kirilenko's attempts to settle the dispute in the context of a proper defensive strategy.

  Everything happened with great spontaneity: they found themselves discussing wines, exotic places, art, as if the legal dispute had never existed. Ana Ketashvili at first was convinced that the interest that Zakhar Sarkov expressed towards her was of a professional nature, aimed at obtaining a discount on the compensation to be paid. And that certainly did not shock her, it was part of the rules of the game. It was only later that she understood the reasons that led Sarkov to give her all that attention. The Georgian tycoon made no attempt at corruption, nor did he make her any offer about joining his legal staff. He was keen to show her his intentions were genuine and he was not trying to get a more favorable treatment.

  In the years following their marriage, their relationship cracked. Sarkov did not escape his duties, yet his possessiveness ended up suffocating his wife, a brilliant woman with a strong personality. It was not Zakhar Sarkov's custom to threat or resort to violence if - from his point of view - they were not inevitable, however he considered relatives and collaborators as “his stuff”, so it was he who decided for them, what they should do and what behavior they should have. He rarely spoke, but his every utterance sounded like a sentence, without appeal.

  Sasha was his joy. His second son who had come after so many years, whose tenderness gave him every day one more reason to go on and another to look back at his life and strive to become a man his child could be proud of. If he had ever taken such a decision, he would have done it only for him, to give him some semblance of a normal life. Of a normal family. Many times he had entrusted Nikolai to look after his younger brother and that clear preference for the youngest one convinced even more his firstborn to distance himself from his father. Zakhar Sarkov urged Sasha to engage in studies, to respect others and to demand absolute respect; to be firm in his decisions and not to be afraid of making mistakes; above all, never to appear weak in the eyes of others. He aspired to make him a better man than he was. Obviously, according to his principles.

  Lucinda Merritt rolled her eyes when she saw the private car Zakhar Sarkov used to pick her up at the agency. It was not clear to her why Sarkov was so keen to impress her. Besides, she was sure she had behaved blamelessly and certainly had not given rise to misunderstandings. Was he crazy about her? It seemed likely, nevertheless his conduct was nothing short of inappropriate.

  Lucinda chose elegant but formal and professional clothing, a kind of a company uniform which made her look a bit like a hostess. In no way did she want to play the role of the sacrificial lamb. Sarkov, on the other hand, wore kind of a ceremonial dress, of excellent workmanship, and a tie that, at a guess, had to cost three or four hundred credits.

  The tycoon left the car and went to meet her with determination. Lucinda Merritt smiled faintly and held out her hand. Zakhar Sarkov gently took it and put it to his lips. He stopped halfway, looked up at Lucinda and asked her if those old-fashioned gestures embarrassed her. She tried to digress, making a joke that however came out bad. They sat in the limousine and Sarkov offered her two hundred and fifty credits champagne.

  Throughout the journey that separated
them from the Leroux Palace, Lucinda Merritt tried to take on a polite yet a bit annoying attitude, not supporting the conversation and showing little interest for some topics Zakhar Sarkov had clearly tried to introduce to be more appealing to her. The magnate casually took the blows and then tried to shift the focus to other matters and be more professional, informing her of the excellent references he had received about her and her agency. Lucinda stayed humble and replied that she was just pleased to do her job well and that people appreciated.

  The Leroux Palace stood on the ashes of an old shopping center. It was an ultramodern complex that benefited from the most advanced technologies and was frequently chosen for high-profile conventions. That was thanks to the comforts that managers and entrepreneurs could find there to satisfy any whim. Zakhar Sarkov was a real regular there. He had a suite booked all year and he only had to snap his fingers to get what he wanted. They entered the building with him leading the way, and her to follow, as prescribed by the etiquette. The entrance had a large panoramic window that made the lighting stand out. They were greeted with extreme diligence by the concierge, who did not fail to bow and scrape as he saw Sarkov coming, pointing out how rejuvenated he looked compared to the previous visit. Zakhar Sarkov did not care about him and scanned the environment from right to left, making gestures that attracted immediate attention from the facility's staff. Someone hurried to collect the luggage, others the overcoats, and the last one - a short and stocky guy – showed Lucinda a private room where refreshments were already available. Zakhar Sarkov made sure the other participants in the meeting had already arrived, then joined Lucinda. He found her eating a pastry with a certain greed and gave her a laugh. Lucinda smiled, but without meeting his eyes. Sarkov then had some Scotch and laid down on an armchair. Lucinda noticed that the glass was almost full and - always a little surly – asked him if it was a good idea to get drunk before a business meeting. Zakhar Sarkov did not reply, keeping on staring at his drink with satisfaction. Lucinda then leaned back in her armchair and chose a comfortable position - with her legs slightly curled up - to relax for a few moments with her eyes closed. She thought it was a good strategy for not having to make conversation. Sarkov took advantage of the fact that she was not awake, to inspect her beauty. He then laid his eyes on the weapon hooked to the left of her belt and, also because of the blood alcohol level, he let out a quite childish Bang! Bang! Lucinda slightly opened her eyes and put her hand to the laser gun, warning him that if she used it, it would hurt a lot. Sarkov moaned for pleasure, like in the throes of sexual excitement.