The Master Key

by T. K. Toppin

  John had tuned out as Adam babbled about not wanting it anymore and the fact he’d no idea. That he’d never been privy to all the secrets that made up the Lancaster regime. John had rounded on him, accusing Adam he’d lied, that he’d always coveted such knowledge and secrets. Adam admitted it might’ve been so once, but not anymore.

  His unchecked rage still bubbled under his skin. Frustrated, John had to press his hands and head against the cool wall to regain some control.

  Josie hadn’t moved or made a sound. John imagined how hard it must be for her to remain silent. He’d noted her expression. The look of betrayal she sent Adam. That he may have known all this time what the business with the code had been about. A harsh reality, one John had hoped to spare Josie from. But she needed to see it. Feel it. How else could she ever learn? Some of his anger dissipated, and he wanted to reach out and comfort his wife.

  But John recalled Adam’s reactions. Adam was horrified. He’d seen that look before, over the years; it was genuine. Adam didn’t know. Yes, Max could’ve forced Adam to kill Father to gain access to his portion of the code, but then why not know about it and acquire it while killing Father?

  Simon had taken the ring and immediately disappeared with it. The anticipation of waiting, of finding out if it contained the code, was tortuous. Adam seemed ready to die on the spot, holding his chest as if in pain. John, his temper under control again, leaned against the wall. Josie went to Adam, concern marking her face.

  “Sit down, Adam.” She didn’t touch him but kept her tone brisk and matronly. He nodded and slumped into a chair. “Try to breathe normally. Can I get you anything?”

  Adam shook his head, tired and ashen. “I’ll do.”

  “It was Father’s idea to have three people hold the codes.” John knew he sounded nasal, strained; evidence he’d been holding his breath and bearing down. That usually helped manage his rage. “As insurance in case something happened. No single person ever knew what the other had, but each person that held their part of the code needed a second, a person they trusted to take over should something happen to them. I was Father’s second. Each of the codes can be anything, a symbol or a series of numbers, and, entered in the right sequence, it made a whole. The master code. When they were first created and installed, the persons who held them entered the codes individually into the mainframe computer and the sequence was locked in. To change the sequence or the codes, you have to re-enter the codes in the same order to access them. After Father died, we changed the codes and chose new seconds to ensure security. Did you know this, Adam?”

  “I keep telling you, I did not know. I still do not know.”

  “He’s telling you the truth, John. Can’t you see that?” Josie rounded on him, a dangerous glint in her eyes.

  John cut her a stare, hoping it was searing, to say ‘butt out.’ She scowled in return. “It is impossible,” he paced his words, “that one person has the complete master code. Each of us does not even know what the other has. Only our seconds know what our share of the code is.”

  “So you keep saying,” Josie pressed on, hands on her hips. “But it’s obvious Ho thinks someone has. And until he comes on through that thing,” she pointed to the hologram transmitter, “we don’t know for sure if that’s even the code he’s after.”

  “You can be certain it is.” Adam’s voice shook. “It’s a big enough reason for him to risk exposing himself, to risk being involved. If anything, Ho is a careful man, but he has great designs—big expectations.”

  “But you don’t know for sure,” Josie insisted. “The code could be anything.” She glared at Adam. “And what’s this thing he’s going on about Korea?” She spun back to John. “What if this has nothing to do with Max? What if it’s all about Ho and something he’s been planning?”

  Simon returned to find the three people he’d left squaring off and glaring at each other. He shook his head with something close to relief, which made John’s shoulders relax.

  “Nothing there but dirt and grime.” Simon tossed the ring back to Adam. “You should clean it more.”

  Catching it with a fumble, Adam stared at it for a while. “There was nothing?”

  Ignoring Adam, Simon tugged John’s arm. “We should still change the sequence,” he whispered.

  John watched as Josie squinted at them in suspicion. “My thoughts exactly.” He rubbed his left hip, an injury caused by Max during the siege; it still bothered him now and again, more so when he was upset.

  “I’ll set it up. We’ve time before Ho’s drops in.”

  “Do it,” John replied.

  “You’re going to change the codes, aren’t you?” Josie folded her arms across her chest and pushed out a hip; one foot tapped the floor. “And give him the old code. Don’t you think he’ll know you’ve changed them? He’s not an idiot.”

  “I don’t care what he is.” John stared at her. “He’s not getting anything of ours.”

  Striding toward the door to follow Simon, John stopped and glanced at Josie again. He’d been too harsh with her. He held her eyes with his. “When Ho comes, entertain him for me, won’t you? Show him some of your rare charm.” And with a smile spawned by pure mischief, John disappeared through the door.

  * * *

  Adam and I sat in silence for about three minutes. I decided to broach a subject I’d skirted around for a long time. But it wasn’t as if we were going to talk about the weather or share a recipe for chocolate chip cookies. With a deep bracing breath, I opened my mouth to speak. Then found I didn’t know how to start.

  Adam glanced up. He’d been sitting with his head lowered for some time, a typical Lancaster pose. He’d not bothered to put the ring back on. Instead, he gazed at it as he turned it around with his fingers. He inspected it like a jeweler, absorbing the detailed work of the gothic dragon with its gaping mouth and its talons clutching a round black ball of onyx. The body of the dragon twirled and circled to form the hollow of the ring.

  There’d been a time when the sight of that ring, and what those fingers did, froze my heart like stabs of icicles. Adam had a strange habit of tapping his fingers in an odd rhythm. A rhythm I’d remembered seeing and hearing when I had lived with Lorcan. It was that drumming that had forced me to expose Adam for what he really was. It was also hard to forget it was just eight months ago when we learned the truth about him.

  “You want to know why?” His voice low, Adam emphasized once again that strange Lancaster trait of reading minds.

  I shrugged. “You said the reason was because you wanted to take over from your father.”

  “Yes, that was it, for a time. And of course, Max had threatened to expose me and tell the world of my connection to him and all his intentions. I was scared, of course. But you know all that already.” Adam nodded, more to himself. “John is right. I did plan it—right down to how I was going to get away with it. I’m a dangerous man—evil. My chicanery knows no levels. You should be careful.”

  “If you were truly evil, then you wouldn’t feel any remorse. And I’d be already dead. You’ve had many chances and ample time to see to that—if that’s what you wanted.”

  He laughed. “Point taken. Is that why, when I injected Father, I cradled him until he died? Of course, by then, I could not undo it. It was too late. Did you know he nodded to me, as if in understanding? He knew what I was capable of. How could a father not know his own son? He knew my weaknesses better than I knew myself. And he always knew John was the stronger son, the good son.”

  Adam paused, staring off to remember before continuing. “I think he knew, that day, what my intentions were. In a way, he offered himself to me. He could’ve stopped me at any time, struck me down with a single blow. That man was strong. But he did not resist. He did struggle, but I think that was just reflex. I’ve played it over in my head so many times and wondered if I could have stopped myself in time. I also see Father gave me openings—chances—to stop, but I never took them. Yes, he knew, and he was ready to die
. He’d already done his calculations and knew John would take over. John would fix what he could not, and the only way to make that happen was to die. Better to die by the enemy you know, right?”

  I didn’t know what to say. What could I say in return? “You think if he didn’t understand, didn’t know, you’d feel the same way?”

  “I’d feel worse, if that were at all possible. At least he knew it was coming.” Adam laughed again, a hollow sound.

  It was so like him to say something like that, to separate death into little compartments. After all, in his eyes, to die like a warrior, standing on your own two feet facing the enemy, was far better than cowering in a corner while death fell atop you.

  “Listen to me—to us—speaking of murder as if it were an everyday topic of conversation. And me trying to justify my feelings like an excuse. I’m a murderer, nothing more.” Adam shifted in his chair, discomfort twisting his features.

  It wasn’t often, but there were times, like now, when his guard dropped and I saw the real Adam exposed. He seemed a little scared, like he’d seen his true self, a mere glimpse. And what he saw, a murderer, frightened him.

  I’d killed too, and I’d do it again without hesitation. I wasn’t proud of it; it had been necessary. Was it that different? Not really. I’d killed to protect myself, to protect John. According to the code the Lancasters and everyone in this future seemed to live by, to take a life to protect another was quite acceptable, just like facing your death like a warrior was. It was a modernized version of the old Japanese Bushido code, the way of the warrior—bodies to deflect the negative by using combat, minds to see with clarity and, above all, honor to keep things in balance. Another code. The world seemed full of them now.

  “Why?” he said again, as if answering my unasked question. “Because I wanted to. I felt empowered by it—the physical, actual doing of it. For all my life, I was helpless and at the mercy of my sicknesses. But this one time, I was in complete control. And I liked it. I felt invincible.”

  With an audible gulp, I stared at him. “And…now?”

  “Now? You need not be afraid of me. Now, I’m just a fool. A murdering, sick fool.”

  As if the words exhausted him to say, he slumped in his chair and fell silent. He slipped the ring on his finger and continued to stare at it.

  He looked like a man who was truly his own prisoner. He had no need for bars or restraints; they were already in place within his own mind. I felt sorry for him without quite understanding why. No, not sorry. Pity.

  A metallic ping sounded. Michael Ho had announced his arrival.

  I stood and made ready to entertain him like a good wife and hostess. Standing before the transceiver, I tapped the icon to accept the call.

  Michael Ho seemed agitated. Upset and angry were too harsh to describe his controlled manner. Like an actor on stage, he struggled to achieve the right level of emotion to please the director, the audience. A slight sheen misted over his brow to suggest something bothered him, but the gleam in his eye told me he’d like nothing better than to pounce on me and kill me with his bare hands.

  I gave him my widest smile, exaggerated enough to know my teeth, right back to the molars. “Ho-ho-ho,” I called out. That just had to come out.

  Ho inclined his head in that oily feign of politeness. “Josie, I am so pleased to see you once more. I see you are well. The images of you in the media do not do you any justice.”

  “I’ve gained weight too, since the last time we met. Not a bag of bones like before—so I’m told.” I shrugged. “I’m here to keep your company for a moment. Everyone’s just too busy that they’ve no time for you, I’m sorry to say. You’ll forgive me if I’m a bit abrupt, but they don’t let me socialize much. But we’re all old friends here, so we’re cool, right?”

  “I am sure the stories they have made up about you have them busy. How clever of you. Congratulations are in order. My efforts to discredit you will now look like I’m on the proverbial bandwagon.”

  Though he smiled with charm, I noted the tightness around his mouth. I couldn’t help but feel a little chuffed at upstaging him.

  “Thank you. But I’ve no idea what you’re on about. I thought maybe you might’ve gotten impatient and sent that stuff about me to the media after all. No? Wasn’t you? Oh, well…someone else, then.”

  We regarded each other for a moment. I grew aware of Adam, who watched. I glanced at him. He seemed overly mesmerized by me and my interaction with Ho. It was a new look I hadn’t seen before. Adam smiled back like a star-struck teenager.

  “Margeaux would like to meet you before she dies.” Ho brought my attention back to him.

  “Who?” I blinked. “Oh, you mean my niece? Sorry, I don’t think you’ll harm her. You do want that code, don’t you?”

  Ho chuckled, his control returned. “I am sure you are changing the codes already. How you managed to organize it so quickly amazes me. But you will stop and hand it over regardless.”

  “Exactly what code are we talking about? There are just hundreds of codes you could mean. Unless we know exactly which one it is…” I spread my arms with dramatic flair. “For all we know, you could be asking for the codes to unlock the shit-tanks in the recycler vats.”

  Adam clicked his tongue and I heard him groan.

  With a tight-lipped smile, Ho cast his eyes to the floor. He seemed to be considering something for a moment, then took a breath and sighed. Extending a hand, he beckoned someone from his right.

  A young girl, reed-thin and with a lanky awkwardness, walked into view.

  I cocked my head, eyes widening to take in this new person. My breath froze in my chest.

  Fucking hell!

  The girl appeared no older than thirteen or fourteen, and still bore the delicate softness of childhood stamped across her small, compact face. Her hair was a rich mane of black hair that matched the thick, highly arched eyebrows. Her smooth forehead was round and shiny, like porcelain. Her eyes, a sort of glassy hazel-green, were wide and large. The small but generous mouth, full and pouting, parted like a young child’s to reveal the tips of her teeth.

  Her manner was timid, fearful, but otherwise she exuded a certain braveness. Composed was the word that came to mind. Like a ballerina, primped and preened, awaiting the performance of her life with a calm sureness. She wore a severe, short-sleeved, knee-length black dress with a sailor collar in white trim; the kind only young girls seem conditioned to wear. On her legs, stockings in a brilliant white, and neat black shoes. She stood with her hands clasped before her, primed and ready, it would seem.

  But what shocked me more, what sucker-punched me, was how close in resemblance this girl was to me. It was unnerving. From beside me, Adam drew in a sharp breath. Though this girl had black hair, different colored eyes, a pinch of mixed-race features, and was shorter and much younger, I might as well have been looking at myself a dozen years ago.

  “Hello, Aunt Josie,” Margeaux said, a little breathless—excited, awed. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  I swallowed. It’s a trick! Ho had found someone who looked close enough to me to pose as this so-called niece. A clone! I suddenly wanted, very badly, to speak with Aline. I was surprised, yes. Shocked. But a tickle of doubt made me frown. I barely registered the door engage, open, and John muttering something inaudible.

  John was beside me in a few quick strides. He clutched my elbow and glared down at Ho. “What is this?” he hissed. “Playing parlor tricks with us? You find some gullible girl to pose for you, dress her up to make her look like my wife, and then try to pass her off? What sort of fools do you think we are?”

  “This is no trick. I take it you tested Margeaux’s DNA sample I sent you? There is no mistaking she is the real deal.”

  “It’s true,” Margeaux said, softly, her voice high and clear. “I did not want to believe it at first. Mr. Ho explained it all to me. I understand now, everything makes sense.”

  “Explain it to us, now.” John squeezed
my arm.

  I turned to face John, certain my vision was playing tricks with me. This girl was definitely a lookalike. But, like a magnet, my eyes zeroed back to this Margeaux.

  A broad smile split Ho’s face, pleased with my reaction. “That would take too long. But I can transmit a detailed chart of how Margeaux has come to be.”

  “What happened to your parents, little girl?” John pitched his voice to sound mocking. Knowing John, I knew he had no sympathy for this girl, however innocent she may be. For the moment, she was a threat and would be treated like one.

  “They’re…dead. I do not know who my mother was. After my father died, the temple raised me.”

  “Temple?”

  “Yes, sir,” Margeaux replied in earnest. She stared wide-eyed at John, as she realized she was indeed speaking with the world president. She was enthralled. “In Hong Kong, the Buddhist Colony. That is where I am from, sir.”

  John inclined his head, his severe expression unchanged.

  Margeaux spoke honestly enough, at least to me, if not a little rehearsed. I cleared my throat. “He’s going to kill you.” It came out in a croak, but I tried my best to make it sound suspicious. “Doesn’t that scare you?”

  “I am a Buddhist. I accept what will happen because it is meant to happen so,” Margeaux replied, calm, and cast her eyes down. She took a breath and continued in a lower voice. “To be afraid will only prolong the act of dying. I look forward to reaching my enlightenment.”

  I blinked and stared at the girl. What the fuck? Had I heard correct? I glanced at John; his look said he didn’t like the girl. He snorted beside me.

  “You expect us to believe this? This is ridiculous. Be gone with your silly pranks.” Angered, John made as if to dismiss Ho; he had even opened his mouth to say more when Ho held up a hand.

  With an air of great patience, John returned his attention to Ho.

  “Ask your brother what we spoke of in Taiwan when we first met. That might jar his memory. Deliver the master code to me by midnight at the encoded address I am sending you.” Ho yanked Margeaux’s hand in one swift move and raised it, palm out, for us to see. He held her wrist tightly enough to make her palm turn white from the lack of blood flow. With his other hand, he swiped a gleaming blade across her hand. Margeaux gasped in shock and went rigid. Ho released his tight grip on her wrist, but still held her. Blood welled up from the gash in an instant and ran down her hand. “Or the next time, I run this blade across her throat.”