“The central nervous system is less adaptable than the peripheral nervous system. Everything has to be in precisely the right alignment for anything to work right. Nerves of the CNS have certain blocking proteins that hinder regeneration. Add to that the lack of Schwann cells to help clean up dead nerve cells and assist healing, and you begin to see the problem we’ve been stuck on for the last fifteen years.
“The item that was stolen was a prototype, one of a kind. I can’t give you the details of how we were able to finally correct the problem, but it passed the first range of testing. All of the computer models said that it should work as expected. It was in transit here to… finalize the testing.”
“You mean it was coming here to be implanted in a human test subject?”
He glanced over to Ms. Nadee and gave her a slight nod. She again opened the filing cabinet, removed a pad, and placed it on the edge of the desk. A list of names came spilling from the device onto the glass top of the desk, each one accompanied by an address and details of their injuries, all involving spinal damage of one form or another.
While I looked the list over, Mr. Wright spoke. “The first person on that list is a single mother of three, spinal cord severed in a car accident when her shoulder strap and airbags failed. The insurance company isn’t taking her phone calls anymore. The second is a soldier, injured when his parachute failed to deploy. His wife now has to empty his catheter bag every six hours. The third person took shrapnel from a bomb. The fourth survived a suicide attempt. The fifth suffers from astrocytoma, a form of spinal cancer. There are thirty-six names on that list, and yesterday morning my biggest concern was trying to decide who was the best candidate.”
I forced myself to look away from the list. “My services are usually security oriented. Corporate espionage may be more than I can help you with.”
“Ms. Nadee is one of my best corporate investigators. Officially, she will be in charge of the investigation and you are being hired for her personal protection.”
“And unofficially?” I resisted crossing my arms.
“Unofficially, you’re on a first name basis with nearly every ground level criminal with the capital to pull off a heist like this.” His brow raised to emphasise his point. “I need you to make introductions.”
“What makes you think Marshall didn’t just send his own people to do it? I assume, as your biggest competitor, he’s the prime suspect.”
His lips tensed at the corners. “Alexander certainly has the arrogance to try, and plenty of motivation. If the prototype were to end up in his possession, he could use it to establish a monopoly on the entire bionics industry, but my informants didn’t see any security mobilizations until after the theft. It looks very much like he may be trying to take advantage of the situation.”
“So, he’s heard about the theft, but likely wasn’t responsible.”
“It would appear so.”
“That still leaves too many open possibilities. Is it possible your systems have been hacked recently? Maybe that could tell us how the information got out in the first place.”
“We get about a dozen hack attempts every day. Most are stopped by basic security systems. Anyone who gets past those will encounter backtracking viruses, Trojan Horse malware, and procedurally generated GUI labyrinths. None of that would matter, though. Like most large companies, all of our most important data is stored on off-network supercomputers a few floors below us.”
“Well, it sounds like this could take some time.”
Ms. Nadee finally spoke. “We should start with the contacts you trust the most, ask them if there’s been any word on who staged the attack or if anyone has been specifically in the market for high end medical research.”
“The relationship I have with my clients usually steers away from asking those kinds of questions.”
“I’m authorized to negotiate for the information. As far as anyone outside this room is concerned, you’ll be operating in your usual capacity.”
I removed my phone from the hidden pocket in my jacket’s insulated liner, brought up a text file, and placed it on the table. “My usual contract, including cost per day and daily expenses, as well as my responsibilities and limitations.”
“Limitations?” Ms. Nadee asked as Wright looked over the contract that appeared on his desk.
“I’m not a soldier, Ms. Nadee, nor a corporate security officer. ‘I was just following orders’ will not protect me from criminal charges. Hence, the contract clearly states that neither my client nor anyone in the employ of my client may knowingly ask me to perform any illegal acts, nor require me to protect them while they knowingly engage in illegal acts. Should either situation occur, I am owed payment in full and the contract is concluded.”
“Doesn’t this cause problems with the kind of business most of your clients do?”
“What it does is cover my ass should law enforcement somehow become involved.”
David Wright scribbled his name at the bottom of the page and slid the contract back to my phone. “Time is not on our side, Mr. Bell. Please get started.”
I slipped my phone back into my jacket. “I know exactly who to start with.”
Without another word, Ms. Nadee led the way back to the elevator, the frosted glass wall of the executive office sliding closed behind us. The elevator took us downward only for a moment before the doors opened again to the sound of hand radios and boots on ceramic tile. The entire floor of the building appeared to be populated with groupings of glass cubicles, a uniformed officer in each, monitoring what may have been every office in the building.
Along all four walls of this floor were a series of thin windows that reminded me of the balistrariae in old European castles, narrow and tall so a handful of archers could hold back a horde of invaders. Between these windows stood full length lockers, each locked with a biometric touch pad. As I followed Ms. Nadee through the glass labyrinth, I noticed a number of the camera feeds were coming from a clean room construction floor where robotic arms assembled bionic body parts, each one unique, tailored to the customer’s body. Other feeds showed a large gym where a dozen or so people with brand new artificial limbs were training in martial arts.
“That’s the physical rehabilitation floor,” Ms. Nadee said, noticing my interest. “As I’m sure you know, the quickest way to learn to use a bionic limb is simply to use it.”
“Yeah,” I said, “but kung fu?”
“Kung fu, tai chi, yoga. It’s all about relearning how the body moves and integrating the new limb fully. Everyone at AlterBionics wants our customers to get the most out of their lives.” She pressed her thumb to a locker pad and the door popped open.
“Assuming you can afford it.”
She stripped out of her security-grey suit jacket, slipping it onto a hanger inside the locker before she began unbuttoning her notch collar blouse. “Mr. Wright does his best to maintain affordable pricing. Seventy-one percent of our customer base lives on the ground level.”
My eyes diverted to the window while the blouse was off. “Obviously they’re not affordable enough, or there wouldn’t be such a huge market for Chinese knockoffs.”
Drawing a grey V-neck shirt from the depths of the locker, she continued. “That particular issue may be too complex to be solved by better price points.”
Over the T-shirt she slipped on a shoulder holster and a traditional style biker jacket. Next, she produced a grey and black plaid blanket scarf, which she folded into a large triangle and wrapped once around her neck so that it lay asymmetrically across her shoulders, favoring her left side.
Attached to the side of the locker was a small weapon safe. She typed a number into the keypad, popping open the door. What she withdrew from it was a kind of weapon I had never seen before. The handle looked like a typical nine millimeter glock, but the frame extended down in front of the trigger guard, attached to it to make the front end look like one smooth slab of rectangular black steel. At nine and a half inches long, the weap
on wasn’t exactly subtle, though the matte black finish might hide it well in a dark alley.
“Expecting a lot of trouble, Judge Dredd?” I asked, upon seeing the weapon.
“This is a SiCo Max Nine, third generation redesign. It’s got an integrated suppressor and palm print lock. Useful for almost any situation.” She slid it into the shoulder holster and secured it. “And considering we don’t really know what to expect, I’d rather be prepared.”
“That scarf isn’t going to hide your gun,” I offered.
“The scarf is a ballistic wool weave, bullet- and waterproof. I’m not wearing it to hide the gun.”
I felt my eyebrows rise. “In that case, do you have a spare?”
“No,” she said. The locker made a tiny beep as she closed it. “But I may have something else you can use.” She stepped to the next locker and opened it. “Here,” she said, retrieving a zip front fleece vest, “try this on.”
I handed her my jacket and took the vest. It was heavier than it looked, about six pounds if I were to guess, and behind the soft outer fibers of the black fleece there was a gray cloth, as flexible as paper but reflecting glints of light like metal. I slipped it on, zipping it most of the way up, and was quite pleased with the slim fit.
“It’s not water proof,” she said, handing my jacket back, “but it’ll stop most small caliber bullets, if you don’t mind a few bruises.”
“Given the option, I’ll take the bruises over bullet holes any day.” I looked at her, noticing how much of her wasn’t covered by the blanket scarf. “Is there another one of these for you? I mean, yeah it’s a part of the job for me to jump in front of any guns aimed at you, but you wearing this thing would make my job easier.”
She opened her jacket wide, showing me the lining. High quality store bought biker jackets typically were lined with a thin layer of quilted material. Inside hers was a black felted material, thick and soft, built for winter. It glittered with the same dark sparkle as the vest I was wearing.
“I see,” I said, no doubt doing a spectacular job hiding my jealousy.
“Is there anything else you need before we head out?”
“Yeah, your name. Things might get awkward if I have to keep calling you Ms. Nadee.”
She closed the second locker. “It’s Jennifer.”
Back in the elevator, I pulled out my phone to start getting in touch with some of my better contacts. The shuddering machine took us to the ground floor this time, the inner door opening a second before the outer, thicker door. Ms. Nadee stepped outside while I finished typing a short message into my phone.
“Where’s your car?” she asked, as I joined her.
I cleared my throat to stifle the laugh as I began to walk. “I’m afraid we’ll be getting around the old fashioned way, after a short stop.”
“That’s fine. I enjoy walking. What’s the stop?”
“Two blocks down, nothing important.”
I found the couple huddled in the same alley I had seen them in on the way up, the remains of their child nowhere to be seen. I fished around in my pocket, looking for whatever cash I had on me. What I had wasn’t much, but maybe it would help.
As I approached them, their deep needful sobs twisted my stomach. “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, holding out several twenties in a neat fold.
The man looked up, his eyes meeting mine before he again looked away. He politely took the money, but couldn’t manage any words. I excused myself without saying any more.
Chapter 4
Half a mile southeast of the business district sat Hamilton Towers, one of the few ground level hotels tall enough and expensive enough to be allowed a direct Skyway access point. The rumor was that business travelers would rent the upper rooms for access to the Skyway, while also having the freedom to journey down to the lower city for the adventurous nightlife. Mr. Rossi had taken ownership of the place a little over five years ago when the previous owner failed to pay his debts. Rossi had never really intended to own a hotel, but he embraced it with the same intensity he did all of his new business ventures. Since that day, the exterior stone work had been cleaned and fixed, while the interior had been fully renovated. In addition to the aesthetic changes, Rossi had also added a number of security cameras, as well as armed guards and weapons scanners at every door. As I stepped forward through the front doors and security arch, the braided steel coverings of my artificial muscles lit up with a blue glow, shining through my jacket sleeve.
“How’ve you been Jackson?” one of the guards asked, extending a hand toward me. “I heard about that nasty business last night.”
Jason Franco was his name. Tall and clean cut, he was slimmer than most of the muscle Rossi hired, but he was sharp, his blue eyes always watching the room. We were passing acquaintances, having worked together a couple of times when Rossi had needed to travel outside the city perimeter. I found him always just a bit too eager to listen to the gory details of my work.
For simple, professional politeness, I clasped his hand and said, “Yeah, it’s a good thing plastic doesn’t stain easily.”
His smile dropped quickly as his eyes peered over my shoulder. I turned to find Ms. Nadee standing under the arch, a patch of red light shining through her leather jacket, but that wasn’t what had caught Jason’s attention. From toe to hip, her legs were lit up with distinct lengths of bright blue light, interrupted by large panels of non-reactive areas.
“Your weapon, ma’am,” the other guard said, stepping forward.
Ms. Nadee pulled back the left side of her jacket and removed the weapon from its holster without gripping the handle. She handed it to the second guard without question, its red glow disappearing as it moved away from the arch. Holding it in both hands, the second guard stared with wide eyed reverence as he carried it to the front desk to be stored in one of the private lock boxes.
Turning back to Jason, I said, “Mr. Rossi said he might be able to fit us in.”
“Yeah, he already called. Just take the main elevator to the top floor.”
We made our way across the lavish tiles, toward the elevator, passing the ground floor restaurant where well dressed Uppers and Lowers finished their late lunches. Business suited patrons gave us long stares from the bar as they sipped on martinis. I suppose this was entertainment to them, coming down here to sneer at the poor people.
“Go ahead and ask,” Jennifer stated, as the ancient wooden doors of the elevator closed.
“Okay,” I responded. “Would you like to get some dinner when we’re done here?”
“What?”
“That hotel restaurant looked nice, and it’s been weeks since I’ve had a decent steak.”
She didn’t respond. From the corner of my eye I could see her lips press into a thin line.
“Or we can go somewhere else,” I said, not quite able to keep the snicker out of my voice, but before she had a chance to not respond again, another thought struck me. “Hey, why don’t you have those security arches at AlterBionics?”
“Those arches emit an electromagnetic signal that interacts with metals. They don’t react with plastic guns, ceramic blades, or most explosives. It looks like fancy advanced technology, but it just gives you a false sense of security.”
I grunted my understanding.
When the doors opened again we were on the fiftieth floor. A wide hallway with a tall arched ceiling stretched out in front of us. To the left was a long wall of ballistic glass, its dark tint blocking the view into the restricted lobby for Skyway patrons only. Two guards flanked the oversized sliding double doors halfway down the hall. They each glanced our direction as we stepped out of the elevator.
To the right, a long wood panelled wall was decorated by a dozen framed paintings, each one a hand created masterpiece on actual canvas, depicting the lavish lifestyle of antebellum plantations. I did my best to ignore the happy slaves and kind faces of plantation owners as I passed by them. In my opinion, Rossi tried too hard to make his higher inc
ome clientele comfortable.
Halfway down the hall, we came to the only room on the floor. Before I could lift my arm to knock, the double doors opened from the inside. A warm smile greeted us.
Achille Rossi was a man not to be trifled with, but he prided himself on his old world hospitality. Rather than wasting time with hand shakes, he motioned us over to a plush couch encircling a coffee table in the center of the room, where his young attendant was already pouring glasses of red wine. He gave my shoulder a firm squeeze as I moved past him to sit.
“Ms. Nadee,” he began, taking up his glass, “you honor me with your presence here. It’s a rare thing to see a corporate investigator in these parts. What on Earth can I do to assist AlterBionics this fine evening?”
Jennifer took a polite sip of her wine before beginning. “Mr. Rossi, it’s my understanding that in your line of work you may encounter, let’s say, improperly acquired items?”
“Ah, one of these conversations. I see why you didn’t just call, Jackson.” Rossi chuckled and rolled the glass between his fingers. “There have perhaps been a few occasions in which my business affairs and the law did not see eye to eye. For any official record I must, of course, admit complete ignorance to any specific incident of legal violation. That being said, is there something in particular you’re looking for?”
“I suppose that’s where things get complicated. You see, an item was stolen from my employer. This was a very special project, one that was well guarded. Only about ten people actually know what it is.”
He gestured his glass toward her. “Hence, you need to find a thing without revealing what it is to anyone who doesn’t already know.”
“Exactly.”
Rossi leaned back into the couch, folding his arms. “I understand the necessity, but you’re right, that does complicate things.” He sipped from his glass. “Tell me everything you can.”
“Yesterday, an armored transport was traveling a circuitous route from an AlterBionics R and D lab outside the city when it was attacked by an unknown number of assailants. The transport was disabled with an EMP blast, likely a mine. The driver and guards were all killed.”
Under the Skyway (Skyway Series Book 1) Page 3
