She wasn’t sure. It was just a feeling, but she couldn’t place him. She shrugged. “You wanna keep an eye out while I do the interview?”
“He likes me more,” he said.
“Men never talk to men. Not about stuff like this.” She didn’t want to mention that she needed to stay busy to keep her mind off her fight with Gabby. Being lookout would only give her time to brood. Besides, the Carpenter’s eyes were sharper than hers, and he could stand lookout for hours at a time, never growing bored. Sometimes he was more tree than man.
He must’ve seen something in her face, because he pulled his hat down and didn’t argue. “Be careful. That walking stick doesn’t have as much wood as it should. It’s hollow.”
She glanced back towards the bedroom. “Sword-cane?”
“Maybe.”
Perhaps Frank Julius wasn’t as innocent as he looked. The Carpenter patted her on the shoulder and made his way back to the balcony.
She found Frank standing over his suitcase in the expansive bedroom. The soft glow of a wall-mounted lamp cast his face into shadow. The cane was on the bed, and he held a small colour photograph.
“You’re close?” she asked from the doorway. “You and your nephew?”
He nodded without looking up from the photo. “My brother died without ever seeing him. I raised the boy like my own son. I never had children of my own.”
She entered the room and stood next to him. She held out a gloved hand, and he passed her the photo. “You can keep that,” he said.
The boy was handsome. His face was narrower than his uncle’s, but he had the same blue eyes. He couldn’t have been older than twelve or thirteen. The picture had him against an ocean background, smiling a toothy, made-for-photography smile.
“His name’s Sam,” Frank said.
“Before, you asked if we’d come to take you too. You think someone took Sam?”
He nodded.
“Do you know who?” she asked. She pocketed the photo and went to the bedside table. A couple of unlabelled pill bottles caught her attention. She picked them up, rattled them, and returned them to the table. A thin wad of clean New Zealand twenty dollar notes sat there too, but she left them untouched.
“Thugs, probably,” he said after a moment. “Someone looking for a ransom. I was out when they came. Two days ago, sometime between three and five in the afternoon. They turned the place over.”
“Not this place, apparently.” There was a single suitcase in the room, and no sign anyone else had ever been here. She turned over an old gold watch that had been sitting on the chair in the corner. Nothing engraved on it. The time matched her own watch: 3:58 a.m.
“No,” he agreed. “Not this place.”
She waited for him to elaborate, but he said nothing more. She wasn’t sure if the man was being deliberately tight-lipped, but something about this whole thing was beginning to grate. Her instinct tugged at her, telling her to walk away. But she didn’t like to make decisions without having the facts.
She put the watch down and pursed her lips beneath her mask. “Was there a note?”
“No.”
“No one called with ransom demands?”
He shook his head.
“I take it you haven’t been in the country long?” she asked, and he shook his head again. She fiddled with the cigarette packet in her pocket. “Who knew you were here? Family? Friends?”
“We don’t have many of those. It’s just me and Sam these days.”
“You came to New Zealand for a purpose, presumably.”
He gave a noncommittal inclination of his head. “Just travelling. We’ve never been down under.”
She studied his face as he spoke. He wasn’t a good enough liar. Goddamn it. She couldn’t help him if he didn’t talk.
“Could someone have marked you?” she asked, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. “At the airport, maybe? Recognised your name, or seen you flashing money around?”
He hesitated and rubbed a hand across his forehead. “We…travelled under assumed names.”
She suppressed an annoyed sigh. The rich ones were always a pain in the butt. “Any enemies?”
“None that I know of.”
He was lying again. This job was getting worse by the second. “Frank, we don’t take jobs that smell funny, you understand?”
He met her eyes and nodded.
“Then understand I’m about three seconds from walking out of here,” she said. “Is there anything else you can tell me? There’s a reason you contacted us and not the coppers.”
His hand went to his forehead again, brushing through his remaining hair. Now that she was closer, she could see he wasn’t as old as he looked. His hair was thin, but it was the bags under his eyes that really aged him.
“It might be unrelated,” he said slowly, “but Sam, he’s been showing signs. I don’t think he’s even noticed yet. He’s lived a sheltered life. But his father—my brother—was a metahuman.”
The way he said it, she could tell he didn’t just mean any old meta. He meant superhero. Or supercriminal.
No enemies my butt.
“Who was Sam’s father?” she asked. “Anyone I’d recognise?”
Frank nodded and said nothing.
“Hero?” she asked. “Villain?”
“What’s the difference?”
She ground her teeth together. This added a whole new layer of complicated. But she understood now why he was being so evasive. She was no different. A few metas managed to operate off-grid since the Seoul Accord crushed the rights of metahumans across the world. Niobe was one of them. By law, the children of metas had to be tested and monitored. It was a public safety measure, and the carrot they waved at the metas was the healthcare they offered when the inevitable lymphomas and leukemias arose. Now that there were no more battles to fight, the leading cause of death in metas was cancer. Dr Atomic himself had died of throat cancer.
But there were costs to being a legal and duly-registered meta. And they were costs not everyone was willing to pay. That must be why he refused to contact the coppers.
Half the puzzle pieces were missing, but she had to work with what she had. This kid’s father was a meta. That meant revenge was a possible motive. There were plenty of folks still around that’d been put in prison by heroes. And plenty more that had been betrayed or hurt by a supercriminal. Was someone looking to take his anger out on the kid? But why would they be in New Zealand, of all places? And how did they know where Frank and Sam were going to be? Was Frank a meta as well? She’d assumed he was a normal, but now she wasn’t sure. Most metas with this much cash to throw around now lived where the normals couldn’t persecute them.
Frank’s idea of giving her a lead seemed to raise more questions. He was hiding a lot from her, but she got the feeling that asking more questions would get her nowhere. That was okay. She had enough to get started, and there were other ways of getting information. But they didn’t come cheap.
“Our fee—”
He waved a hand. “Never mind your usual fee. I have fifty thousand dollars in a New Zealand bank account. Get my nephew back and it’s yours.”
Niobe’s mind ground to a halt. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words were stuck. I misheard him, she tried to convince herself, but she knew it wasn’t true. He wasn’t looking at the ground anymore. His eyes were fixed on hers, filled with icy intensity.
“Please,” he said. “He’s all I have. Please.”
“Fifty thousand?” she finally said. What the hell was his game? It made her hackles rise, even as the number sang to her. It was absurd. It had to be a ploy. But what kind, and for what purpose? She wanted to help him. She wanted to help the kid. But what else did he know about this job that he wasn’t telling her?
“Spook.” A hand gripped her shoulder from behind. She glanced back to find the Carpenter staring at her, his lips downturned. She recognised that look. He cocked his head at her, the brim of his hat flopping to the
side. “You okay?”
She refocussed her gaze on his stubble and nodded. She could just make out the scent of his cologne through her mask. “What is it?”
He jerked his head towards the balcony and led her out through the French doors, leaving Frank standing in silence.
“There,” he said, pointing into the night, but she’d already seen it. The northern highway was choked with a convoy of black vans, sedans, and station wagons. They raced into and out of view through the gaps between buildings. Blue and yellow lights flashed on several roofs, but no sirens pierced the night.
“They’re not coming for us,” she said, though she knew he already knew that.
Frank’s footsteps pattered behind them. “What’s going on?”
She ignored him. “The radio,” she said to Solomon, hands gripping the balcony rail. “The police radio in the car. On our way here….”
“Nearly silent,” Solomon said.
“Yeah. Shit.” She turned to Frank. “You’re staying here the next few days?”
“Yes, but—”
“Good,” she said. “We have to go. We’ll call you about the job. We might have a few more questions before we decide whether we’re going to take it. And if you’re lying about that money….”
He nodded, frowning. “Of course, of course. What’s going on?”
Niobe readied herself to return to shadow form. A tree branch stretched out over the balcony, groaning as it moved. Solomon took hold of it and stepped up onto the railing. He tipped his hat at Frank. “Always nice meeting a fan.” He jumped, letting the tree carry him down.
Niobe put a hand on Frank’s shoulder and gently pushed him back. “Go inside, Frank. We’ll be in touch.”
“What is it? What’s happening?”
“It’s a raid. The cape coppers are raiding the Old City.”
She sucked in a lungful of air, dropped into shadow, and left Frank Julius alone on the balcony.
4: Fight Dirty
You don’t believe me. No one ever believed me. I came to terms with that many years ago. You lock me in this asylum and call me a lunatic, a madman, but it is of no consequence. You ask me again who I am, so I will tell you. I was the pilot of the HMS Cheetah in 1701. We had narrowly escaped attack by pirates when a storm took our mainmast and wrecked her off some uncharted island in the Caribbean. Only I survived. To this day I cannot explain the effect the island had on me. Perhaps there was some radioactive substance there. All I know is that I prayed to the Lord God to survive, and I did. I survived for two hundred and fifty years.
—Transcript from psychiatric evaluation of [NAME REDACTED]
Niobe gunned the engine. The road peeled away in front of them as they pulled out. The police were taking the Northwestern highway, the one constructed to maintain a line to the ports after the bomb hit. So Niobe pulled back onto the same route they’d taken to get here, cutting through side streets and making their way north.
“How many do you reckon?” Niobe said as she pulled sharply around a corner.
Solomon gripped the dashboard and wedged his legs in place to keep himself upright. “Gotta be half of Met Div out there. I saw a bunch of Tactical Unit vans.”
“Crap.”
“Tell me about it.”
A lone early-morning driver leaned on his horn as Niobe brought the old Ford sweeping past, missing by inches. The Ford was older than most, but she still had some guts left in her. The streetlights flashed above as they raced down the street.
She squinted north and made out the police dirigible floating over the main checkpoint to the Old City. It had its spotlight on, guiding the ground teams in. She couldn’t see the coppers now. Too many miles and buildings between them. The police had a head start, and their road was easier. The coppers would beat them there. Damn it, damn it, damn it. The Metahuman Division of the police weren’t known for friendly community policing.
She didn’t have a clue what the raid was about, but that didn’t matter. To Met Div, one meta was the same as another. If they were going in with numbers like that, they were doing something that was going to cause trouble. And Gabby was home alone. Bloody hell. She glanced over and saw the lines running through Solomon’s stubble. He’d pushed his mask up to massage his forehead. His wife wasn’t a meta and his three kids hadn’t starting showing signs yet. But that might not be enough to protect her from Met Div. It just meant his family had no way to defend themselves.
While they drove, she filled him in on what Frank had told her, more to distract herself than anything else. It seemed to loosen the tension in Solomon’s back as well. He whistled when she mentioned the dollar figure Frank had given her.
“He must be some kind of business tycoon to have that much cash to throw around. Or a bank robber. Were you there that time that math whack-job tried to rob the Reserve Bank? What was his name, again?”
“Captain Calculus. No, that was before my time.”
“Oh yeah,” he said. “Kate doesn’t like that I still run around in a costume. But that might change if I can bring home enough to get the kids through uni and have enough left over for a colour TV or fifty.”
She nodded and shifted gear to take another tight turn. “It’s not the money I’m worried about. I don’t like the feel of this. He’s keeping too much back.”
“So do most of the people we deal with. Secrets are part of the game. Hell, I’m your partner, and I don’t even know where you live.”
That was true. It wasn’t personal. It was just reasonable caution. He never pried, though, which she was thankful for.
“Tell you what,” he said. “We see what we can fish up. If it stinks, we throw it back. It it’s clean, well, we’ve got ourselves a nice juicy paycheque wriggling on the end of our hook.”
She chewed her lip. She wasn’t convinced. Could they really walk away from the money when they’d already put time and sweat into it? It’d be better to break away now, leave it clean. If Frank Julius was telling the truth, he’d find another way to get his nephew back. Someone with the resources to do the job proper.
“I can see police lights,” Solomon said, cutting through her thoughts. She saw them too. The road had opened up, and now it was a straight line all the way home. Back into the Old City. Blue and yellow flashed off the buildings. They were in Epsom. Her neighbourhood. Shit.
“Shall I press the button?” he said, clearly trying to suppress a smile.
Bloody man-child. “Do it.”
He stabbed the central button on the dashboard, and the car let out a groan. She held the steering wheel tight as weight shifted in the back. Solomon flipped the switch next to the button.
The miniature rocket engine in the back of the car screamed to life. It felt like someone had punched her in the chest. The car roared and leapt forwards, throwing her back in her seat. Her stomach churned. The road markers on either side became a blur, and she struggled to keep the car from skidding off the road.
Solomon whooped and grinned. She would’ve hit him if she was willing to take a hand off the wheel.
The first of dawn’s fingers were clawing their way over the horizon, streaking the sky with pink. She guided the rocket-propelled car down the increasingly narrow street as buildings streaked past. It gained them a few minutes. Maybe, maybe they’d be in time.
They were back in the Old City now, and the contrast between here and Neo-Auckland was staggering. She flew past the made-in-bulk apartments that took up half the street. They were built after the bomb hit, when the government in Wellington wanted to get the city back on its feet. Of course, after the Nagasaki incident, they changed their minds in a damn hurry.
Funny how things turned out.
“Now.”
At her signal, Solomon disabled the rocket, and the pressure on her chest eased as the car slowed. They topped a small rise and looked over the neighbourhood. People were emerging from their homes, staring at the Met Div lights a mile or two away. They kept driving.
Niobe pul
led over before they were close enough for the coppers to spot them, parking inside the garage of an abandoned villa they sometimes used as a safe house. If someone recognised the Ford, she didn’t want them to track it back to Solomon’s family. Or to her and Gabby, either.
They trotted the rest of the way on foot, keeping to the dawn shadows. People milled outside their homes and apartment buildings, most dressed in pyjamas and robes. Some pulled on costumes as they emerged from their buildings. Those who used to work as heroes were required to wear their costumes when interacting with the authorities. It made them easier to identify. Occasionally, a meta would make the sign of the First Heroes and utter a quiet prayer. It was a stupid religion. Dr Atomic was long dead, and he wasn’t going to be saving anyone anymore.
Solomon tugged on her coat. “I’ll scout ahead.” She nodded and he jogged away, moving amongst the growing crowds with ease.
Niobe jumped a broken fence and passed across two abandoned properties, coming out on the street alongside. Nearly there. A group of coppers were a couple of hundred metres behind her, pushing the crowds along the street. Niobe fell into line and nudged a woman with a child in each hand. “What do the coppers want?”
The woman scowled at Niobe, her eyes narrowing as she looked over her costume. “How the hell should I know?” the woman said. “They’ve got warrants, they say. Registration violations. That’s all they’ve said.” She hurried away, dragging the gawking children with her.
“Bloody hell,” Niobe said to herself. She glanced around to make sure none of the coppers were watching her, then slipped away from the crowd.
She found the Carpenter perched on the branches of a half-dead tree a block away, using the vantage point to see over a series of fences. A tui whistled, then took off and fluttered past him, paying him no more attention than if he were part of the tree himself. He descended when he saw her. “I count fifty cops altogether. They’re gathering everyone out of the apartment buildings at this end of the street.”
She looked where he pointed, and the knot that had been forming in her stomach suddenly tightened. It was her building.
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