by Peter Tylee
Dan burst into a fit of laughter, tears of genuine mirth tinting his eyes.
“I thanked him for the offer, it wassweet. Then I said I was going to make myself a cup of coffee, watch my favourite television show, and if he was still there when it finished I said I’d put a nine-millimetre round in his head. I heard them leave before the first set of commercials.” His mammoth smile resurfaced. “I have a new girlfriend now, Tanya.”
“Oh, man, you have them lining up, don’t you?”
“Hell, I have a queue a mile long. But Tanya’s really something. You should meet her. She has it all. She’s so hot she melts my cheese sandwiches without a griller andshe’s worth talking to. Who would’ve thought you could haveboth?”
Katherine had both.It was the first thought to enter Dan’s mind. And Jen has both.That was his second thought, chasing the first. Both thoughts were unwelcome, but thinking about Jen brought a sting of urgency.
Simon was sensitive enough to notice the change in Dan’s demeanour. “So what brings you here mate? I mean, what reallybrings you here?”
Dan looked cautiously around the room, searching for cameras. “You got somewhere we can talk in private?”
“Nope,” Simon replied with a hint of irritation. “They’ve wired everything. You get used to it after a while, living without privacy. But then I never break the rules so I just do things the way I always have.” He raised his voice for the benefit of whoever might be listening. “D’ya hear me? I’m straight!” Simon winked.
“I need to talk to you, alone. It’s very important,” Dan pressed.
Simon shook his head, remaining firm. “Anything you want to say to me as Chief InspectorWest must be said in front of cameras.” He paused briefly. “But if you’d just like to chat with an old friend we can grab a cup of coffee. I’m off in five minutes.”
Dan nodded. “That’d be great.”
Parramatta’s top detective spent those final five minutes busily clearing his desk and closing two departmental files. “Okay, I’m ready.”
The sun glowered angry yellow as it sunk toward the horizon. It was a warm spring day that would turn bitterly cold minutes after the sun vanished. Dan sweated inside his heavy coat, annoyed that worldwide travel necessitated preparing for several seasons in one outing. It was worse in summer and winter, trying to balance the two extremes from the northern and southern hemispheres. He knew he’d be in for a rude shock when he portaled to America’s East Coast International Terminal. America was having a chillyautumn.
The Parramatta precinct was nestled in one of the few thriving centres remaining in the sprawling metropolitan tumour of Sydney. It was a hub of activity. Yuppies parading crisp business suits and expensive silk ties scuttled importantly around. Office towers huddled toward an imaginary centre, as if seeking safety in numbers. And a throng of small stores clustered beneath the monstrous towers, catering to the demands of uptight office workers. The majority were grab-n-run fast food outlets, which didn’t provideseating. Others were more stylish and offered non-artery-clogging food and a few stools, but they were sparse. So coffee houses had filled the void created by the food industry when it shunned restaurant-style settings.
“I like Stan’s,” Simon was saying. “It’s less, uh, hippie than Ron’s.”
“Can we go to The Snowfield?” One corporate giant owned all three cafés but each establishment catered for different tastes. They played different music, greeted patrons differently, and offered a choice of plastic, wood and metal for interior décor.
Simon shrugged. “I suppose.” None of his friends ever went to The Snowfield, which was precisely why Dan had chosen it. It mostly attracted adolescents.
They wove through the five o’clock crowd of homeward bound drones and reached The Snowfield’s automatic doors. They were glass and had cute animal figurines grafted onto them. To make things even more garish, the glass was an angry fruit salad of colours and it made Simon dizzy just watchingthem open.
Then the atmosphere struck.
“God, Dan. Here?”
Dan looked apologetic. “Yeah, sorry mate.”
There was a jiggy tune blaring across the room and a chilly draft pumped from floor and ceiling suspended syntheticsnowflakes in the air. It was like stepping into a freezer with the added irritation of airborne floaters that one had to carefully avoid inhaling. The ‘snowflakes’ reminded Simon of rough Styrofoam balls. Of course, they weren’t harmful. Management had made sure of that by thoroughly testing them on a barnyard of test animals.
“You want some coffee?” Dan offered. “It might take your mind off the cold.” That was precisely how The Snowfield sold their products: chill the customers until their teeth are chattering for another cup coffee. After they’re finished the first, they’ll want a second, just to keep their fingerswarm. Hypothermia was a powerful motivator. It was therefore hardly surprising that people who frequented The Snowfield were twenty-cup-a-day coffee addicts. Some had since supplemented their caffeine dependence with Xantex uppers, jerking their nerves so taut they could sneeze with their eyes open.
A chill shivered down Simon’s back. “Yeah, tall dark and fucking hot.” He was glad to be out of the precinct, he hated having to watch his language. Some days he went home and swore just to make up for so much restraint.
Dan paid for two cups and selected a cute table, shaped like a snowflake and as white as virgin snow.
“So what’s so special you couldn’t tell me in the office?” Simon asked, swatting at a hovering ‘snowflake’ before it landed in his coffee. Flakes had already drifted into his hair and were wriggling their way inside his collar. But perhaps the worst part of The Snowfield wasthe teenagers who buzzedaround with far too much unnatural excitement. He distantly wondered how many crimes he could attribute to overindulgence in caffeine.
“I found out who killed Katherine.” Dan got straight to the crux.
And that snared Simon’s undivided attention. “What?”
Dan nodded. “I know who it was.”
“Who?”
“Do you remember the man who didn’tgo to prison for assassinating the opposition leader, Mike Cameron, back in ’59?”
Simon raised his guard. Not this again.“How could I forget?” He tasted something bitter in his mouth, and it wasn’t the coffee. “I knew that would come back to bite you.”
You were right,Dan thought, stopping short of blame-fuelled mental self-destruction. He couldn’t afford that luxury, not just now. But it wasmy fault,he admitted, on the brink of imploding. “Well it’s him.”
“You mean UniForce?” Simon frowned, unsure whether he really wanted to know.
“I don’t know yet. Maybe. Or maybe he’s working alone. But he’s their assassination co-ordinator so they must know about it.”
“That’s some heavy shit.” Simon sipped his coffee and laced his fingers around the mug to keep them warm. “Can you prove it?”
“I don’t need to,” he replied elusively.
Simon didn’t like the tone of Dan’s voice. “What are you saying? Oh God… what’re you going to do?”
“Well, think about it,” Dan said, keeping his voice low and level. “You know how much I loved Katherine. You know how much she meant to me.” He waited for Simon to nod before continuing, “I know who brutally raped and killed her, and he’s well enough protected to evade a very public assassination. What do you thinkI’m going to do?”
“I’m not hearing this.”
“Well what would you do?” Dan asked defensively.
Simon was quiet for nearly a minute – 60 seconds that left Dan’s future hanging in the balance. “I’d do exactly what you’re thinking of doing.” I can’t believe I’m about to say this.He took a slow, deep breath. “What can I do?”
“No.” Dan shook his head. “You don’t want to get mixed up in this.”
“I’m not stupid Dan, you must’ve come to me for something,” Simon said flatly.
“I did, but it has noth
ing to do with breaking the law,” Dan replied. “He’s taken someone else.”
A deep scowl clouded Simon’s dark face. “What?”
“Mike Cameron’s granddaughter, her name’s Jennifer Cameron.” Dan lowered his voice, forcing Simon to lean close to hear. “She was staying with me in Andamooka. He kidnapped her, he’s going to kill her, the same way he killed Katherine.”
“Jesus.” Simon was cold to his bones, and it wasn’t from the frigid air.
“It gets worse. UniForce targeted her for apprehension, so technically they had the right to take her.”
“How do you know that?”
“I was her bounty hunter,” Dan said in monotone. “I joined them a few months after the Department tossed me. I needed something to do and that’s where my skills lay.”
“Oh,” he said, clearly surprised and clearly trying to hide it. “Well, if it was sanctioned there’s nothing you can do.”
“Sanctioned apprehension. Not rape and murder.”
“But you have no proof of that. If you try to get her back, you’ll be the one on the wrong side of the law.” Simon knew him well enough to realise there was nothing he could say to make Dan change his mind. Whatever he had planned, he wasn’t going to walk away, not from this.
“Again with the proof,” Dan huffed. “And the law? The law doesn’t help the people who need it; it just protects the people who write it.” I’m starting to sound like her,Dan thought. A week ago I wouldn’t have complained.He wondered whether he was a dormant activist, just waiting for the necessary catalyst to erupt. “Anyway, the point is, she has two friends who need your help.”
“What could I possibly do?” Simon asked. “You know I can’t harbour WEF sanctioned apprehensions.”
“As far as I know they’re not, at least not yet. Look, all I want is for you to protect them.”
“I wish I could man, but you know the rules as well as anyone. The Superintendenthas to sign off on that.” Simon shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“Just for a few days,” Dan implored. “I know you can do that.”
Simon looked at him suspiciously. Anyone else and hewould’vesent them packing, but he owed Dan. He knew Dan would never remind him, he was too honourable for that, but he’d twice saved Simon’s life. “All right, you’re lucky it’s Saturday. Steward hates being disturbed on the weekend so I can give them somewhere safe to sleep tonight and tomorrow. After that, it’s up to Steward, but you already know he won’t agree unless you come up with something spectacular that isn’t5,000 miles outside our jurisdiction.”
“And I doubt that’ll happen,” Dan admitted sullenly.
“Where are they?”
Dan twisted in his seat and motioned to a couple huddling in the corner, shivering from the cold. They stood on aching joints and shuffled across the room to join them. They both had blue lips and Samantha was mildly chattering. They looked as if they’d gleefully knocked a teenybopper unconscious for a hot mug of coffee.
“Welcome to Snowflake-Hell.” Cookie extended a welcoming hand. “I’m David but you can call me Cookie, and this is Samantha.”
She inclined her head and stilled her chattering jaw for long enough to smile. “Pleasure.”
“Simon West.” He nodded once in greeting. “Let’s get out of here.”
*
Friday, September 17, 2066
23:42 Baltimore, USA
Jen smelled cigar smoke. It was the first thing she noticed when the fog lifted from her brain. She had a nagging feeling that something was wrong, but it was elusive and she couldn’t grasp it for long enough to make sense of it.
She was floating, drifting in and out of awareness and had been for nearly quarter of an hour. It was like a restless sleep that she couldn’t shake, but this time she was determined to poke through the suffocating plastic sheet of drugs that kept her under. She tried shaking her arms. It had worked in the past when she’d had difficulty rousing from sleep, but they were numb and refused to move. Where are they?First, she thought her arms had fallen off, and then she thought she was paralysed, but she could think of no good reason why either would be true. A tinge of pain radiated from her wrists and she identified it as proof that she wasn’t paralytic. Then why won’t they move?
She chased her most recent memories, despite instinctively knowing they were unpleasant. With great effort, she prised an eyelid open and saw an unfamiliar ceiling, which added to her disorientation.
“Ah, you’re awake,” said a hauntingly familiar voice. The arrogant tone was what finally plucked her memories from the spinning vortex of confusion in her mind.
And once the gates had cracked, her memories flooded back. She groaned, wondering why she’d chosen to hurry their passage.
“Welcome back to the world of the living.” Esteban sneered.
She was lying on a bed, her hands untied. Her vision was still blurry and she squinted to check her wrists for signs of permanent damage. They were badly swollen and lacerated, and her skin had turned dark purple, but her fingers moved. She tried again to move her arms and was gratified to see them lift from the bed. But the effort cost more energy than she could spare and soon they flopped back to the mattress. Extreme fatigue stopped her from sitting up. She could barely move her mouth to talk, and when she did, it was a whisper. “Where am I?”
Esteban puffed on his cigar before saying, “Your new home. Don’t you like it?”
Jen’s eyes roamed the walls. “No.”
“Well get used to it,” Esteban laughed. “You’re gonna be here for a while.”
“Where?”
“America,” Esteban snapped. “Which is all you need know.”
“Aren’t you going to kill me?” Jen asked, the fire draining from her tired eyes.
“No,” Esteban said quietly. “Not yet. We’re waiting for our audience.”
Morbid curiosity made her ask, “Audience?”
“Yes, your boyfriend.” Esteban laughed again, manically. “I’m sure Dan wants to watch us bang you. Seeing it on a videotape just isn’t the same as watching it live.” Esteban knew Dan would come – he had Jen for bait. If anything, he felt overconfident. But he was a talented assassin. He was ready for anything Dan could pit against him.
“You’re sick,” Jen hissed in disgust. “You’re totally fucking insane.”
The mirth evaporated from Esteban’s eyes and they promptly hardened to steel. It frightened Jen to see malice stamped so clearly in his gaze, especially when he was looking squarely at her. Then they softened to their earlier glee, his personal trademark. It was unnerving to watch a volatile man back-flip twice in the same breath.
“Yeah, maybe.” He smiled sweetly at her. “But the rich and powerful are allowed to be.” He held up her chip selector. She looked hungrily at it, panicked that he’d snatched her ticket to the portals. Without it, she was stranded, and that terrified her as much as the threat of death.
“It was kind of you to save us the trouble of digging a chip from your back.” Esteban balanced the device on his index finger. “Actually, I’m impressed you avoided the squads for as long as you did.”
Jen seethed with hatred; he was violating everything she considered sacred.
“You’re free to walk around,” he offered with mock politeness. “You can’t get far without this.” Esteban slipped the chip selector into his pocket and opened the door. “Just don’t cause any trouble, you hear?”
And with that, he was gone.
Jen let her eyelids slide shut, trying to summon the energy to sit up. She fought her drug-induced fatigue and swung one leg after the other over the side of the bed before twisting sideways and propping herself onto an elbow. The next phase was the hardest but by pushing with all her might she finally achieved her goal.
She felt light-headed and fought to stay conscious while the room spun around her. And she rested on the bed long after the whirling subsided, waiting impatiently for strength to return to her body.
Come
on Jen,she coaxed. When she tried to stand her knees quivered and threatened to buckle. But they didn’t, they gathered strength until balance returned. Her room was pleasantly furnished. Prissy,Jen thought, already hating her prison. Tasteful pictures hung on two walls and a plush carpet greeted her bare feet. Bare feet?She wondered who had bothered taking her boots off. They stood neatly at the foot of the bed, her socks folded and tucked inside. She was glad nobody had removed her other clothes, though she felt underdressed, wearing only what was appropriate for the Australian desert.
Esteban’s cigar smoke was dissipating and Jen smelled how musty the room was. Nobody’s been here for a long time.A thick layer of dust had settled on the polished wooden table. The room wasn’t large, but neither was it small. It comfortably housed a queen-size bed, the sort that hada metal frame. Perfect for tying arms and legs down.Jen shuddered and examined the frame more closely. She was looking for signs that piano wire had scoured or scuffed the black paint. Nothing.It was unmarred and didn’t look as if anyone had retouched it. Sothey probably didn’t kill Dan’s wife here.She derived only a little comfort from the knowledge.
Next, her attention shifted to the door. She took several unsteady paces and braced herself against the frame. Taking a tentative peek into the brightly lit corridor, she found no guards. She doubted guards were necessary: Esteban had her chip selector. But one thing at a time.First, she wanted to look around, familiarise herself with her new surroundings. The hall was long and she could only see activity at one end, though her vision was still too blurry to recognise anyone. She rubbed her puffy eyes and looked again, with no improvement. All her life she’d enjoyed twenty-twenty vision so the blur was difficult to endure. Her eyes strained to focus, giving birth to a dull headache. The other end of the hall was dark and, for no other reason, appeared more sinister.
Jen crept toward the light, hugging the wall and trying not to stumble. She unobtrusively peered into the bulbous room at the end. It was a study in diplomatic style, its décor tasteful and its hangings expensive. The subtle tones of wood and leather blended too perfectly for it to have been an accident. Somebody had spent a lot of time and effort assembling the perfect interior. A professional, it has to be.But that begged the question why somebody like Esteban would bother making such an impression. She heard voices and inched closer, trying to see who it was.
