“Probably,” I said. “It just seems like a strange thing for a serial assassin to have a paper calendar. I want to believe that there’s more to it than randomness. What I could do is dig around a bit; find out which multi-dimensional hospital brands are doing specialty prints for their clients. I don’t expect many finds, and if ABBY is half as impressive as I think she is, it shouldn’t take more than a few hours to research.”
“And then,” Po said, “all that’ll do is tell you who had the calendar printed. Nothing else. It’ll be useless.”
“No, it won’t,” I said, staring at the calendar, and chewing on my bottom lip. “I have a feeling. A hunch. It’s hard to explain,” I said. Because you’re not investigators, you’re soldiers, I added in my mind.
Po rolled her eyes at me again. “Good luck with that dead end. Can we get down to today’s business?”
I took off my jacket, and took a seat. “What business?”
“Well, if you’ve been keeping your ears to the ground, you know that there has been a recent streak of mortuary robberies this past month,” Po said.
I nodded, wondering what it had to do with anything. “I saw a piece on the issue last night.”
“Well, King thinks that the robberies are the work of the Puppeteer,” Po said.
“Really?” I said.
“I don’t think. I know,” King said. “I’ve been sniffing around, and it looks like there’s one little detail the news networks are leaving out of the story. The corpses they dredged out of the lake had freshly inscribed rubriq in their palms and under their feet. The rubriq was saturated with greywater.”
King left it there and stared at me, expecting the significance of his information to sink in. It didn’t.
“You know how the Puppeteer can control people’s bodies?” Kay butted in, trying to help me out.
“Yeah,” I said.
“That’s what he’s doing to the dead bodies,” Kay said.
My eyes widened. “What?”
“It’s ancient technology,” Po explained. “In the 5th and 6th centuries, post-dated time, it was popular for kings to spell their soldiers for war. The method was outlawed in Aurora as early as the 10th century, punishable by death. Needless to say, it lost popularity after that. It didn’t help that body spelling was such a tedious process, or that it was downright messy, or that it required significant quantities of the speller’s own blood to mix with the greywater. Interestingly, in the 24th century, after cross-dimensional teleportation was invented, learners discovered that every world had outlawed spelling in roughly the same decade.”
“You don’t have to spell it out for us,” King grumbled. “We all know the history of spelling.”
“Um, sure.” I swallowed. “Obviously.” I was confused. “Wait, what are you really saying?”
“I’m saying that’s how he’s taking victims,” King said. “He isn’t killing anyone himself. This time, he has undead dolls to do it for him, and he’s controlling them remotely. Maybe from a different state. Bleak, maybe even from a different world. We have no idea how much range he has.”
I tried to hide my astonishment. The Puppeteer could control dead people?
“It’s sick, what he’s doing,” Kay said, shaking his head. “I mean, I know the doe is dark, but that dark?”
“Wait,” I said, as realization dawned on me. “That explains what happened at the enforcer station. I didn’t understand how he’d survived the blast, but he was never there to begin with.” Another realization hit me, and I felt sick to my stomach. The man who had taken off Lunis Cegal’s face; I had talked to him.
I had talked to a walking corpse.
“Until recently, we had never seen the Puppeteer use his spelling on the dead before. We assume it’s a newly developed technique,” King said. “And yet, it seems he’s already been using it extensively.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean, extensively?”
King stood up and sauntered to the front of the room. “This is why I cut my time in the field short. ABBY, presentation.”
The lights dimmed. A plain white screen flickered to life, hovering mid-way between the floor and the ceiling. The electric blue hand print and font of the Beta Division logo faded to visibility. Then, the logo was replaced with a picture of a Ruby man.
“Do any of you recognize that man?” King said.
We all did.
“Benmark Ron Pethro,” I said. “He’s the president of the Aurora Health Organization.”
“Correct.” King said. “I believe he’s one of the Puppeteer’s dolls.”
Nobody looked surprised, but me. “How do you know?” I asked.
“Because the real Benmark Pethro already died three months ago.”
I blinked.
“Three months ago, Mister Pethro was involved in a highway accident. He was initial pronounced dead upon arrival at a hospital. Five hours later, the same hospital issued a press release, saying that he had miraculously been resuscitated, and was currently in a coma. A week later, Mister Pethro was back on his feet, and at his job.”
“So you’re saying that Pethro died and that the Puppeteer brought him back to life,” I said, frowning. “And you’re basing that on, what? The fact that the circumstances surrounding Pethro’s death were…creepy?”
“It sounds circumstantial,” King agreed.
“At best,” I countered.
King nodded, patiently. “That’s what I thought too. Until I did a little more digging. I went through the surveillance footage of Pethro’s hospital room. Somebody had doctored the records. On all the videos for the five days of Pethro’s coma, the footage between midnight and the first hour had been patched with the same clip.”
“You sure?” Kay asked.
“Footage of day five showed that Pethro’s flowers were wilting. That is, until the flowers miraculously turned fresh again between midnight and the first hour.”
“Because the video had been patched,” I said.
“Exactly,” King said. “Somehow, the Puppeteer interfered with Pethro’s vitals on the first day. Then. in the following five days, the Puppeteer spent an hour every night spelling Pethro’s body.”
And another picture of Pethro appeared. Except, this time I almost didn’t recognize the man. The picture had been taken from a distance, through a window, but the close up was clear enough. This Pethro had grey tinged skin, cracked lips, and an empty gaze.
“I spoke to a few employees of his,” King added. “Apparently, he doesn’t go out much anymore. He barely eats. He’s not smelling too good these days either, I hear.”
Po frowned. “Formaldehyde?”
“Too pungent. I’m guessing the Puppeteer is using some other preservative; something milder, but just as potent.”
Nobody was questioning King’s hypothesis now.
“I don’t know why the Puppeteer chose to spell Mister Pethro’s body, but chances are it’s not so that he can push for positive health reforms. I’ve spoken to the Director, and she is in agreement that the matter must be handled swiftly. Mister Pethro’s house is jam-packed with security, so we can’t hit him where he lives. He will, however, be stepping out of his fortress, to attend a fundraising gala for blood cancer in the third district tonight. Apparently, he will be making a very important announcement about the future of drug regulation. We don’t know what game the Puppeteer is playing, but I would rather he didn’t make that announcement, wouldn’t you?”
“Okay,” I asked. “But what are we going to do about him?”
“What are we going to do about him?” King said, looking mildly amused. “Why, we’re going to kill him of course.”
CHAPTER 38
I had never done it before: plotted an assassination.
The team, they had. First, we went over road maps and building plans. Pethro was going to be speaking at the Chalice Hotel, located in Capitol City, Cluster State. The gala was going to be held on the rooftop, underneath a glass d
ome.
There was only one building tall enough, and close enough, to the Chalice for a long-range shot.
Kay pointed at the building. “We could snipe him from here.”
King looked thoughtful. “Classic, but predictable.”
“And messy,” Po said. “We could slip something into his drink, make it look like he died of heart failure.”
“Boring,” King said.
Kay looked sceptical. “Can reanimated corpses even die from a heart attack? I think we should snipe him.”
“It’s a reanimated corpse, guys,” King said. “Can we think out of the box, please?”
“Fine, what’s your bright idea?” Po asked.
King grinned. “I say we do the inverted pyramid.”
Po and Kay groaned.
I leaned in to Kay, and whispered, “What’s the inverted pyramid?”
“We like, air drop from a flier, parachute into a coordinated ring, and snipe the doe at the same time. Bullets enter his brain at acute angles, is why we call it the inverted pyramid,” Kay whispered back. “It’s plain meta.”
I was stunned. “You guys can do that?”
Kay smiled. “Sweet, you invented it.”
“Not that again,” Po was saying. “We did that for the Anthea job. And the Whitewater job. And the Hafyr job. Frankly, I never understood the point of that manoeuvre.” She glared at me.
“No imagination, that’s you,” I said, immediately proud of my improvisation.
“It’s overkill,” Po continued. “And this isn’t some terrorist with a psychic field.”
“No, it’s essentially a zombie,” King said. “The inverted pyramid is conclusive.”
“It’s feeding the media fodder,” Po argued. “It’s causing a public uproar, is what it is. Covert—it’s a word. Look it up. And I was thinking: can we please make sure that he’s dead before killing him?”
“Never thought I’d hear that sentence,” I muttered to myself.
“I thought we were past that,” King sighed. “What do you suggest?”
“I would say heat vision goggles, but all the infused mana will probably give us a false positive. We could do it the old fashioned way.” She shrugged. “Check for a pulse.”
“I was wondering,” I said, “Do we know if he has any family?”
The room went quiet.
“Does who have any family?” King asked.
“Pethro,” I said, feeling self-conscious now. “Is he married? Does he have kids? I think I remember reading something like he had two boys studying in Floris.”
Po raised a brow. “And we should care about this—why?”
“Taking him away from family, loved ones in such a public manner,” I said. “Doesn’t that feel wrong to you?”
“Fey.” King looked confused. “He’s already dead.”
“Allegedly,” Po interjected.
“He’s very probably dead,” King said. “His family already lost him. They just don’t know it.”
I knew he was right. I just didn’t like the idea of a public execution. “We can, at least, try to handle this more delicately. He is a public figure after all.”
Po rolled her eyes. “Are you serious?”
I nodded. “I’m only agreeing with you. Covert, right?”
King folded his arms. “What are you thinking?”
“Do we have anything that can block motor functions?” I asked. “Like a chemical, or a poison?”
“Watch a lot of films, do you?” Po muttered.
I stopped.
“Ignore her,” Kay said. “We have a nice selection of those.”
“Well,” I said, taking a deep breath. “We can paralyze Pethro, wait for someone to call triple-nil, bring in our own ambulance—something we stole in advance, and then deal with him in private. Nobody ever finds the body. It’ll also make it harder for the media and the S.I. to make sense of it; that way we keep them off our backs. No mess.”
Po looked disgusted. “First of all, the S.I. is not one of our worries. They are not good enough to track us. Nobody is good enough to track us. Secondly, this isn’t some blockbuster flick. Do you have any idea how many things could go wrong with that plan? Too many variables.”
“Also, it like, still assumes that the Puppeteer’s spell needs motor function to work. Sure, Puppeteer’s an icy villain, but the doe’s no clown. His spell probably works even with a paralyzed nervous system,” Kay said, and threw me an apologetic look. “Sorry, sweet. Don’t think it’s a foolproof plan.”
“At least, it’s the only interesting plan I’ve heard this morning,” King said, and paused. “You know…other than mine.”
“Oh Great Light, we are not doing the inverted pyramid,” Po burst out.
And immediately, a loud and lengthy argument ensued, particularly between King and Po.
I sighed, because I was growing tired. I was feeling warm too, in spite of the internal cooling system installed in the ceiling. I was wearing a jacket, so I took it off and hung it on the back of my chair.
I suddenly realized that the room had gone quiet. When I looked up, Po was staring at me, her lips open in shock. I realized that her eyes were frozen on my chest.
I touched the item she was staring at: the necklace King had given me last night.
“Wow,” Kay said, but not in a good way. He was staring at the necklace too.
“Where did you get that?” Po asked, her tone dark.
“Oh yeah,” King said, scratching at his silver cropped hair with a bashful grin. “I was going to tell you guys about that.”
Po lifted her eyes to meet mine, and the sheer fury in them struck my heart with fear.
Something was wrong.
King stood up, and came over to stand by my side. “I guess this is as good a time as any to announce this,” he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Last night, Fey accepted my proposal.”
I went rigid. Wait, I thought. What?
“In a few weeks,” King said. “Fey and I are getting married.”
I was so stunned, I couldn’t speak. I could, however, almost feel the lightning bolts from Po’s glare.
“That’s…that’s really cosmic,” Kay finally managed to stutter. “Congratulations.”
“Yes,” Po said, with the most forced smile I had ever seen in my life. “Congratulations. Fey, can I talk to you out on the platform?”
I smiled back, and nodded.
Muck.
When Po and I were outside on the transportation pod platform, I turned to her and tried to speak, “Po, I swear I have no idea what’s going—“
She shoved me so hard that I flew across the floor, and slammed into a tiled wall. Before I could crumble to my knees, she was suddenly right in front of me again, her fingers wrapped around my windpipe.
“Are you out of your muckin’ mind?” she hissed, spittle hitting my eye. “Are you suffering from a mental illness? You agreed to marry him?”
I grasped at her steely fingers, gasping for air. “I didn’t,” I croaked. “I don’t…know…what he’s talking about.”
“Oh yeah?” Po said, her other hand clutching the rings on my necklace and pressing them so hard against my face that I was sure they were cutting me. “Then what the muck is this for?”
“He gave it to me,” I sputtered. “You tell me!”
“Hey, hey!” I heard King yell.
Soon, he was right next to me and Po, separating us. Kay came up behind Po and locked her in his massive arms.
“What the bleak are you doing, Po?” King cried.
Po struggled in Kay’s arms for a while, and then, suddenly, she stopped. I was on the floor, coughing and gasping for air. Po glared at me, panting.
King’s expression was thunderous. “Will someone tell me what’s going on here?”
Silence.
“Let go of me, Kay,” Po finally muttered. She was still as a stone now.
Kay looked at King. King sighed, and nodded. So Kay let her go.
&nb
sp; Po threw one last glare my way, before shaking her head, and going back inside.
Now, King was looking at me.
“It’s my fault,” I said, not meeting his eyes. “I teased her. Told her I’d won.”
“Won?” King asked. “Won what?”
I lifted my eyes, and shrugged to say, what do you think?
King gritted his teeth. “Why do you set her off like that, Fey? You know how she is.”
I shrugged again, and looked away. I heard him follow after her.
Kay took a seat on the floor next to me. We didn’t speak for a few moments.
“I really didn’t know,” I said softly, lifting the two rings to my eyes. “This is an engagement token.”
It wasn’t a question, but Kay nodded anyway. “It’s Rim custom to give the betrothed the symbol of everlasting unity—the linked rings. King may be Ruby, but he was born in the Rim, you know?”
“I’m so stupid,” I said, burying my face in my hands. “I was taught about that symbol years ago in a class. I should have recognized it. How did I not recognize the symbol?”
“Nobody expects you to know random trivia about a lost world, Arra,” Kay said, putting a hand on my shoulder.
“I should have recognized it,” I insisted. “I’m a bloody detective. I should have figured out that he was proposing to me last night.”
Kay didn’t say anything.
Soon, King returned, flustered. Kay patted me on the back, and rose to leave. King took his place.
“You okay?” he asked me, as soon as he’d sat down.
I nodded.
“You shouldn’t taunt her,” he said, sternly. “You know how overprotective she is about me.”
“I know,” I said, because now I truly did.
King allowed the moment to marinade in silence for a bit.
“All those years, roaming the Rim together, we were all we had. We really learnt to depend on each other,” he muttered. “Don’t blame her.”
“I don’t.”
“She probably feels like she’s losing her only family.”
Or maybe, she feels like she’s losing something more, I thought, but I said, “Forget it, okay? It was my fault. I shouldn’t have teased her about it.”
The BETA Agency Page 18
