by Rees, Kevin
‘The President is safe, for now,’ Duncan said, cryptically. ‘Please, Praetor. It would help if you could tell us about Cruz-Smith; what his relationship was with you. What particular skills did he have? Was he seeing anybody?’
‘I barely knew the man, Lieutenant. I employed him as a casual researcher to help me with my work. He has been to my house several times, but he spent most of that in here amongst my books.’
‘Did he have access to your computer?’
‘No!’
Duncan glanced at his Sergeant, who showed him something he’d written down. ‘Did you employ him to spy for you, sir?’
‘That’s outrageous, Lieutenant. Are you accusing me of something?’ Thoragan began to pace across the faded carpet, emulating his depiction of Shylock. ‘Cruz-Smith was employed to gather research and data. I never questioned how he got the information, as I am not privy to how researchers research. All I will say of him is he is good at his job.’
‘Sir, Mr Cruz-Smith broke into the President’s house. It seems there was an altercation and the President shot him.’
‘Is he dead?’ Thoragan said, beginning to work out the permutations of this information. Aquino shooting Cruz-Smith. There would have to be an investigation; he would be suspended. Where did he get the gun? What was his state of mind? Yes, this could play out very nicely, he thought. He wanted to rub his hands with glee, until the lawman spoke again.
‘I have been told he is dead, sir. But there is another reason as to why we are speaking with you.’ Duncan turned to the guards behind him. Jarvis stood a head and shoulders above his colleague, but made no move to speak. The woman stepped forward.
Her voice belied her diminutive appearance. It was strong and authoritative without any sense of nervousness. ‘We believe, Cruz-Smith was going to assassinate the President.’ She watched Thoragan throughout and had to hold down a smile when he appeared to gasp in horror at his former employee’s audacity. ‘President Aquino defended himself and killed the man. What we don’t know is why.’
‘Well, all I can tell you about him, he was acting a little strangely earlier in the day.’
Duncan jumped in. ‘You saw him that recently? How did he seem?’
‘As you can appreciate, I don’t make a habit of enquiring after my employees health or make small talk with them. I would say this, though, I brought some papers into this room for Mr Cruz-Smith to verify if they were authentic. He seemed vague and uninterested. I asked if he was sick and suddenly he became very abusive. I had no option but to dismiss him immediately. With that, he stormed out of my house. That was the last I saw of him.’ Thoragan sat down again, satisfied with how quickly he could construct lies that couldn’t be challenged — least of all by Cruz-Smith. The President had done him a favour.
Miss Cotrane stepped forward and stood over Thoragan. ‘Sir, you are a loyal subject?’
‘Are you insulting me, Miss Cotrane, with a question like that?’
‘No, sir, I am making a statement of fact and not challenging your loyalty to President Aquino,’ she continued. ‘Praetor Thoragan, it is imperative you agree to keep what I am going to propose a secret and not discuss it with anyone except the people in this room.’ Miss Cotrane turned and gestured to her colleague. Jarvis left the library.
‘Keep what? What is being asked here?’ Thoragan was feeling slightly bewildered and increasingly intimidated by this monotonous woman.
Duncan and his Sergeant politely excused themselves, leaving Thoragan and Cotrane alone. They both stared at each other. Thoragan felt the woman’s indifference to his authority and was beyond any self-doubt as to her power. A knock on the door drew his gaze away from her.
‘Come in, sir,’ Cotrane said, taking a few steps back.
Thoragan turned and drew in a breath. Standing in the doorway was Aquino with Jarvis filling the space behind the President. Gabriel Aquino walked into the room and stood beside Miss Cotrane.
‘What is this?’ Thoragan stuttered. ‘Mr President, I just heard about the attempt on your life. I’m so glad to see you are unscathed.’
‘Thank you for your concern, Praetor Thoragan.’ Aquino turned to the woman, indicating she should speak.
‘Given the breach of security, and the near miss, we are advising the President to stay at a safe house until we can neutralise any further threats to his life. The President, however, feels a safe house would mean he is cowering away from those that threaten him, and threaten our democracy. We advised differently, but agreed to his plan.’ She stopped again, staring directly at Thoragan without a flicker of emotion crossing her face.
‘What plan?’
Aquino stepped forward. ‘You are a loyal to the Senate, Praetor Thoragan, and a worthy opponent. I know of your dislike of the way I rule, and that you are a strident opposer of the contemporary way I run office. What better safe house is there for myself, and my wife? Nobody would suspect I would seek refuge in the home of my greatest political opponent. So I’m asking for sanctuary, Praetor, until my guards can investigate the threat.’
Thoragan’s mind spun and collided with itself. ‘But of course, Mr President,’ he stammered. ‘I would be happy to offer you and your wife protection. It is my duty, after all.’
‘Miss Cotrane, please escort my wife in. I’m sure Praetor Thoragan’s staff can show her to our room.’ Aquino smiled as the woman left.
‘My staff? Of course, my staff can show her up to the guest quarters. Would you care for anything, sir?’ Thoragan stammered. He felt his hand tremble as he pressed a bell to summon one of his servants, ‘Some coffee, perhaps, or something stronger?’
‘Coffee will be fine. I cannot thank you enough. The last hour has been taxing for my wife.’ Aquino sat in the chair Duncan had occupied. ‘I can’t understand it. Your man came to my house with the invitation, so why not try and kill me then?’ Aquino shook his head. ‘Why risk coming back when he knew the odds were stacking up against him? He should have known as soon as the gun went off that my guards would be there in seconds?’ Aquino threw back his head and laughed. ‘But it was too late for him. Perfect shot right between the eyes.’ He jabbed a finger to a spot on his forehead. ‘Boom, and the contents of his skull landed on my favourite chair.’
‘Quite, sir. Perhaps you do need a stiff drink to calm your nerves after an ordeal like that.’
Aquino dismissed his suggestion and got back up. He walked to the rows of books and idly took some out. He leafed through the pages, pausing as if reading. The thump of the heavy book closing in Aquino’s hand clapped thunderously, causing the other man to jump. Aquino stood, looking around the room before resting his eyes on Thoragan. He smiled amiably, which was returned in kind.
‘Do you know, Praetor, I sometimes wish — between you and I — I sometimes wish I wasn’t the President, just because of incidents like this where there are madmen out there willing to kill you. I hope the autopsy and brain scan can put the reason to bed.’
Thoragan choked and sent spittle arcing from his mouth onto the black robe. ‘There’s to be a brain scan?’
‘Mmm. Tonight... hopefully.’
‘A brain scan? But surely if you’ve shot him and the back of his head has been destroyed, what is the point of a brain scan?’ Thoragan tried to keep the panic out of his voice. He didn’t know much about brains, but he knew the technology the scientists possessed was powerful, and it could extract something from Cruz-Smith’s dead tissue. And perhaps that “something” could incriminate him.
Aquino rubbed his hands and sat across from the Praetor. ‘What about that coffee now?’
‘Coffee, yes. I’ll chase up that damned servant. By the way sir, where did they take his body?’ Thoragan tried to appear casual, but knew an astute person may see through him.
‘Why so interested?’
‘Purely an enquiry because of the embarrassment I feel that a former employee has made an attempt on my President’s life.’ Thoragan was trying to convince himself of his si
ncerity, hoping that it would be reflected in his manner.
‘They didn’t tell me. Just whisked me off until I decided I’d be safest here — no-one would suspect. Still, you might be right about that boy’s brain. It was a mess. High-calibre round at close range, rattling around the skull before it explodes out of the back of the head. Couldn’t be much left — unless they scrape it off my chair. I rather liked that chair.’ Aquino looked down solemnly mourning his loss.
The library door was opened again by one of Thoragan’s servants carrying a tray with hot coffee and a plate of sandwiches. He laid it carefully in front of Aquino and left. The sandwiches were ignored in favour of the aroma of fine coffee drawing both men to the little table. Aquino poured out both cups and added a little cream. Thoragan placed several small cubes of sugar into his coffee and filled the cup with the remainder of the cream, which floated like thick glacial ice on a sea of black.
The soothing warmth of the liquid relaxed both men, who sipped silently from their cups. Aquino’s lips curled upwards briefly at the painting of Shylock and the obvious resemblance to himself as the unfortunate Antonio bleeding on the floor. He fought his instinct to stand and express amusement at Thoragan’s obsession with him. The sound of ferocious chewing distracted him from the painting. Aquino looked at the plate and saw only one of the sandwiches had survived Thoragan’s onslaught. The rest had been crammed into the insatiable maw in the middle of the man’s face. He thought about reaching for it, but held himself back.
‘So, Praetor, what about the vote on extending our welcome to other countries and inviting them to know of our existence? Good idea... bad idea?’
Through a mouthful of bread he spat his words out. ‘Bad, and I shall vote against it. Isn’t there enough conflict between the countries that know of us now? Petty jealousy will develop, especially in countries where secrets are bought and sold as easily as politicians. And it could start another arms race.’
‘A sound point and one we will debate at opposite sides of the forum, I suspect,’ Aquino said, wondering if Thoragan realised the irony of his observation.
You suspect right, you arrogant fool, Thoragan spat inwardly. There was little support for further revelation, as the demands from the countries that already knew about them were becoming intolerable. Especially since Father had directed his attacks solely on those places. Even their cities in the remotest parts of Central America and Canada had been targeted.
‘Perhaps a compromise could be reached.’
‘What type of compromise?’ Aquino said, easing himself around to look at Thoragan.
The comment had been made automatically, as anything Aquino said, Thoragan naturally opposed. Thoragan swallowed hard, trying to send bread and meat into his gut followed by lukewarm coffee. He could feel Aquino’s eyes on him, waiting for his response, but the food had become stuck. He desperately looked at his empty cup and at the pot standing inches away from the President. Thoragan could feel his face becoming redder as he tried to cover his desperate need to nudge the impacted sandwiches into his gut.
‘Are you all right?’ Aquino seemed to be enjoying the spectacle of the man turning from red to a cyanosed purple in front of him.
Aquino poured more coffee into the empty cup in front of his host, who snatched it from his hand and drained it in one gulp, wincing as the bite of the scalding heat hit the back of his throat.
‘My dear fellow, you are looking ill.’ Aquino appeared concerned. ‘Perhaps I should get you a doct—’
Before Aquino could finish, Thoragan jumped out of his seat and ran out of the room, trying to apologise as he went. Aquino sat back smiling and heard the frantic opening and slamming of a door followed by deep retching as the impacted food exited with some force. There was a heavy silence before a door was opened and the pad of Thoragan’s feet creaked across the floor.
‘Thoragan, you look much better,’ Aquino said, sounding jovial.
‘Thank you, sir, I feel much better.’ The Praetor moved back to his chair and sat down heavily, sighing as he did.
The remnants of the sandwiches flecked his robe, much to Aquino’s disgust. And he noticed how his face had a greasy sheen that reflected the light, and how his hands lay still on his lap, the palms turned upward. Thoragan looked exhausted by the choking fit.
‘You mentioned a compromise.’
‘Did I, sir?’ Thoragan said weakly. ‘Would it be all right if we continued this conversation tomorrow?’
‘Yes of course. Please get some rest. My dropping this surprise with no notice must be a little draining for you.’ Aquino moved to get up. Knowing the man opposite would mirror him out of courtesy as his host. ‘If one of your servants would show me my room, I’ll say good night.’
‘Thank you, Mr President. I’ll ring for them now.’ He pressed a button on the wall beside him. Soon there was a knock on the door. ‘Come in.’
A stooped man entered. He had the appearance of someone carrying a heavy case on his back, causing him to lean just over perpendicular. His eyes had to climb up in their sockets to meet Thoragan’s.
‘Please escort the President to his room and make sure he and his wife are comfortable. And be sure all their needs are taken care of.’ Thoragan bowed slightly. ‘If there is anything I can do, sir, please don’t hesitate.’ He paused. ‘And it is an honour you thought of me at this time. I will do my utmost to protect you while you are my guest.’
‘I expected nothing less, Praetor. Sleep well.’
Aquino left with the servant and could be heard walking briskly up the stairs as the old retainer ambled up behind him.
Thoragan returned to his chair, exhausted by the effort of keeping up the appearance of loyalty, and his gluttony. Both wore hard on his physical wellbeing. Why was Aquino really here? The question boiled in his gut. Politics was a game often played by fools who thought they knew the rules. They were the easiest to deal with. It was the seasoned professional — the prime manipulators. Now, they really were in a league above all others. They wrote the rules and created new ones to suit themselves. Thoragan saw himself at the head of those men and women, always influencing others for his own gain and planning political manoeuvres most couldn’t conceive of, or ever comprehend their complexity. He was skilled at moving opinion in those too afraid to reject any proposal he made. They didn’t want their political ambition to end up like that of a moth getting so close to the flame’s embrace and burning as a consequence of a poor decision.
Now his opponent had turned him into the moth, and he didn’t like being taken for a fool. What was more pressing was the autopsy. A successful brain scan could see him stripped of everything — his wealth and title — he could also face banishment. In recent centuries, only two banishments had ever been recorded for treason. One was the wife of a President, and the other a Senator. Bloodeaters killed both within days. Thoragan didn’t want to end up a third account as some historical memory.
He had to know the location where Cruz-Smith’s body was and make sure no brain scan was going to reveal anything incriminating that could lead back to him. Where would they take the body? There were only two hospitals in the city where autopsies were performed; the rest were carried out at the military base at Jeminouez, immediately on receiving the body. All three had brain-scanning equipment. Which one would they have elected to take the spy to?
The obvious answer would be the military base, but Thoragan knew the doctor who conducted the autopsies was away. Therefore, it must be one of the civilian hospitals. Thoragan began to calm himself and apply a little logic. They were both of equal distance to Aquino’s residence, and both equipped to take the President if he fell ill or suffered any traumatic injury. Therefore, both would have watertight security. They had two or three staff able to operate the scanning machines and a smaller number of expert readers. Only, one of those readers had recently died and hadn’t been replaced at the Tarramatta 1 Hospital. The other hospital didn’t employ readers throughout the night, as they
could record residual brain information within eighteen hours of death. But, Tarramatta 1 did employ a reader around the clock, and they would have to cover the vacant place of their deceased colleague. Given the circumstances of the assassination attempt, it would be granted priority status, especially if there was so little brain matter left to work with and there was always a possibility of contamination and decay.
Thoragan left his chair and went to one of the smaller paintings in the room. He took it down, revealing a plate built snugly into the wall. On one side was a short piece of bright blue metal with a hole in its centre. Thoragan pulled off one of his ornate rings. The diamond was large and cut into an oblong. He pushed down gently with his thumbnail on the edge of the stone, which flipped out of its setting into his palm. Along the side of the stone was carved an intricate series of dots. He aligned the edge of the stone with the hole and pushed it in firmly. There was a loud click and the metal plate raised silently upwards. Inside was a small round box with several dials lying on top of papers, money, gold coins and jewellery.
Thoragan beamed. He wanted to hug himself for coming up with the logical conclusion as to where Cruz-Smith lay with his head blown off. There wasn’t one moment of remorse or sadness at his passing; only a sense that Aquino had actually done him a favour by killing the tiresome bastard. Now he had to make sure the little shit didn’t reveal anything else.
Thoragan pulled out the device, which was small and looked like a toy. He held it tightly in his palm as if the decision for the next course of action wasn’t completely sold in his mind. The silvery disk was an advanced communicator he designed to be undetectable to the prying ears of their military. Only one other device existed, and that was in the possession of the only man he half trusted: his brother, Janathen. And there was the sticking point — Janathen? The odds were favourable that something would be found in Cruz-Smith’s brain. Thoragan’s hand hovered over the device still wracked with indecision. His finger fluttered over one of the buttons four times before he closed his eyes and pressed down. The signal was sent.
