‘Just turn off your engine please, miss.’
I obeyed. We sat in guilty silence watching as the traffic jam cleared and each occupant of every passing car turned to stare at us as they passed. Each of them an eye-witness to whatever was happening to us. Of course, no one challenged the men in black. I knew that in their position I would do the same. If someone who looked like a highly trained security officer was engaged in securing a suspect, the suspect was clearly guilty of something, most likely something despicable.
Finally we were alone, except for the seven men and women in black, wielding pacifier truncheons.
‘Step out of the car.’ I noticed the agent had stopped saying ‘miss’. We both climbed out and Drakeforth was immediately pushed to the back of the Flemetti. They made us stand with our backs to each other and I was quickly and thoroughly searched. From Drakeforth’s protests he was getting the same treatment.
‘Is this gun yours, sir?’ I turned to stare at the back of Drakeforth’s head. A female agent held up Hoptoad’s gun with the same thumb-and-forefinger minimum contact usually reserved for dead rats.
‘Never seen it before in my life,’ Drakeforth said.
‘It was in your coat pocket,’ the agent reminded him.
‘I’ve never seen this coat before in my life either. It could belong to anyone.’
The gun was placed in a plastic bag and sealed away and then we were guided towards the helicopter, which had landed in a cow paddock beside the highway. The herd had retreated to a safe distance from which to assess this new thing. They appeared to have reached a consensus that it would be better to ignore the helicopter and go back to eating grass and not bothering with matters beyond their understanding.
We stepped around the steaming remains of the cows’ initial shock and climbed into the helicopter. Six agents took up seated positions around us while one remained behind to steal my car.
I had never flown in a helicopter before and it had never occurred to me that when I did, it would be under such strange circumstances. The sensation of lift-off was reminiscent of a strange dream of falling upwards. The initial confusing moment when even gravity was taken by surprise and my internal organs clung to each other in a desperate panic went on for a lot longer than I felt comfortable with. We eventually stopped ascending and flew level. The sun was setting and we soared through the darkness in a black helicopter, surrounded by men and women wearing black. The colour scheme of my thoughts chose conformity over hope.
Chapter 10
I roused from my deep despair at the sensation of the helicopter sinking like a bird returning to the nest. We glided into a glowing halo of light that glistened with the lustre of a celebrity engagement ring in the middle of nowhere. I reached out and found Drakeforth’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. I looked over to him and realised that sometime during the flight Drakeforth had moved, and now a gruff-looking agent sat between us. He scowled at me until I let go of his hand.
Drakeforth stared out the window into the night sky, oblivious to my embarrassment, which I thought unfortunate; it would have cheered him right up.
‘Where are we?’ I asked.
‘Nowhere,’ the gruff agent said.
‘Any chance I could use the phone?’
‘None whatsoever,’ the agent said.
‘Hang on,’ I snapped. ‘We have rights, lawyers, phone calls and, ah … memorandums.’ TV cop shows were never my favourite entertainment fare, but it sounded close enough.
‘Yes.’ The gruff agent smiled and leaned in until I could smell the perkhip tea on his breath. ‘If you get arrested you have rights,’ he said, grinning into my face.
A sickening feeling cramped my stomach. The agent leaned back, spreading his feet as I leaned over and threw up on their nice black helicopter floor.
We landed a few moments later. I felt too nauseous to apologise. Serves them right, kidnapping us like this. I hoped my bile would stain and perhaps corrode some essential electronic component, until one day, long after the search for our remains had been called off and the missing person’s case closed, this sleek machine of obfuscation would suffer some catastrophic systems failure and plunge to earth in a spectacular fireball – hopefully with the gruff agent on board.
We were hustled out of the helicopter and onto a cold concrete pad streaked with lines of thick yellow paint. The agents herded us towards a solid-looking door flanked by two armed guards. One of the door guards took two clip-on visitor passes from a box and fastened them to our clothes. The door opened and we passed inside, the sharp acid smell of my vomit becoming more concentrated in the enclosed space of the elevator beyond.
As we descended I felt my stomach roll again. I could almost hear Doctor Hydrangea tsk-tsking. Soon the elevator whispered to a halt. The doors opened and we were marched out into a warm, carpeted room with swirling patterns on the walls and a nice neutral-toned floor covering.
‘Welcome to Nowhere.’ A perfectly presented blonde receptionist stood up from behind her desk and greeted us with a dazzling smile. I nodded weakly; the saccharine greeting and heavy side-arm in her shoulder holster were giving me mixed messages.
‘Two for processing,’ our escort announced.
‘Please fill in these forms,’ the receptionist beamed and we took the offered clipboards. ‘You can take a seat and wait over there,’ she added, indicating a leather sofa flanked by two lush pot-plants.
Drakeforth and I sat down, our escort vanishing back into the elevator.
‘For an impenetrable fortress of utmost villainy, they have certainly spared no expense on the interior decorating,’ Drakeforth observed.
‘Could you get me a glass of water, please?’ The strain of the day’s adventure had left me feeling weak and the burning taste of acid made my throat raw. Drakeforth returned to the receptionist and came back with a glass of water a moment later.
‘She asked if you need medical attention,’ he reported.
‘Tell her I do. I need to go home and take some painkillers and get a good night’s sleep. We can come back at a more mutually convenient time.’ I blinked as Drakeforth turned on his heel and went back to deliver my sarcasm personally. I sipped the cool water and waited to see what would happen. Drakeforth duly returned.
‘She regrets that we will need to remain here until we are summoned and someone will be with us shortly. I wonder what her mother thinks she does for a job?’ he added.
‘I bet she was popular in school,’ I replied, feeling strangely numb. Part of me wanted to scream and yet I felt crushed by a sense of hopelessness.
‘Yes.’ Drakeforth slumped into the comfy couch beside me and we glared at the receptionist, who did receptiony things with a tablet computer at her desk and otherwise ignored us.
‘I’ll bet she got good grades,’ Drakeforth said.
‘And she was on the volleyball team,’ I offered, remembering those impossibly long legs.
‘Captain of the volleyball team. Two years running,’ Drakeforth folded his arms and smiled gleefully.
‘Which still left her with time to win all those swimming medals and get good grades,’ I said. She had that kind of look about her. The kind of girl who went through her entire teens without ever once having a pimple or having to request permission to leave class to see the school nurse about a tampon.
‘Oh, and the family holidays they had.’ Drakeforth gestured in the air with his pen.
‘Winter and summer. Extreme sledding on Mount Cenacle for Hibernal, and then water boarding in the Petrichor Islands during the summer solstice.’
‘She’s the younger of two children.’
‘Fraternal twins,’ I corrected with a small laugh. In an entirely irrational way, focusing on something as implausible as the perfect receptionist took my mind off the coma-inducing terror of our situation.
‘Her brother was born seven minutes before her and never lets her forget it,’ Drakeforth said.
‘Of course not. They competed all thr
oughout their childhood,’ I replied.
‘Yet after all this time they still get together with family every holidays, just like old times. New things to debate, new ideas to test and vex each other with. Mother and Father are still so proud.’ Drakeforth wrote ‘Other’ in the section for gender.
‘Except their parents aren’t getting any younger and want grandchildren, but careers come first. It’s hard for their perfect children to slow down long enough to find someone to truly fall in love with. The having-kids kind of falling in love,’ I said, growing more enthralled by this game.
‘They keep telling themselves they have time. But they have graduated college now, and are both working in stable corporate jobs with management progression opportunities.’ Drakeforth signed the box that confirmed the information he had provided on the form was true and correct.
‘She is so focused on reaching the top of the corporate ladder she has forgotten to make time to live.’ A pang of sadness took the fun out of the game. I sank into the deep leather cushions and we stopped making up stories at the receptionist.
‘What is going to happen to us?’ I murmured.
‘Interrogation, I shouldn’t wonder,’ Drakeforth replied.
‘They’re going to ask us questions?’ I asked uneasily.
‘Lots of questions.’
‘But …’ and now my fear threatened to choke me, ‘I don’t know anything.’
‘Don’t be so self-depreciating,’ Drakeforth replied. ‘You know lots of things. You are an intelligent and highly educated woman.’
‘Thanks, but you know what I mean.’
Drakeforth sighed and balanced the tip of the pen on his finger.
‘We know that things are not as they seem. Your desk holds a secret that certain people will kill to protect.’
‘Kill?’ I squeaked. ‘No one said anything about killing anyone.’
‘They will, if we don’t stop them first.’
That sense of panic came charging back and started tossing my mental furniture around.
‘I admit, I had less than savoury thoughts on the way in, but, seriously? You are suggesting we kill someone?’
Drakeforth raised an eyebrow, ‘You have a very limited understanding of death.’
‘I have had enough experience with it, thank you very much. I’m not going to kill anyone, regardless of the justification.’
‘What about a thing? Not a person, but a thing?’ Drakeforth murmured.
‘You don’t kill things, you … disconnect them,’ I replied.
‘Well, then, we may have to disconnect someone before this is done,’ Drakeforth said.
The receptionist answered her phone and then hung up. Standing, she walked towards us on her long, volleyball captain’s legs.
‘If you will please come with me,’ she said, plastic smile firmly in place. We clambered out of the couch and handed her our clipboards. Mine had doodles on it of helicopters crashing in monochrome fireballs while agent-sized body parts disintegrated in the spinning rotors. The receptionist took the forms without comment and guided us to a door. It hushed open as she swiped her access card across the sensor and she indicated we should enter the hallway beyond. We stepped forward.
‘Tobin,’ she said to our backs, ‘was born four minutes before me. And you are right, he never lets me forget it.’ Her voice cracked slightly and she turned away. The door hissed closed.
‘Damn,’ said Drakeforth. ‘She seemed so much like a seven minutes younger twin.’ I shrugged and we walked onto the highly polished black stone tiles that lined the corridor, the light strips overhead glowing as we approached and dimming again in our wake. Further along the walls an avenue of statues was arranged in a bizarre parody of evolution. The first figures were simple tin men, life-sized toys of cylinders and cold headlamp eyes. Beyond these crude prototypes the figures became more refined, taking on human characteristics until they stood proud and victorious, frozen in poses of athleticism and expressions of noble contemplation.
‘Who do you think they are?’ I asked Drakeforth.
‘Perfect ideals?’ he suggested. ‘The faces are all similar. It’s a family freak show, or one person’s ego.’
‘It’s creepy,’ I watched the statues as we passed, waiting for them to turn their heads and stare at us. I breathed easier once we reached the end of the strange avenue and approached another closed door. ‘Joy Opens Doors’, a sign on this one said.
‘I wonder if joy is a brand of plastic explosive.’ Drakeforth said dryly. I put my hand out and touched the portal’s surface. It felt warm and quivered under my fingertips.
‘I think it’s more an instruction. We would like to come in, please,’ I said with sugar syrup in my voice. The door opened, emitting a purr-like whisper.
‘Thank you,’ I said as we passed through.
The room beyond wanted for nothing, except perhaps more space, a decent view of the countryside and more furniture. Like the other spaces we had passed through since arriving by helicopter, this room had the snug, blank decor of a freight elevator.
Dilby Pretense looked up from the office’s single desk and then went back to the documents he was reading.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ he said without looking up again. ‘Terribly busy, you understand.’
‘Perhaps we could come back at a more convenient time?’ I said, allowing an unaccustomed sauce of sarcasm to marinate my words.
‘Absolutely,’ Drakeforth nodded. ‘I’m busy for the next hundred years or so, but after that, drop me a mail.’
‘Ahh-haa,’ Pretense snickered through his nose and closed the folder in front of him. ‘Now, where were we?’ he asked, standing up and coming to meet us in the middle of the room.
‘We were just leaving?’ I suggested.
‘Introductions would be best, I think. Miss Pudding and I have met, but I don’t believe we have had the pleasure, mister …?’
Drakeforth looked at Pretense blankly then roused himself, ‘Oh. When you said pleasure, I assumed you were speaking of something else entirely.’
‘Vole Drakeforth, this is Dilby Pretense. He conducted my recent empathy testing.’
‘The pleasure is entirely yours, I assure you,’ Drakeforth said and ignored Pretense’s offered hand.
‘Miss Pudding, I must say it is delightful to see you again. Your empathic resonators are most extraordinary.’ Dilby beamed at me.
‘Thanks …’ I replied, unsure what that meant or what it had to do with our meeting being delightful.
‘Exactly how extraordinary?’ Drakeforth asked, his eyes narrowing.
‘Well on the Marberg Scale, she’s a nine point seven eight.’
‘Nonsense. Your testing equipment is faulty,’ Drakeforth retorted.
‘That’s what we thought, but every time we ran the analysis, it came out the same.’
‘How can I be so high?’ I asked.
‘We have no idea, but it is fascinating. You are certainly not living up to your empathic potential in your current role.’ Pretense beamed at me again.
‘The highest recorded ER was seven point six. And even that was not widely accepted,’ Drakeforth said.
‘The GEC has the best measuring systems in the world Mr. Drakeforth. As we like to say, we know how you feel.’
‘Oh, you have no idea,’ I muttered.
‘So that is why we are here?’ Drakeforth asked. ‘Because you wanted to tell Pudding about her high empathy resonance?’
‘Oh no,’ Pretense snickered again, ‘we want to conduct further tests. There is also the matter of a certain artefact that she has in her possession.’
‘The desk,’ I said, irritating myself further by stating the blindingly obvious.
‘Yes,’ Pretense beamed. ‘We would like to remove it from your possession.’
Hope flared in me as I realised that could only mean that the Godden Energy Corporation hadn’t managed to take it from the vault. ‘And if I say no?’ I asked warily.
; ‘That would be unfortunate,’ Pretense frowned.
‘What if I said no?’ Drakeforth asked, his tone more aggressive.
‘Well, I’m not sure—’ Pretense started. Drakeforth stepped into his personal space like he wanted to dance.
‘No,’ Drakeforth said, staring Pretense in the eye.
‘I – I understand that there is some emotional attachment, but this is a unique case. It requires closer study.’
‘No,’ Drakeforth repeated firmly.
‘But – OW!’ Pretense yelped as Drakeforth tapped him on the nose with one finger.
‘No,’ Drakeforth said again.
‘The desk has been in my family for generations. I have no interest in or desire to give it up,’ I interjected. Pretense gave another of his irritating nasal chuckles.
‘The desk is a national treasure, therefore neither your interest nor your desire carries any real weight.’
‘Excuse me?’ I said, my voice shrill with incredulous indignation.
‘The desk must be handed over to us. There is simply no choice in this matter.’
‘There is always a choice,’ Drakeforth announced.
‘I refuse to give up the desk,’ I said, as if it would somehow make my decision clear.
‘Is there some aspect of “national treasure” that I need to explain to you?’ Pretense asked.
Drakeforth made a choking sound deep in his throat. ‘I’m sure this witty repartee could go on all day. But I have a question.’
Pretense and I both looked at him, ‘Why haven’t you got the desk already?’ he asked.
The balding man blinked behind his glasses, ‘We can’t simply steal it,’ Pretense said, aghast.
‘Of course you can! You people have been stealing things for over a hundred years!’ Drakeforth snapped.
‘This is a very delicate matter,’ Pretense said. ‘I accept it may take you some time to understand your place within the greater plan. I would ask that you take some time to reflect on our request before agreeing to hand the desk over.’
‘We are leaving. Now,’ Drakeforth growled.
‘Of course. Accommodations have been arranged. I’ll summon someone to show you the way.’ Pretense returned to his desk and summoned a security escort. The door shushed open and two burly guard types turned sideways to enter the room together.
Engines of Empathy (Drakeforth Series Book 1) Page 9
