by Thomas Fay
‘Makes sense. So, what happened?’
‘Socrates and I persuaded them to go away. They didn’t like that very much so they shot down a Ruling Council transport ship. Then they kidnapped Lauren. Oh, Vanessa was working for them.’
‘Who’s Vanessa?’
‘Someone I thought was on our side. I guess I was wrong.’
Fernali laughed.
‘That’s a first. You admitting you were wrong.’
‘I’ve been wrong quite a few times during this investigation. At least one thing’s for certain.’
‘What’s that?’
‘One way or another, this will end tomorrow morning.’
There was a momentary silence.
‘What do you need?’ Fernali asked.
‘I’ll let you know once I’ve spoken to the Chief.’
‘Stay safe.’
Fernali hung up. John considered calling Councillor Alara Green but decided against it. She would have enough to worry about with the burning wreckage at the manufacturing plant and the explosion at the Opera House. John turned the holo-TV off. It was quiet. He walked over to the bedroom and opened the door.
Lauren was sitting on the edge of the bed. Her hair was wet from the shower and she was still wearing her towel, wrapped tightly around her. She was crying softly.
‘Lauren?’ John whispered.
He knelt down in front of her. She looked up at him. Then she threw her hands around his neck and held him tight.
‘Shhh. It’s okay now,’ John whispered in her ear.
She stopped crying. They held each other for a long time. Finally, she broke away.
‘I’m exhausted,’ she said.
‘Get some rest.’
‘What about you? You’re not leaving me here alone?’
‘No, of course not. I just need to make a few calls. I’ll be done soon.’
‘John, I … I almost died tonight. We almost died tonight. I don’t know if I can do this, John. This is what your life is now.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I don’t know … I need to rest. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.’
Lauren leaned back on the bed. She was asleep a moment later. John pulled the covers over her. He stood up. Heading back into the living room, he closed the door behind him. He knew he had put Lauren in a dangerous position, that his job did that on a regular basis. This time he feared it had gone too far. He feared he would lose her.
Fifty-Nine
John was wide awake about fifteen minutes before his alarm was set to go off. He turned on his side. Lauren was fast asleep under the covers, still wrapped in the towel from the night before. It looked like she hadn’t moved. Slipping out of bed slowly so as not to wake her, John stood up. Reaching for his phone, he checked the screen. No calls. Which could be good news or bad. If everything was going according to plan, there shouldn’t be any calls. Of course, if everything had fallen apart at the last minute then it was likely he’d never find out. Recalling Manson’s theory, John reassured himself with the basic premise that there were no coincidences. Which meant everything was on track. Either way, he would find out soon enough. Walking into the bathroom, he turned the shower on. Stepping inside, he allowed the warm water to momentarily wash away the anxiety of the day ahead.
****
John was dressed in Sentinel grey and sitting in his cruiser twenty minutes later. Pulling out of the driveway, he drove out onto the street. It was empty. Not surprising, given it was only 6.35 am. The sky was overcast. Streetlights shone with a pale glow, illuminating the deserted roads as John drove towards the CBD. He enjoyed the feel of the powerful vehicle as it responded to his every movement. A smile played across his lips as he recalled the sheer exhilaration of being in the car when Socrates was driving. And this cruiser was unmodified. He couldn’t wait to see what the android could do with the car once his favourite mechanic had remapped the car’s CPU. John checked the time on the dash. It was now 6.50 am. Another ten minutes and his uncle would be making the call to the Rainmaker. Then it all either went the way they had planned or it all fell apart. John reached for his phone. Scrolling through his recent calls, he found Fernali’s number. He hit the dial button.
‘You’re up early,’ Fernali said.
‘Couldn’t sleep. Is everything in place?’ John asked.
‘Waiting on your signal. I’m still not sure how you got the Chief to agree to this.’
‘Let’s just say that a mutual acquaintance of ours can be very persuasive. Is the security team in position?’
‘They never left. Your apartment has been under constant surveillance since you returned home last night. Lauren is safe. Sorensen sent three of her best, including Carlos, who’s very handy with a sniper rifle.’
‘Good. After what happened last night I don’t think Lauren could handle another ordeal like that. Michael, I’m worried last night was too much for her. She knew who I was, what I did for a living, but now that I’m a Sentinel, she doesn’t see an end to it. She thinks it will only get worse.’
There was a momentary silence.
‘She’s not wrong, you know,’ Fernali said.
‘I know. That’s what worries me. I think she may leave me.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yes. I don’t know if I blame her, to be honest.’
‘Would you ever consider a different career?’
It was John’s turn for silence as he considered Fernali’s question. That’s what it came down to, ultimately. Was he prepared to give up his career in law enforcement, as a Sentinel, in order to save his marriage? He realised it wasn’t a fair question. He had never complained when Lauren’s work hours became longer and her assignments more demanding. They could never speak about their work. They rarely saw each other. He realised he’d been naïve to think that things were alright. They’d been drifting apart for a while now.
‘This is what I was meant to do. You, me, all of us. What we do is too important to walk away from.’
‘There’s your answer then. It’s hard, believe me; when Kate left me it wasn’t easy but you get through it. Work helps.’
John suddenly laughed.
‘You and Kate argued constantly and you were relieved when she finally suggested a divorce.’
‘Hey, I never said it was the same. I just said it wasn’t easy.’
‘Michael, there are times when I forget you’re Italian. Then, when you say something like that, it reminds me straight away.’
It was Fernali’s turn to laugh.
‘That’s because we know how to look at the lighter side of life. La dolce vita. You should try it sometime.’
John’s phone was flashing with another incoming call. The caller ID read Socrates.
‘You’re probably right. I’ve got another call. I need to go.’
‘Showtime. Good luck.’
‘You too.’
John ended the call and answered the incoming one with two taps of his phone. Despite the android’s inability to inflect any sort of emotion into his voice, John felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up when he heard the words.
‘John, we have a situation.’
Sixty
The underground parking garage at Sentinel HQ was about half empty. A large number of Sentinels were still dealing with the aftermath of the Opera House bombing, as well as assisting the Ruling Council with securing a number of their facilities. John parked in the spot reserved for his cruiser. Turning the car off, he got out and walked towards the turbo-lift. A pair of legs, clad in dirty overalls, was sticking out from underneath a cruiser parked in the service bay.
‘Morning, Pawel,’ John said.
The legs wriggled slightly. Then a muffled voice responded from somewhere beneath the cruiser.
‘John, is that you?’
‘Sure is. You’re in early.’
‘A few of the cruisers parked at the Opera House last night took some damage. I am checking them. Can you hand me the torque wrench?’
&nbs
p; John walked over to the open toolbox next to the service bay. He quickly scanned the tools. Locating what he judged to be the torque wrench, he placed it in Pawel’s waiting hand. The hand and wrench promptly disappeared beneath the car. The thank you that followed confirmed John had chosen the correct item from the toolbox.
‘Take care, Pawel,’ John said.
‘You too, John.’
Reaching the turbo-lift, John placed his finger on the biometric scanner. The lift doors opened a moment later. John got in and pressed the button for level twenty-five. The doors slid shut with a faint hiss of air and the turbo-lift ascended rapidly.
****
Socrates was waiting for him when he opened the door to the Chief’s office.
‘What’s happening?’ John asked.
‘Sit down, Tesh,’ the Chief said, pointing at the chair across from his desk.
John obliged, the hard leather a familiar friend. He seemed to be spending more and more time in the Chief’s office. He hoped that was a good sign.
‘Okay, I’m sitting. Someone want to fill me in?’
‘The US ambassador, William Thornton, just called me,’ the Chief said.
‘What did he want?’
‘He demanded we release Vanessa Koelmeyer.’
‘What? How did he even know she was here?’ John asked.
‘I don’t know. She must have contacted him somehow.’
‘They may have had a predetermined check-in timeframe,’ Socrates said. ‘Her failure to make contact would have aroused his suspicion.’
‘That still doesn’t explain how he knew she was here,’ John said. ‘Unless … ’
‘Someone inside Sentinel HQ is working with her,’ the Chief finished.
John considered it for a moment. This case had certainly had him questioning Sentinels, even those he’d worked with before. Ultimately, he still found himself trusting in those people, in what the Sentinels stood for.
‘I don’t believe that for a second,’ he said.
‘What is the basis for your denial of the possibility, John?’ Socrates asked.
‘I know the Sentinels. None of us would do something like that.’
‘What about the support staff? There are over two hundred people employed in this facility.’
‘Yes, but none of them would have known she was here. No, they must have some way of tracking their operatives remotely. Something our standard search wouldn’t have found.’
‘Geotracking technology on the molecular level?’ the Chief asked.
‘Could be, although that stuff is only meant to be theoretical,’ John said.
‘Based on what you’ve told me about these people, I wouldn’t be surprised if they have access to that sort of tech.’
John nodded, his mind racing.
‘So, what are you going to do about the US delegate?’ he asked.
‘I’ve denied his request.’
‘How did he take it?’
‘Not well.’
‘I can imagine.’
The phone on the Chief’s desk chimed. He reached over and pressed the intercom button.
‘Yes?’
‘Chief, there’s a William Thornton in the lobby to see you?’
There was a momentary silence as the Chief looked at John. Finally, he reached over and pressed the intercom button again.
‘Send him up.’
‘Yes, Chief.’
The call ended. The Chief let out an explosive breath.
‘This should be interesting,’ he said. ‘What are you grinning about, Tesh?’
‘Nothing.’
‘One of these days you’re going to get me into serious trouble. Come on, we’d better go and meet him at the turbo-lift.’
They stood up, joining Socrates, who had remained standing the entire time.
Opening the door for the Chief, John said, ‘Chief, just remember to handle this diplomatically.’
Sixty-One
Ambassador William Thornton was in his early sixties. He was a willowy man, with deep-sunken eyes and a narrow face. He was dressed in an expensive tailored suit. It was navy in colour with a faint pinstripe. He carried himself with the air of someone who was used to getting their way. His two diplomatic security personnel, dressed in black suits, underlined his authority.
‘Who is in charge here?’ Thornton asked.
‘I am,’ the Chief said.
‘You are the Chief?’
‘That’s right. You really could have saved the trip, Mr Thornton. As I explained over the telephone earlier, we will not be releasing Vanessa Koelmeyer into your custody.’
Thornton took a step forwards. The two bodyguards eyed John and Socrates meaningfully. It was all John could do to stop himself from smiling. The fact that they were inside Sentinel HQ, surrounded by the best of the best law enforcement personnel in Iona, seemed to be completely lost on them. They carried themselves with such confidence, so certain of their abilities—if only they knew that Socrates could disarm them in the space between heartbeats. John wondered if that knowledge would shatter their confidence or if they would simply refuse to believe it. He suspected the latter.
‘And as I explained earlier, Vanessa Koelmeyer is an agent of the United States of America. She is here as part of our delegation and was assigned to your Sentinels to review your security measures, as directed by the UN. Your detention of her is illegal. I demand that you release her at once.’
‘Your agent kidnapped a citizen of Iona. She also endangered the lives of Sentinels and other citizens. Furthermore, we have reason to believe she was involved with those behind the recent attacks against Iona, including the bombing at the Opera House.’
Thornton seemed to consider the Chief’s words.
‘You have proof of this?’ he asked.
The Chief glanced at John and Socrates. They had proof, in that Socrates had recorded everything in extreme high definition. The only problem was that, in using those recordings, they would be revealing his uncle’s involvement, something Nathan has expressly asked John not to do. Given his uncle had risked his own life to go undercover as one of the Rainmaker’s operatives and had intervened to save Lauren’s life, John had asked to exclude the recordings. The Chief had reluctantly agreed.
‘I have detailed reports from two Sentinels of these incidents,’ the Chief said.
‘Reports?’ Thornton scoffed. ‘Forgive me if I don’t put much faith in your reports. If you have no evidence, then I demand you release her. Now.’
Thornton stared at the Chief without blinking. The Chief returned his stare. John had to admit he was impressed with the way the Chief was handling the US ambassador. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering who the Chief really was—who he had been in his past life before taking on the role of the most senior law enforcement official in Iona.
‘If you do not release her I will be forced to lodge a formal complaint with your Ruling Council and with the UN headquarters in New York,’ Thornton said.
‘Go ahead,’ the Chief said.
‘Is that your final word?’
‘It is.’
‘Very well.’
Thornton reached inside his suit pocket and withdrew his phone. He dialled a number from his call list.
‘This is William Thornton, US ambassador to the UN. I demand to speak to one of your Councillors immediately.’
‘This is about to get interesting,’ John whispered under his breath.
Socrates looked at him but said nothing. It sounded like a Councillor had answered Thornton’s call.
‘Councillor, the way your Sentinels have treated our operative is unacceptable. She was assigned to review your internal security arrangements and I’ve learned that she’s been detained. I demand you release her at once.’
There was a momentary silence as the Councillor responded.
‘There is no proof. While she may not have diplomatic immunity, she is, nonetheless, here as part of my staff.’
Thornton’s
thin lips curled up into what almost looked like a smile.
‘I thought you would see it my way. I certainly wouldn’t want to lodge a formal complaint with the UN in New York.’
Thornton reached out and handed his phone to the Chief.
‘The Councillor would like to speak to you,’ he said.
The Chief took the phone.
‘Yes?’ he said. ‘This is the Chief. If I may … ’
‘I understand; however, we have reports from two Sentinels that support these events. Yes, the two Sentinels were involved in the incidents. I know how that looks … ’
The call ended and the Chief handed the phone back to Thornton. The US ambassador took the phone and put it back inside his pocket. The Chief turned to John and Socrates.
‘Let her go.’
Sixty-Two
Vanessa Koelmeyer was escorted down to the lobby of Sentinel HQ by two Sentinels. With the Chief looking on, they handed her over to John and Socrates before getting back into the turbo-lift. Vanessa greeted them with a smile.
‘Better luck next time, boys,’ she said.
Then a frown passed across her youthful face as she looked closely at Socrates. Thornton motioned to his two bodyguards.
‘I’m glad to see that you saw reason in the end,’ William Thornton said. ‘Agent Koelmeyer, it’s time to go. You have some explaining to do.’
Vanessa gave them a wave as she walked out of Sentinel HQ, escorted by the two bodyguards. Thornton remained in the lobby after they had stepped outside.
‘Rest assured that I will not be lodging a formal complaint with the UN,’ he said.
‘That’s because you and I both know that complaint would be pure fiction,’ the Chief said.
Thornton smiled.
‘Perhaps.’
He turned to walk out. Pausing in mid-stride, he said, ‘If you ever feel like playing in the big leagues, give me a call. We could use someone like you.’
‘Mr Ambassador, let me say this as diplomatically as possible. I’d rather walk across burning hot coals rather than work for you,’ the Chief said.
