THE SEVENTH EVENT

by Phillip Shaw

  Libero swung round to Pamela, the visions of battle momentarily dismissed from his brain. ‘We have a problem, there's a body in the trunk' Pamela to her credit didn't scream, the events of the last few moments were resonating from her. ‘We can stop at the next town. We'll find more like us, more like you.'

  He had spoken softly but inside his own mind was in pain. What kind of world have I returned to?

  18. Manhunt

  Kim Clements stood staring at the whiteboard. Since yesterday's meeting with the shrink, she had a new vigour about her. Previously she had thrown herself into the job to forget the past. Now, in this case, Kim Clements viewed redemption. A case involving murder, pure unadulterated murder, part of it was a relief, no hidden agendas the chance for Detective Clements to get her life and career back on track. It had started this morning with her wardrobe. Gone were the denim and sports jacket of the last year. Today it was a business suit and skirt. Five-inch heels gave her back the feeling of command that she had been robbed off. Kim Clements was back in the game.

  Kim looked at the whiteboard again, the spider webs were interlinking. So far they had two victims and a human being burnt so badly he was a moment's medical negligence away from being a third. The first victim Tyler Hutchens was going to cause a media storm. Kim had already alerted her superiors and was desperately trying to, at least, have a suspect before going in front of the press conference they had arranged for this morning. She hated the press, even before the storm surrounding her personal life Kim Clements had had run-ins with the media, whether it was would be Journalists masquerading as lotharios accosting her in Manhattan bars or being flat out branded a bimbo on national TV when she was called into giving an expert's opinion on an evening news show. ‘We better have plenty of meat on our bones before we let the parasites loose' she said turning to Janice Danowich her senior lieutenant. Janice just sipped on her coffee and grunted. When they had been paired together years ago colleagues joked that they were a married couple. Kim Clements the raven haired beauty and Janice the red headed husband while it was true Janice was not the most feminine of ladies in the office, the cruel jibes about her sexuality and gender were unfounded. Kim knew that her opinion was the one needed in a case like this. She was her sounding board, the echo that had helped solve plenty of cases where the rest of the office were either ogling her or simply being kiss asses.

  ‘We need to focus on the car, I think it's the link between the two' Janice added.

  Kim wasn't so sure; Tyler Hutchens was certainly the most high-profile homicide they had investigated in recent years. He was due to be one of the main contenders at his home event in a few weeks. Now there would be uproar. Kim had asked the juniors in the office to scour the rumour pages in the tabloids and hit up the social media sites on the net to see if there was anything to suggest a darker side to Hutchens, so far all they had found was common knowledge. Born with a god given talent for tennis he was tipped to be the saviour of American tennis, not blessed with a missile of a serve his early victories had been a triumph of mental strength. He quickly rose into the elite top ten of men's tennis. This led to him becoming a global pin-up. He joined with Umberto Massaro's sports agency in Manhattan then the wheels came off. Where before he was blessed with a mental strength he now seemed to throw matches at the semi-final stage to the frustration of the country. Public opinion was ‘too much too young' but Kim thought that a lazy analysis. She suspected drugs, gambling, vice or something worse. In any case, it was too late now. In a few hours, she would be grilled over what happened to a former ‘Man of the year'.

  The car was a lead, though; Kim had correctly guessed that it would have a tracker on it. She guessed Hutchens himself didn't even know about it. It was not meant to be included on the American spec. by fluke, this had been a European import. The beacon had been traced to Senza's yard. Kim on hearing this had thrown her coffee at the poor junior who delivered the news. ‘You mean to tell me that the car we have been searching for, was in the scrapyard we just left!' needless to say, the junior would stand further back when he delivered bad news next time. Kim almost forgave him when they found what was left of the luxury sports car. The once six figure beauty was reduced to something the size of an office desk, the most disturbing thing was the thick red liquid that had formed a pool where it was left.

  The blood from the car had been identified as one Stan Markov, a local garage worker from Manhattan. He was known to the department as he had serviced a few hot cars for the Eastern European crime families when he first came to the country. Since he had recovered from Leukaemia the garage had gone upmarket and he had taken on an employee who had been his business partner in recent years. Jason Clyne was still at large. They had nothing to pin on him but Kim knew they needed to eliminate loose ends before this went public. She had an APB on Clyne ready to go but had hesitated until they could do some background on him. The problem was there was no background available. After he left the orphanage, he went to college, after college he went to work for Markov. That was it, no misdemeanours as a youth no arrests for anything. He had lived a clean life. Kim usually suspected a clean record as much as a dirty one but something about the little information they had on Clyne made her feel for him. He had made a successful business after being raised in an orphanage and now the only father figure in his life had been brutally murdered in a gangland killing. Not only that a former classmate was also dead. Everything about it screamed that Clyne was in the wrong place perhaps being used by Markov as a mule or a scapegoat. In any case, Kim needed to cross him off the list.

  She strode out in front of her team back to the wall. Looking out at the ragged collection of detectives and juniors that she led she realised that this case could hinge on her. She was glad that at least she had dressed for the occasion.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we have my favourite here, a problem case. We have two dead bodies, one a world famous sports hero, the other an eastern European immigrant who used to be a crook. We also have the well-done carcass of Tony Senza breathing his last over Our Lady's Hospital. We cannot count on him to tell us anything more than he ever did. Our only missing link so far is one Jason Clyne, joint proprietor of Markov's garage in Manhattan. While there is nothing to suggest he is a suspect, he was most likely the last person to see these three people alive. We need him off the streets and we need it before this story breaks into the media. Anyone have any ideas that aren't already on the board?'

  Kim took the lid off the pen and turned to the blank looking faces in anticipation. Not a single word emerged from the gathered mass. ‘Maybe I didn't make myself clear. Either you are obsessed with seeing my legs for the first time in a few months or you are as perplexed as I am.' Kim thought it was the former. Joey, one of the juniors spoke up. ‘Detective Clements… Ma'am…'

  ‘Spit it out Joey or do I have to come over there and help it out of you!'

  ‘I checked the local traffic cameras. Clyne was seen entering the repair shop at eight-thirty am and not seen leaving. If he isn't still in there then he also left in the car.'

  Kim resisted the urge to go over and slap him on the back. He was right, the rest of the juniors had been so busy doing background work on Hutchens that they had not bothered using the new technology available to them. Either that or they had been trying to curry favour with her again. Idiot Joey had done a bit of actual Police work. ‘Joey get over there and check it out, I need you back to me after the press conference.' Joey quickly scurried away and Kim dismissed the rest. It was time to face the media and announce the murder before the public made up their own minds.

  Walking with Janice down the carpeted hall to the media room, Kim did all she could to force back the memories of her last appearance in front of the cameras. Standing there saying she would do everything in her power to catch the killer unknowingly bedding him that night. ‘This time, it's different.' The comforting hand from Janice on her shoulder helped before she opened the double doors and took her position behind th
e podium. Ignoring one overfamiliar hack who said ‘It's nice to see you Detective Clements' all the while looking at her legs she looked the rest individually in the eyes and began.

  ‘Members of the press, please keep all questions to the end. Thank you for coming at such short notice. It is with regret that I inform you of a double homicide in the Manhattan area. Yesterday the bodies of two then unidentified males were found in Tony Senza's Junkyard. Mr Senza himself is in the hospital at the moment and I await news of his passing, so severe is his condition. The two men found dead at the scene have been identified as Stan Markov, a vehicle styling and repair shop owner from Manhattan and… Tyler Hutchens, a professional tennis player who originated from Greenwich…' Kim didn't get any further before the gasps and squawks came from the newly awoken press. She steadied herself and was relieved to see Janice shouting them down again without the need of a microphone.

  ‘Obviously Mr Hutchen's death will generate a great deal of public interest but we would ask you to be respectful in your lines of enquiry. As he had no immediate family I would refer you to Massaro's sports agents for further details on this. They were alerted as soon as the body was identified and I understand Umberto Massaro is preparing a conference himself for later in the day. At this time, we have no motive or suspects for the murders and our enquiries are continuing in earnest.'

  Kim stepped back from the podium and prepared herself for the questions. To her amazement, the gathered press just sat speechless. They had clearly arrived here for a sleepy mornings work. They had no idea that they would be some of the first to hear the news of Hutchen's death. Taking her chance to leave Kim turned and left the room. The normal cacophony of the press room was eerily absent as she walked back towards her office. ‘Any sign of Joey, is Clyne at the garage? Janice get the car ready we're going to need to be over at Massaro's for that briefing.' Kim couldn't get the thought out of her head that Jason Clyne, whenever she found him, would be uncovered to be another victim of the junkyard. Kim hoped that her instincts had pointed her in the right direction; she couldn't live with another failure, not now when she had woken from the nightmare.

  19. Diffusion

  ‘Obsessives, compulsives, disorders and weakness. This world is putting names to problems that don't exist.'

  Arbitan sat in a café sipping tea and staring out the large pane glass window at the imposing skyscraper in the middle of Manhattan. He had seen nothing like it in any other age. The combination of glass, steel and concrete rose like a spire touching divinity itself. It could have been anything in the old world, a temple, a fortress or a base. But here the common mortals just wandered in and out through its cylindrical doors and the doors of dozens of identical structures all over the city. He let his mind wander to the general inside. He definitely had some of the building under control. Arbitan already knew the office layout inside and the way to get to his target. It was just a matter of timing.

  He had been drawn to the power coming from inside as soon as he had dealt with the clean-up at the junkyard. The waves of power drew him in. he had hopped on a bus and travelled to near where the building was last night. It was amazing the advantages these creatures had and yet still he had been awoken to defend them. Within moments of making the decision where to go, he saw one of the great silver travelling devices, the bus. The knowledge of buses and public transport then flowed into him and he travelled to the epicentre of the drawing power he felt. Sitting on the bus he had started his research, delving into the minds of those under the control of his generals and mentally taking notes of what was going on. He needed to understand the anthropology of this city and those who dwelt within it. Words and images screamed into his head as the bus made its way across one of the majestic bridges onto the central island of Manhattan that he had been reborn in earlier. He needed time to focus, to blend in and observe his target. The ‘Nevershut' Café had suited his purpose.

  The staff in the café had changed a few times since last night but Arbitan had remained, ordering more tea and staring incessantly out the window. A serving girl approached again.

  ‘Sir? Can we get you a cab or something; the girls in before me say you have been here over 10 hours!'

  ‘I enjoy the ambience; can I try another of your speciality teas please?'

  It would soon be time to enter the building. He couldn't sit here and draw any further attention to himself, not yet, not while he was alone. The nights pondering had been spent acclimatising to the rules of this society. He had only scratched the surface; the creatures of this age had so many issues. He found it sickening, the last age had been so much simpler, and the desires were primal. Eat, shelter, reproduce and survive. Now he had been subjected to the intimate knowledge of the creatures' mundane lives. Instead of using the knowledge contained on the internet to better themselves they clogged it up with images of family, drunkenness, adultery and hedonism. Every decision they made was posted for approval from their peers. The world was not as he had left it. The problem was that these small psychological triggers were given the same emotional precedence as survival. He had been reborn before it was too late. The subjects were questioning the natural order of things too readily.

  The girl came over with a different tea, Rwandan. That was another thing he had noticed during his mental reconnaissance the obsession with coffee. People were fuelled by it; they needed it in the mornings before they could do anything productive, they needed it again on reaching their place of work and they went to places like this and demanded it in ever increasing varieties. They raised it as a false idol, an emotional crutch. The people are weak. They complain about not getting their eight hours sleep; they take drugs for every emotion instead of experiencing them, instead of feeling. They will know the meaning of reality before I am finished on this plain.

  Arbitan stood from the chair, the host's joints creaking briefly as he walked to the door. It was time to recruit.

  Arbitan approached the towering glass monolith with confidence. The floor he was looking for was the fifty-third offices of Umberto Massaro sports agent. Arbitan had wondered what use a sports agent would be in exerting influence on the world until he saw how revered these people were. He also paused looking at a large image on the glass buildings front. A face he remembered from yesterday morning, a life he remembered ending without effort yesterday morning. Interesting, the coward who ran from me was a subject of mine. It mattered not to him, there were plenty more, their knowledge base continued to flow into him. He walked through the revolving door and spotted the reception desk. There was a myriad of approaches being calculated in his head, stealth the current path. He walked to the desk and waited for the girl behind to speak.

  ‘Welcome to Massaro's do you have an appointment?'

  In milliseconds, the petty issues of people in the building were at his fingertips. He selected the most obvious.

  ‘There's a server issue in the upper offices. I detected it remotely and am here to get you back up to speed. I need you to clear it with security and call floor forty-two and tell them a tech is here to resolve the issue.' Arbitan flashed a smile at the girl. Cretins.

  ‘Please wait over there and ill check for you.' Arbitan stepped back and watched as the girl made the call upstairs. There was an issue with the server upstairs but the person who was usually employed to deal or delegate was absent. The workers upstairs had been complaining about it all morning instead off ringing their maintenance contact. He glanced over and received a nod to come back. Given a visitors badge, he walked over to the guards to be searched. He paused. On the guards arm, he could see the mark of a symbol, one he had not seen in this life, the mark of his followers the mark of the Magisters. Why are they here? He thought. He had detected none of their minds; something was wrong, very wrong in this building. That was the mark of his standard bearers, his foot soldiers. Only the elite should bear it upon their person and if they were elite he should be able to feel their knowledge, instead, he felt nothing there was a block these m
en wore the mark but they were not his Magisters.

  He warily approached the men and passed through the metal arch. They waved him on and he was through, he noticed the men carried unusual weapons. He knew they were guns and immediately knew the destructive power of them but these two were different, unique almost tailored, with all the knowledge he had perused so far these did not conform to any images of guns. The elevator doors beckoned and he waited with a group of people for them to open. Stepping in he walked to the back and stood to stare at the reflection of the host. Dark haired, stubble gracing the face and his eyes, the only thing that gave him away, any of his generals who looked into them would know, instantly. The mundane drone of music filled the lift as it made its staccato journey up the building. He reached his floor and pushed his way through the other people, he had to move like this, unseen like a fissure running down a cliff face, he would move unnoticed until he shattered this world.

  He moved through the office and was heading for the staircases to make his further journey up when an arm grabbed his.

  ‘Are you here to fix the server?'