Conspiracy Unleashed

by L. Danvers

  Cal gave a dismissive nod. She was unable to look Katz in the eye. Looking at her feet, she muttered, “Yes. I understand.” She knew better than to push her luck with Katz.

  “Go work on getting the newscast ready in case this presser doesn’t take as long as we expect. David called in sick today, so we’re more short-staffed than usual. I’m sure Jen could use your help. I don’t think she’s put together a rundown yet since she’s been tied up in meetings.”

  Cal forced a smile and returned to her desk. She opened the rundown, a computerized program used to design the newscast, and began labeling story titles and arranging them in order in which they were to be read on air.

  Sue peeked around from the other side of the cubicle. She brushed her thick, black bangs away from her round face, but they fell back over her eyes.

  “Thanks for saving me back there,” she said. “Katz doesn’t think I can do anything right. You couldn’t have interrupted at a better time. I owe you one. Is there anything I can help you with?”

  On top of being sickeningly sweet, Sue was also insufferably slow at putting together a rundown. Cal would rather watch turtles race across Death Valley than watch Sue try to put together a newscast. It was easier to do it herself. However, there was one thing she needed. “I could use some coffee. One cream, two sugars.”

  Sue flashed a bright smile. “Sure thing,” she said before hurrying toward the break room. Even the way Sue ran was annoying. Who looked that happy going to fetch someone a cup of coffee?

  Cal shifted her focus back to the computer screen. She chewed her thumbnail, chipping away at her black nail polish. She had a hard time getting motivated, knowing that the newscast wouldn’t air, but she did the best she could to make it compelling. If for some reason the presser ran short, she wasn’t about to put herself in a position in which she had to subject herself to the wrath of Claire Katz.

  In no time, the bright-eyed intern set a white Channel 12 mug on Cal’s desk, filled to the brim with steaming hot liquid. Cal shook her head, repulsed that Sue had grabbed one with Gregory Gilden’s face on it. Sue watched Cal take a sip, like a puppy waiting to be praised for doing a trick.

  “It’s good,” Cal said, checking to see if there were any witnesses to this awkward exchange. There weren’t.

  Sue’s face lit up. Cal took another sip while Sue hovered over her. She knew Sue wanted to help, but the girl was driving her nuts.

  “Sue? I was thinking, why don’t you check with Jen and see if she has a story you can edit?”

  Sue squealed, thanked Cal for the suggestion and headed for the conference room. Cal felt guilty sometimes about being so annoyed by her. The funny thing was that if anyone else were to act like Sue did, she’d think they were putting on an act. But with Sue, it was genuine. She shouldn’t be so hard on her.

  Cal rubbed her eyes and focused her attention on the humming computer. She opened a couple of stories that some of the other reporters had saved to the rundown. It amazed her that some of her coworkers earned a journalism degree. They could hardly write a sentence, let alone form a cohesive thought. Was it that hard to remember to attribute a source? And what about the basics like capitalization? Didn’t they learn this stuff in elementary school?

  She was so caught up in fixing others’ mistakes she lost track of time. Just as she finished editing the last story, the newsroom phone rang. Cal recognized the number as soon as she saw it on the caller ID. She pressed the cold plastic handset to her ear and chewed her lip before saying, “Hi, Mom.” She leaned back in her chair and wiggled a pencil, the eraser of which was down to a nub, until the wood itself appeared to be bending.

  “Hi, Calista. How’s your day going?”

  “It’s going fine, Mom.” She rested her elbows on her desk. “Listen, I’m at work. Do you need something?”

  “I’m calling to remind you about our family dinner tomorrow night. Your sister has some news she wants to share with the family.”

  The pencil fell from her grasp and tumbled to the carpet, which was discolored from years of coffee stains. “Exciting news? Is Quinn getting married?” That was the last thing she needed. Her parents would love rubbing that one in her face.

  “Heaven knows. She won’t give me any hints. But you’ll be there, won’t you? She wants everyone to be there.”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

  “Good. Now, don’t be late. I’m making my famous pot roast. You know, the one with the slab of butter and peppers. That one your sister likes so much. Oh, speaking of dinner, I have to tell you what happened to me at the grocery store today. It was so funny. You see, I was—”

  “I have to get back to work, Mom,” Cal interrupted.

  “Okay, okay. I can take a hint. See you tomorrow.”

  It was 9:55. Cal made her way down the narrow hall to the production booth. Her jaw tightened as she passed under a seizure-inducing fluorescent light, which insisted on clinging to life. She couldn’t understand why no one had fixed it. She’d complained about it more than once. It’d been flickering for a week.

  She was usually in front of the camera, but since she wasn’t going to be reporting tonight she thought it’d be fun to watch the production staff handle the presser. As much as she enjoyed being on air, part of her missed being a producer. She remembered the sense of power she felt whispering into reporters’ and anchors’ ears throughout the newscasts, giving them notes and counting them down. She liked being in control.

  Goosebumps rippled across her skin upon entering the booth. The production staff was used to the frigid temperature. It had to be cold in order to keep the equipment from overheating. The producers and directors always kept thick winter coats on hand.

  Bonnie Bernhardt, the lead anchor for the 10:00, took her seat at the news desk. The corners of Cal’s eyes wrinkled while Bonnie tried taming a stray blonde hair sticking up over her teased tresses. Bonnie pleaded for a production assistant to get her some hairspray—she went through a bottle a day—but there wasn’t enough time. The producers did a sound check. After the countdown began, Bonnie pursed her lips, a sign of her displeasure with the production staff, until the producer counted to one. And like the flip of a switch, Bonnie’s expression shifted to one of poise and grace.

  The Channel 12 opening title flashed across the screens and holographic displays, and the irritating jingle that pervaded Cal’s dreams boomed over the speakers, echoing throughout the entire building. Bonnie Bernhardt put on her most somber expression and spoke in the signature unnatural tone that took her years to perfect.

  “Good evening, and thank you for tuning into Channel 12 at 10:00 on this Thursday, December 21st, 2213. Any moment, President Daniel Douglass is expected to speak on the threat of war between France and Spain.” She pressed her index finger to her earpiece and nodded as the producer whispered instructions in her ear. “Ah, yes, we’ve been given word that the president is ready to speak. Let’s take a look.”

  The televisions and holograms flashed to the president. He sat at his desk in the Oval Office. Layers of crawls ran across the bottom of the screens, giving a play by play of what was happening. The handsome President Douglass, who even in his second term had evaded the curse that had stolen the youth of so many presidents before him, brushed back his wavy brown hair away from his face and took a sip of water. Realizing he was on air, he set his glass down and clasped his hands together, interlocking his fingers.

  “Good evening, fellow Americans,” he began. His voice was steady and certain. “As you know, there has been much talk about America’s possible involvement in the dispute between France and Spain. I am here to tell you that at this time, should war be declared between the two nations, I have no intention of sending our troops overseas. We have reached out to both France and Spain and offered to serve as a mediator between the two countries. As of now, we have yet to hear back from either of them.”

  Cal made mental notes of the president’s remarks, thinking of questions she should a
sk at the next press briefing. She wanted to think of something clever to ask, something that would knock the socks off Jindal, who Cal feared, after the debacle this morning, saw her as a silly girl rather than a serious journalist.

  She slipped back into the newsroom after the briefing concluded to gather her things. She was relieved to be done for the night. The station was already flooding with calls from viewers who felt compelled to yell their political views at any person who made the unfortunate mistake of picking up a phone.

  The next afternoon began like any other. It was Friday, and the only things on Cal’s mind were finishing up her work and getting to her parents’ house so she could figure out what Quinn’s big news was. That is, until she received a call.

  “Is this Ms. Cameron?” a hushed voice shook through the speaker.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Blair Cantrel. You called last month regarding my brother Damon’s, er, disappearance.”

  Cal scrolled through files on her office computer until she came across Cantrel, Damon. She scanned the notes she’d kept on him. He was thirty-two years old and lived in Pennsylvania. He had opened a medical practice before he went missing. That was enough information to jog her memory. “Yes. I remember.”

  “I’m ready to talk.”

  Chapter Two

  Reporters shuffled back and forth across the newsroom, sloshing their coffee with each hurried step. Others stood feet away from Cal’s desk, gossiping about the new lead anchor at their rival station.

  This wasn’t going to work. She needed privacy. She couldn’t risk Katz catching her working on this story after she had been told to give it up. The last thing she needed was to be berated in front of the entire newsroom, especially Gregory Gilden. She imagined the great pleasure he’d take in her humiliation. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

  “Can I call you back? It won’t take long.”

  “Alright.”

  Cal hung up the newsroom phone and entered the woman’s number into her wristband. She chewed her thumbnail as she hurried to the women’s restroom, flaking the fresh manicure she’d had that morning. The lights blinked on, and she locked the door behind her. She ran the faucet, hoping the constant stream would act like white noise and drown out her voice to any passersby who were within earshot.

  “I’m sorry about that,” she said when Blair answered the call. Cal paced back and forth in front of the wide mirror, staring at the cracked floor tile while she spoke. “Let’s get straight to it. Did Damon display any suspicious behavior before his disappearance? Were there any signs he was in trouble?”

  “No. None. He was so excited about his practice. He was enthralled with work. I’d never seen him so happy.”

  “Did he have any...” Cal hesitated, hating to ask this question, but knowing it was necessary, “...enemies? Could there have been a drug deal gone wrong? A debt he didn’t pay?”

  Blair choked back tears. “No.”

  “What did the police say when they investigated the case?”

  “Not much.” Blair’s voice cracked. “A few days passed, and the funeral home called and told us they had his body.”

  “Oh.” Cal raised her eyebrows.

  “But we never saw it, er, him. I hate referring to him as a body. Anyway, they cremated Damon before we had the chance to see him.”

  “Then how could they be certain it was him?”

  “The man I spoke to said they’d identified him by scanning his credittat. He said there’s a new law about that.”

  “Yes, that’s right. But you’re not convinced it was him?”

  “Would you be?”

  “No.”

  The bathroom door rattled as someone banged their fist against it from the outside. “You okay in there?” a muffled voice shouted.

  “Be out in a second!” Cal called out. “Sorry,” Cal whispered to Blair. “I have to go. Thanks for taking the time to speak with me.”

  Cal turned off the faucet, unlocked the door and saw Claire Katz standing before her, her eyes piercing her like daggers. Her face was twisted in a scowl. “What are you doing here? You were supposed to be on air two minutes ago.”

  Cal checked her wristband. It was the middle of the newscast.

  “We bumped your story back. You have three minutes. Hurry.”

  Cal darted across the building to set up her shot. She caught her breath seconds before she went live. She gave her report on the morning’s press briefing, then after the newscast was finished packed her things and hurried outside.

  She pulled the hood of her cherry-colored trench coat over her head and used her black wristband to hail a hovercab. She waited under the awning of her office building door. Heavy rain splashed against the sidewalk. She pulled her coat tight around her athletic frame. Howls of wind fought to be heard over the downpour. A kaleidoscope of hazy yellow lights sped through the airway, and within seconds her ears were met with the screech of a hovercab slamming on the breaks as it lowered itself to the street. It was an older model. The presence of a driver was a dead giveaway. Regardless, anyone could see that it was falling apart. Flecks of slate paint chipped from the vehicle, the glow of yellow headlights bouncing from the metal underneath. The egg-shaped back window appeared to be permanently fogged.

  “Where to?” the scruffy cabby called out, flicking a cigarette into a puddle below.

  “19 Cambridge Place, Level 2.”

  “What are you waiting for?” the driver huffed, waving her over. “Get in.”

  Cal stepped out from the cover of the building, popped open the door and pulled herself up into the backseat of the hovercab. She shook excess water from her hands and rubbed them against her pencil skirt while the door slid shut. She shivered while the cabby sped toward her childhood home.

  “Ugh. Awful weather out there tonight,” she said. It was a feeble attempt at small talk. The driver grunted. He was the perfect example of why the newer hovercab models were automated. Cal rolled her eyes and rested her head against the glass so she could peer through the fogged window.

  They zipped higher as they passed various levels of homes along the flightpath, weaving past vehicles until settling on a lane. The street level was where the poorest people in the community lived. Made of brick and vinyl, the homes were old and crumbling. A couple of offices like Channel 12 had utilized the space, but for the most part Level 1 was a sad sight. Cal thought the homes were built in the early 2000s, but she couldn’t remember for sure. The homes became more expensive with each ascending level because they were newer. They didn’t have yards. But the views were incredible, and hardly any kids went outside to play anyway. They had virtual reality simulators for that.

  A bright blue light emitted from Cal’s wristband, alerting her to an incoming message. Sometimes she regretted not biting the bullet and buying the xfone. But she didn’t think it was worth the money. Plus, she enjoyed wearing decorative earrings like the onyx studs she had in now. The xfone hadn’t been designed to accommodate earrings. Some women wore one earring on their free ear, but Cal thought that looked strange. She pressed a button and read the text. It was from her oldest friend, Flynn O’Boyle.

  “Hi, Cal,” it scrolled. “It’s been a couple weeks since we hung out. Want to catch up over lunch on Monday?”

  “Sure thing, Flynn,” Cal replied. “Name the time and place, and I’ll be there.”

  Another flash of blue light. “How about 11:00 at that new Persian restaurant on 53rd Street, Level 6. My treat.”

  “Ooh, Level 6? Sure thing. See you then.”

  There was a jolt. Everything went white, and her bones rattled. The hovercab lights blinked while thunder blasted outside. The vehicle pummeled to the ground, banging and crashing like a pinball against other hovercabs and hovercars along the way. Cal wanted to scream, but the muscles in her throat had constricted so tight she couldn’t make a sound. Her knuckles turned white as she clenched her fists around her seatbelt. She held her breath and shut her eyes,
bracing for impact.

  The hovercab slammed into the pavement. Her body flung forward, but her seatbelt sent her flying back with such force her skull banged against the headrest.

  After the initial shock, Cal touched her hands to her head, her face and her arms. She was sure she’d be covered in bruises by morning, but she was alive and in one piece.

  She was overwhelmed at the sight of the aftermath of the crash. The windshield had shattered in a thousand pieces when they nosedived into the pavement. The cabby’s hand was propped against the dashboard. Blood trickled down his hairy arm. As far as she could tell, he wasn’t moving. She craned her neck, but her seatbelt was locked. It kept her from getting a good look at him.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, unbuckling herself.

  “Am I okay?” he moaned. “Am I okay? Look at this thing. Geez. How much is this going to cost to get fixed? Am I okay? No, I’m not okay. Don’t think you’re getting out of paying your fare, either.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. We could have died, and you’re worried about money?”

  “So you think you can get away with not paying me?” he yelled. “You have any idea how much this is gonna cost to fix?”

  He was crazy if he thought she was going to pay him. As far as she was concerned, he would be lucky if she didn’t sue. “We’re not even close.”

  “It ain’t my fault the hovercab was struck by lightning. And if I hadn’t picked you up and taken you this route, I never would’ve gotten hit. If anything, it’s your fault. Look at the damage here.”

  A blue flash radiated from her wrist before she could respond. Her mom was trying to reach her. She ignored it, and she continued arguing with the cabby, who was screaming an impressive range of curse words at her, considering his otherwise limited vocabulary.

  There was another blue flash. She was officially late. Her nerves jittered as she anticipated her mother’s anger.

  Cal threw her hands in the air. “You know what? Fine. I’ll pay if it shuts you up. I don’t have time for this.” She stuck out her right wrist and pulled back her sleeve to reveal her credittat. She held it out in front of the scanner, waiting for a beep that never came. “Your scanner’s broken.”