Momentary Stasis (The Rimes Trilogy Book 1)

by Adams, P R

  Metcalfe’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He put on another winning smile. “To help the Intelligence Bureau?”

  Chae said nothing, instead sighing quietly.

  The buildings turned from crude, brutish skyscrapers and glass-fronted shops to darker, more menacing stone and steel towers. With their asymmetrical lines and crude materials, they looked both new and ruined. As the SUV stopped in front of one of the buildings, Rimes realized that most of the materials must have been salvaged from the ruins after the war.

  Chae switched the motor off and watched the traffic for a moment, his thoughts far away.

  “Last year, Kwon Myung-bak killed three … young women. That’s what we could prove. They were prostitutes and performers, of no special value. I worked the case and arrested him. He confessed to the killings; he was unconcerned about breaking the law. I do not believe he felt the law applied to him at all.”

  Chae closed his eyes. “An hour after I logged the case, I received a call from Senior Superintendent Cho informing me the evidence and confession were inadmissible. He had the case immediately classified as cold.

  “I released Kwon Myung-bak.”

  Chae sighed quietly. He straightened in the seat and opened his eyes. He looked at the building, adjusting his tie and smoothing the front of his jacket distractedly. The SUV remained quiet for several seconds.

  Metcalfe pointed to the building. “Is this where he killed them?”

  Chae looked at his hands, now resting on his lap. “Kwon Myung-bak had an apartment to the northwest. I worked out of the headquarters building then, before I was transferred. His building was twelve-and-a-quarter kilometers from my office, far enough away to not hear the screams, but close enough to feel the … horror.”

  “The girls lived here?” Metcalfe asked, his voice quiet.

  Chae nodded. “One did. Park Hyun-ok. Sixteenth floor.”

  “Why are we here? Is this where he killed her?” Metcalfe asked.

  Chae took a cleansing breath. “No. The killings were performed at Kwon’s apartment. He had a … private room there. Padded to contain the screams. A drain for the blood. Wall hooks for the tools he used.” He shook his head. “Based on what I saw at the rest of his apartment, he is a very successful man, very valuable.”

  “Wealthy enough to buy his own freedom?”

  “No,” Chae said with a quiet, vicious chuckle. Then he brushed the front of his jacket again. “Apparently, LoDu intervened on his behalf. He said they would. He also said I would pay for my mistake. I have always hoped my transfer was the whole of the price.

  “Two of the victims were thirteen.” Chae pulled a slender wallet from his jacket, swiping a finger across the surface of a display panel within. An image of a smiling young girl materialized. “My older daughter turns thirteen in six months, you see.”

  Despite the poor treatment Chae had given them, Kleigshoen patted him on the shoulder.

  Chae put his wallet away.

  Metcalfe asked, “What’s the significance of this building? Are we going to see Miss Park’s apartment?”

  “Lee Sang-woo lives here,” Chae replied. He glanced at the side-view mirror, then opened his door. “You want Kwon Myung-bak, you need to speak to Lee Sang-woo.”

  The apartment building interior made the damaged exterior look cheerful by comparison. The halls were dark, with light fixtures nothing more than murky shadows. Paint chips and trash littered the floor. Rimes picked his steps carefully and tried to block out the stench—urine, feces, decomposition. It saturated everything around them.

  Chae led them up six flights of stairs, then down two corridors. He stopped at an unmarked metallic door and knocked. The echoes banged back up the empty hallway.

  In the darkness, time seemed to come to a stop. Finally, Rimes spotted a thin, black strip sliding out from beneath the door. A micro-camera curled upward.

  Chae squatted in front of it. “Inspector Chae and three others. These people wish to speak with you about Kwon.”

  Why not tell him we’re IB?

  The camera retreated beneath the door. A few seconds later, they heard a heavy, metallic scrape and several locks rattling.

  The door opened into absolute blackness.

  Chae whispered something, and another voice replied. Chae swept a hand forward for Metcalfe to enter. Metcalfe led, and Chae entered last.

  The door closed behind them, and an iron bar slammed home.

  Bright lights hit them in the face, blinding them. Rimes closed his eyes and instinctively raised his hand to block out the light.

  “We need to speak to you about Kwon Myung-bak,” Metcalfe said.

  The lights went out again.

  The same voice spoke, and Chae answered. Rimes caught Kwon Myung-bak’s name, but nothing else.

  Rimes stood still, waiting.

  The lights returned, this time more dimly.

  Rimes closed his eyes again and controlled his breathing in an effort to fight the dilation. He opened his eyes and scanned the entryway for something to focus on, finally settling on a sickly young man at the far end of the room.

  Unkempt dark hair, acne-racked face, a pair of goggles on his forehead, sunken cheeks, yellow teeth, and a raised HuCorp 8xH pistol eventually resolved themselves from the blur.

  Even as sickly as the man looked, Rimes couldn’t help recognizing Kwon Myung-bak from the file images.

  19

  4 March 2164. Seoul, Korea.

  * * *

  “What do you want with 731?” the sickly figure demanded.

  The pistol he held moved slowly between the three Americans. He stood in a hallway, his back to a corner, his right side to a wall, his left to a black plastic table that held a bright white backpack and several photo frames. Images of a young woman scrolled across each of the frames.

  “Kwon Myung-bak?” Rimes gauged the likelihood he could close on the man without being shot. The odds weren’t favorable. The man’s face glistened with perspiration, and his breathing was rapid and shallow. He seemed strung out on something, yet still uncomfortably in control of his faculties.

  Chae turned his back to Rimes and looked at Metcalfe. “This is Lee Sang-woo. He is sometimes referred to as 729.”

  “They’re brothers,” Metcalfe whispered.

  Lee sneered. “Even my people can’t choose their family.”

  729? 731? Genies have families?

  Rimes struggled to control his surprise. “How many of you are there?”

  “Two, now.” Lee exposed his yellow teeth in a wicked grin. “730 is dead. Mourn the good son.”

  Chae twisted to look at Rimes momentarily, then turned toward Metcalfe again. “Dr. Hwang Sung-il, their ‘father,’ liked to work in threes.”

  Lee tilted his head sideways. “You shouldn’t be so rude, Chae. You’re so blind that you’ll talk to a motherless Korean but refuse to acknowledge a black man.”

  Chae barked something in Korean that made Lee smile again, baring his yellow teeth.

  “Anything Korean is acceptable, even a monstrosity like me? What about 731?” Lee looked at Rimes. “You still haven’t told me what you want with 731.”

  “We believe he can answer some very important questions about a sensitive operation,” Rimes answered.

  “So Chae says,” Lee replied. “But I want to know the truth. You. Your friends may be Bureau, but you don’t have the look.”

  “Mr. Rimes,” Metcalfe said, looking at Chae, “is attached to my mission from the military. We’re not at liberty to discuss the particulars of our investigation.”

  Lee casually dropped his pistol on the table and stepped away from the corner. He ruffled Chae’s hair as he went past. “Chae will say nothing if it would hurt the great and powerful nation of Korea. Isn’t that right, Chae?”

  Chae fixed his hair and brushed his jacket but didn’t reply.

  “Wake up, Little One,” Lee said.

  A console that consumed an entire wall lit up. Lee settled into
a chair facing the screens. He swiveled around to face them.

  “So, Mr. Metcalfe, let’s start with you. You’re the one running this mission, not Mr. Rimes. Why don’t we give it a look?”

  Behind him, the console helpfully lit up with several projected images.

  One showed Metcalfe in Chae’s SUV. Another showed Metcalfe standing next to Kleigshoen at the airport. A third showed Metcalfe and Rimes at the Pune airport, waiting outside the women’s bathroom for Kleigshoen. A fourth showed all three of them standing at the private Mumbai airport, talking to the pilot. A fifth showed the three of them walking through the capital airport in Virginia. Travel itineraries filled the final display.

  “D.C. to Mumbai, right when the dissident activity experienced a sudden, inexplicable spike. Mumbai to Pune via private jet and then Pune to Seoul.” Lee pointed to a display showing the dead policemen. “Have you come here to stir up dissidents too? If so, you’ll find Koreans are much less likely to accept your rabble-rousing.”

  Is he making fun of us? Rimes looked at Metcalfe, who was frowning. Not making friends, that’s for sure.

  “Dream worlds are so much more appealing than riots.” Lee waved his hand to indicate the screens. “The Grid … an inexpensive means of controlling the populace, isn’t it?”

  Metcalfe’s face darkened as he looked at the displays. Rimes waited for the storm to come, but Metcalfe kept it under control.

  “That’s not important. We’re here to understand why LoDu would send a team of genies into India, why that team would consider it acceptable to attack a military operation inside a closed compound, and why they would use illegal weaponry to do so.”

  Lee looked at Rimes. “That was your operation in India.”

  “I was part of it, yes,” Rimes acknowledged, ignoring Metcalfe’s glare.

  “Give me the names of the operatives.” Lee spun his chair from side to side.

  Metcalfe pulled his wallet from his suit pocket and carefully flipped open a hidden flap within. He patiently worked out a strip of data film, then handed it to Lee. Lee swiveled to his console and fed the film into a reader, extracted the data, and tossed the film on the floor. He looked the names over for a moment, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.

  He swiveled around in his chair. “My services aren’t cheap. I can get you more details on these operatives, but it will take some time. LoDu doesn’t give me access. They do, however, frequently hire my services, which gives me a way in. One hundred thousand.”

  “Too much,” Metcalfe said.

  “One hundred thousand, or a better explanation and fifty thousand. You’ve given me no reason to believe 731 is in any way associated with this operation.”

  Rimes looked to Metcalfe for approval. Metcalfe nodded, and Rimes cleared his throat.

  “I was involved in an operation against Kwon and some other operatives in Singapore.”

  “The Sembiring assassins,” Lee said with a casual nod. “The Special Security Council’s bold counter-strike.”

  Rimes blinked, then continued. “The operation was supposed to be classified, but Kwon’s team knew we were coming for them. We believe he can tell us who gave us up. Right now, the only common link between the two operations is LoDu genies.” He looked at Chae. “Your brothers.”

  Lee leaned forward, brow wrinkled in concentration and fingers steepled again. “Fifty thousand,” he said after a long minute. “Come back tomorrow.”

  “What’s he on?” Metcalfe asked as they climbed back into the SUV.

  Chae shrugged. “He will not admit it, but he is shamed that LoDu discarded him. One side of his face says he hates them and doesn’t need them, the other side spits bile and fury that they found him inadequate.”

  “What happened to him?” Kleigshoen asked.

  Chae glanced at Kleigshoen out of the corner of his eye, then answered her. “He developed an illness. He could not perform fieldwork. He was always considered a disappointment, but he was exceptional with computer systems, so they were willing to overlook his shortcomings. He became an addict … of many things. They would have eliminated him, but he was too valuable. He proved this by sending them some … uncomfortable data he had on key executives.”

  “He blackmailed them?” Kleigshoen asked, surprised. “And they let him live?”

  Chae nodded. “They give him enough work to keep him stocked with drugs. But there will come a day where he becomes too expensive to keep.”

  Rimes blinked at the realization. “He’s how you were able to arrest Kwon.”

  Chae said nothing but started the motor and pulled into traffic. They were halfway back to the station when he spoke again.

  “We knew of the disappearances. Seven girls between the ages of twelve and sixteen, all of them pleasure women. The one who disappeared from Lee’s apartment building was special to him.”

  Rimes shivered slightly. “That display by Lee’s door. That was the victim?”

  Chae grunted. “Park Hyun-ok. Kwon took her out of spite. In the end, Lee was able to get evidence to connect Kwon to three murders. We caught him in the act of … eating a girl.”

  “Eating?” Kleigshoen buried her face in her hands. “What is wrong with him?”

  Chae stopped for a group of youngsters slowly walking across the street, laughing and arguing with each other.

  “Genies are not like us. They do not have to select which path to walk in life. They do not have to worry if they will be good enough or if they will be able to feed their families. They are designed for one purpose. They are either good enough to serve that purpose and are allowed to grow to adulthood, or they are deemed a failure and are eliminated.”

  “I’d be worried about the survivors resenting the hell out of their siblings being killed,” Metcalfe said. He looked out the window, suddenly distant.

  “They believe they are more than human,” Chae said. “They are free from the responsibilities we face, yet they are slaves to their creators. It is a complex relationship.”

  “You seem to know a lot about them,” Kleigshoen said quietly. “From the case?”

  “Yes. Lee provided … valuable insight into the life of a genie. He made it possible to understand how someone like Kwon can exist. As I said, it is a complex relationship.”

  They were walking the kilometer back to the hotel. The wind had picked up and a light drizzle was falling.

  “I’ve never cared for genies.” Metcalfe rubbed his hands to warm them. “In fact, I’m beginning to really dislike them at this point. Then again, I think I’m beginning to understand them a bit more.”

  Kleigshoen’s features were pinched. “Cannibalism? What could motivate a human to create something that eats humans?” She edged closer to Rimes until they were touching. “Doesn’t it bother you, Jack?”

  “Humans have done it too,” Rimes said matter-of-factly; he widened the distance between the two of them, conscious of Kleigshoen’s closeness. “We’ll do damn near anything to survive. And if you follow that line of thinking, it’s not really cannibalism. They’re eating a lesser creature. Just like we do.”

  Kleigshoen glared at Rimes. “You’re defending cannibalism?”

  “They built the perfect killers, trained them to kill, and told them they were better than us, more than us. It’s inevitable some of them would develop some sort of problem.”

  Metcalfe laughed and pulled Kleigshoen behind him, pressing his body against hers to “protect” her. “Be careful, Dana. He’s been trained to be the perfect killer.”

  Kleigshoen shook herself free. “That’s not even remotely funny, Brent. Jack wasn’t created to kill, and he wasn’t engineered to be more than human and then told he was better than us. He kills for his country. He knows the difference between right and wrong.”

  “Oh come on, Dana. I was just …” Metcalfe shoved his hands into his pockets and shot Rimes a dirty look. “All right. I'm sorry.”

  So I'm not the only one Dana drives nuts with her conflicting sig
nals. Maybe that's why he's always so surly?

  Rimes thought back to Kleigshoen’s comments about her promotion … she hadn’t explicitly denied sleeping with Marshall or Metcalfe. At least he didn’t think she had.

  He wondered why it even mattered to him.

  20

  5 March 2164. Seoul, Korea.

  * * *

  Dawn came early, and with it a hint of warmth, but only a hint. Rimes’s earpiece’s alarm tore him from a dream. He pulled on his jogging outfit in the dark and stepped into the hallway light, still struggling to shake himself awake.

  He shook away lingering fragments of the dream: fire, a staircase, a terrible weakness and confusion.

  I was older. Is it normal to dream of the future? It was so real.

  The parking lot he’d been running through abruptly ended at a small, grassy span bracketed by two impressive trees. A flight of stone stairs descended down a hill to a miniature park that looked down onto the city. Rimes stopped at a cement bench and stretched, wishing for something to fill the void where the dream had been. He watched the city below—like him, awakening slowly—with only a few pedestrians puttering about.

  Rimes wondered at their lot in life. Some wore tattered paper homespun, others—a few company serfs—wore modest casual attire. Vehicles drove past them, ranging from half-sized cars to stylish faux luxury sedans driven by apparatchiks who must fancy themselves untouchable, chosen, secure.

  Secure. How would that even feel?

  Rimes chuckled quietly. There was nothing to do but marvel at the global nature of the play. The script was the same wherever he traveled; only the language changed. He wondered what name his Korean doppelganger would answer to.

  “You find entertainment in the strangest things.”

  Rimes casually turned around to scan the nearby benches.

  Tymoshenko sat at a bench in front of several ducks, feeding them what might have been pieces of a muffin. He wore baji pants and an unremarkable gray coat with the collar turned up. Except for his Slavic features and tall frame, he could have been just another Seoul resident.