Solomon's Arrow

by J. Dalton Jennings

  Once again she nodded to Jeremy Fletcher.

  “Um, sir, I traced the records discrepancy to a specific security code. I immediately contacted Chief Muldoon, and she instituted a communication trace on the suspect. Ten minutes before you arrived, he attempted to place a secure call to a location in the United States. An immediate data-block was initiated, and we’re narrowing down who the suspect was trying to contact. The suspect attempted to leave his apartment complex, but we disabled his vehicle’s GPS system and locked him inside. A security squad arrived a few minutes later and apprehended him as he was trying to bust through the vehicle’s side window.”

  He looked over at Gloria, who took it from there. “The suspect arrived ten minutes ago, and we’re holding him in lockup. The interrogation will begin the moment we get there.”

  “Great! We’re wasting time. I can’t wait to get my hands on the bastard who thought he could pull the wool over our eyes.”

  Floyd saw relief on all but Gloria’s face. As always, her expression remained neutral. Setting aside further questions about his team’s peculiar attitude, Floyd’s mind focused on the job ahead. One way or another, the suspect would give them the answers they needed.

  •

  Stepping out of the elevator on level G5, Floyd took the lead, striding ahead of the others down the dove-gray hallway to the installation’s holding cells. As he approached the entrance, he and his team were identified using facial recognition software. The door slid open, and they entered a four-foot wide by eight-foot long chamber. Once inside, the security program requested their names, further confirming their identity through voice recognition software. The inner door slid open, allowing the group access to the holding cells.

  Security for the installation was tight; like a well-run ship, with most threats contained well outside the city. As a result, there were only seven holding cells in all, with most of them empty on any particular day.

  Entering the circular antechamber, Floyd nodded to the guard in charge, who sat at a small, central monitoring station. “He’s in the interrogation chamber?” The guard nodded.

  “Excellent … Gloria, you’re with me. The rest of you, in the observation room; I’ll want your impressions on how it goes. If you pick up on something we’ve missed, don’t hesitate to contact us. We need to explore all avenues of questioning, understood?”

  Following a chorus of “Yes, sir,” the other four team members hustled inside the adjoining room. Floyd paused before the interrogation chamber door, Gloria Muldoon directly behind him.

  “Do you want to be good cop or bad cop this time?” he asked, looking over his shoulder and giving Gloria a lopsided grin.

  One eyebrow rose. “What do you think, sir?”

  “Bad cop it is then.” Chuckling, he nodded to the monitoring station guard.

  The door slid open, and the two stepped inside the interrogation chamber. In the middle of the eight-foot by ten-foot room sat a small, metal table, bolted to the floor. A blond-haired man was slumped over it, his head buried in his arms. As the two entered the room, his head popped up.

  Floyd staggered, nearly losing his balance. Coming to an abrupt halt, he stared at the young man, disbelief in his eyes. “What’s the meaning of this?” he sputtered.

  Seated at the table was his boyfriend, Rudy. There must be some sort of mistake, he thought. Furious, Floyd rounded on Gloria and growled, “Answer me. What’s this man doing here? Don’t tell me he’s the suspect.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied. “Rudolf Luttrell is the suspect in question.”

  Directing a hard stare at his second-in-command, Floyd hissed, “Rudy … tell the lady she’s mistaken.”

  “You know I can’t do that, Floyd,” Rudy moaned. “They’ve found us out.”

  For a split second, Floyd’s mind didn’t register his boyfriend’s words. Tearing his gaze away from Gloria, a puzzled, frightened expression appeared on his face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I won’t be your fall guy,” Rudy said, shaking his finger. Turning to Gloria, he wailed, “It was all Floyd’s idea! I didn’t want to do it, but I love him! He forced me!”

  Floyd’s mouth fell open. He was being accused of sabotage by the man he loved, the man he planned to marry. How could this be? Gritting his teeth, eyes flashing with fury, Floyd moved toward Rudy Luttrell. Gloria immediately grabbed his arm, holding him back.

  “You lying piece of shit!” Floyd yelled. “Tell them the truth or I’ll break your fucking neck right here and now, before my men can save your sorry ass!”

  Rudy cringed, hands up. “Don’t hurt me,” he whimpered. “See what I mean, he’s a beast!”

  “Why you little—”

  Floyd tried to shake Gloria’s grip.

  “Dammit, sir!” she barked, pulling furiously on his arm. “Outside! Now!”

  Floyd reluctantly allowed her to drag him from the interrogation chamber, not taking his livid eyes off Rudy until the door shut behind him. His rage threatened to consume him, his confusion running rampant.

  Gloria seized both his arms and shook ferociously. “Get a hold of yourself! For Christ’s sake, the bastard’s baiting you.”

  Floyd was shaking with anger … and fear. Shutting his eyes tightly, he took a deep breath to calm his nerves, thankful that the others were still observing … the suspect. Floyd opened his eyes to an uncommon sight: the hint of a smile on Gloria’s lips.

  “I thought the plan was for me to be the bad cop, sir,” she chuckled softly.

  Floyd reached up and rubbed his bristly scalp. “I don’t understand.” Even though his voice was a whisper, it contained an ocean of sorrow and pain. “How could I have been so wrong about him? You’ve met Rudy. We’ve been together for ten months. What did I miss?”

  “He’s obviously very good at his job,” said Gloria. “Even now, with all the evidence pointing at him, he’s trying to play us by implicating you. But don’t worry, despite our initial reservations, we don’t believe you’re involved.”

  “I was wondering why everyone was giving me the eye.” Floyd glanced at the observation room door. “What convinced you?”

  Gloria’s eyes sparkled. “I’ve seen you play poker, sir. You can’t bluff worth a shit. I doubt your acting ability’s any better.”

  A halfhearted chuckle escaped Floyd’s lips. “I’d better hold onto my day job then.” Reaching up, he gave a light tap to his Bluetooth implant. “John, initiate directive 98-C.” Reentering the interrogation chamber, he crossed the room and stood opposite Rudy, staring intently.

  The blond-haired, blue-eyed young man leaned forward. “Perhaps we’ll be consigned to the same prison. I’d like that.”

  Floyd and Gloria stood silently, side by side, staring down at him, their arms crossed. Rudy shifted nervously, glancing at both. He was set to say something else when the door slid open, and in walked a burly, stone-faced security officer, who marched over and, before Rudy could react, pressed the end of an inch-long cylinder against his carotid artery. A barely detectable phifft was heard. The security officer lowered his arm and stepped to one side.

  “What the hell!” Rudy blurted out, grabbing his neck. “What did you do?” Panic set in. He shrank back from the security officer and glared at Floyd and Gloria. “Did you just imject be wit somebling?” Rudy shook his head. His words were slurring. Suddenly, his arm dropped from his neck. He sat staring into space, unable to speak or move.

  Gloria purred, “What you’ve just been given, Mr. Luttrell, is a fast-acting paralytic that will wear off in two minutes—long enough for us to bind you to the chair and fix a pair of electronic nodes to your temples.”

  John, the security officer who gave Rudy the paralytic, slipped a pair of white, plastic zip ties from his belt and bound the petrified young man’s wrists securely to the arms of the chair.

  “The nodes are neural stabilizers,” Gloria said. “They’re handy little gadgets … and effective. They influence the brain’s prefro
ntal cortex, using targeted trans-cranial magnetic stimulation to prevent one from lying during an interrogation. An electronic truth serum, if you will.”

  Floyd watched as John threaded the second zip tie, its sound familiar to law enforcement for over seventy years. They were as low-tech a device as one could use, but effectual nonetheless. The neural stabilizers were a different matter altogether. They were nondescript, three-quarters of an inch in diameter, gray, dome-shaped objects that, when activated, sent a magnetic signal to the brain making it impossible for the interviewee to withhold the truth.

  Having used this technique on numerous occasions, Floyd was looking forward to the next few minutes. They’d find out everything his former boyfriend knew about the terrorist plot, and then some. He felt a strange sense of satisfaction watching John attach the neural stabilizers.

  “What the hell do you mean?” Gloria was talking to someone on her Bluetooth.

  Tearing his eyes away from Rudy’s blank-faced stare, Floyd studied his second-in-command, wondering why she was so agitated.

  “Dammit!” she snapped. “Get back with me as soon as you find out anything!” She gave her implant two light taps. “Fletcher, get your ass in here.”

  She turned to face Floyd, an anxious expression on her face.

  “What’s the problem, Gloria?”

  Her head jerked toward Rudy Luttrell, her eyes flashing anger. “The bomb was a dud, sir. It was set up to look real, but not actually be functional.”

  Floyd’s stomach lurched. “My God!”

  “Exactly.”

  “Are you thinking what I’m–?”

  “Yes, sir!” she exclaimed. “It’s all been a ruse. We have a ticking bomb out there ready to detonate, and we don’t know where or when it’s set to blow.”

  4

  The wheel-shaped lift soared through the overcast Kenyan sky at one-hundred miles per hour, its central core consisting of the maglev engine and laser tracker integral to the Lake Victoria space elevator.

  “Inertial dampeners are now in effect, Dr. Levin.”

  “Thank you, Judah,” said Mona. Being the only person onboard the space elevator, she’d uploaded her personal PID into the system. It was programmed to sound like one of her favorite characters from the cinema, Judah Ben-Hur, played by Charlton Heston. The classic movie had been remade back in ’49 to appeal to the modern moviegoer’s taste, and was good, but didn’t hold a candle to the twentieth century version. Besides, his voice was so manly.

  Swinging her stocky legs over the side of the gel-padded, liftoff slab, Mona planted her feet and stretched. There was nothing to stop her from lying there the entire trip—she could use the three-hour nap—but she was restless, her thoughts consumed by the addition to the supply manifest she’d secreted onboard. Thankfully no one suspected a thing. Being the director of operations had its advantages: she could request additional cargo be loaded without anyone questioning her motives. So far, her scheme was working according to plan.

  •

  Grabbing his former boyfriend’s throat, Floyd leaned in and shouted, “Where is it, damn you!? Where the hell is the other bomb?”

  Gloria placed a firm hand on his arm. “He can’t answer your question if you strangle him to death.”

  Floyd shot her a venomous look. “Fine!” Releasing his grip, he backed away and lowered his voice. “Increase the magnetic stimulation, Fletcher. Either he talks or his brain fries … we can’t afford to coddle the bastard.”

  Without hesitating, a nervous Fletcher tapped a code into his Security Interlink Device. Rudy Luttrell’s defiant eyes suddenly glazed over. His jaw unclenched. His facial muscles went slack. Despite his mental conditioning, the neural suppressor had finally dampened his will to resist.

  “That’s better,” said Floyd, staring wrathfully into Rudy’s blank face. “Now … let me repeat the question: Where is the real bomb located?”

  “It’s … it’s on its way up … up to the sky.”

  Floyd was puzzled. “Be more specific.”

  “It’s taking an elevator ride to space.”

  Floyd jerked upright and snapped his head around. “Gloria! Find out if a shipment’s headed to the space platform.”

  “I’m on it, sir.” She began speaking hurriedly into her Bluetooth.

  Floyd leveled a frightening gaze at Jeremy Fletcher. “I need your computer skills. Discover if another package, like the one we found today, is on that transport. There’s no time to lose.”

  He rounded again on Rudy Luttrell. “What time is the bomb set to detonate?”

  The young man’s glazed eyes shifted to Floyd. A confused look crossed his face. His brows furrowed as he tried to think. “Um … 6:30 … yes … 6:30 a.m.”

  “What?” Rudy’s answer was like a punch to Floyd’s gut. “That’s …” he looked quickly at his watch. “That’s twelve minutes from now!”

  Both Jeremy and Gloria were staring at Rudy, in shock.

  “Get back to work, Fletcher!” Floyd yelped.

  Jeremy snapped back to his SID, his fingers flashing across the screen.

  Gloria tapped her implant. “I’ve just been informed that a shipment is underway at this very moment. The lift is ninety miles up. If the bomb is onboard, there’s not enough time to lower the lift, let alone find the bomb and defuse it. And one more thing … Dr. Levin’s onboard.”

  Floyd clenched his fists involuntarily and roared, “Shit!”

  •

  Mona was in the middle of a third set of jumping jacks when she heard the steady hum of the lift begin to trail away. Seconds later it stopped completely. Because the inertial dampeners were engaged she didn’t feel the lift come to a halt, but sensed it nonetheless. She was on the verge of ordering Judah to contact Central Command when his deep, baritone voice sounded.

  “I’m receiving an emergency call for you, Dr. Levin.”

  “Put it through, Judah.”

  Floyd Sullivant, chief of security, was on the other end. “Dr. Levin, I have very little time to explain, except to say that a major security breach has been detected. A faction of the CRA has infiltrated this complex and smuggled a bomb onboard the lift.”

  Mona placed one hand against the wall to steady herself. Her knees felt like wet noodles. A bomb onboard the lift? How could this be?

  “Quick action must be taken, Doctor,” Floyd added. “According to our source, the bomb will detonate in less than twelve minutes.”

  “Dear Lord!” Mona’s eyes darted around, looking in horror at the prolific amount of crates stacked side by side up to the ceiling. The lift was packed, as usual.

  “If the bomb detonates,” Floyd said in a rush, “the resulting explosion will disable the maglev engine. The lift will plummet to the ground causing massive destruction to the complex and surrounding city. There’s no time to evacuate. Innumerable lives will be lost.”

  Not to mention placing the mission in jeopardy, Mona thought.

  “You are our only hope, Dr. Levin.”

  “Me? What do you mean?”

  “Hurry to the storage closet located ten feet to your left. I’ll explain everything.”

  Sprinting to the closet, she entered her security code. Inside were four skintight, lightweight, gel-infused spacesuits with accompanying helmets and oxygen tanks. Sullivant was explaining that she must strip down as fast as possible and don the smallest of the four suits. Thankfully she was wearing the requisite jumpsuit worn by everyone traveling to the space platform. Seconds later it was lying on the floor, and she was reaching for the smallest suit.

  “You need to shed your bra and panties too, Dr. Levin.”

  Her head jerked upward and she stared at the ceiling. She knew a tiny spy-eye was there. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, Doctor,” Floyd responded, his voice sounding dispassionate. “Clothing prevents the suit from establishing a proper seal against the body. Please hurry. If it’s modesty you’re worried about, I’m the only one monitoring this feed.”
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  “It’s not that I’m … oh, whatever,” she huffed.

  Mona had no problem with nudity, per se; it was her own body that bothered her. She wasn’t a waif-thin supermodel. Her self-consciousness, in regard to her appearance, had always informed the way she presented herself. Reaching behind her, she unhooked her bra and tossed it to one side, then hurriedly stepped out of her panties. Looking down at her thick pubic hair, she was about to ask if it would pose a problem when Sullivant answered her question before it was even asked.

  “The suit has a built-in, pressurized cup to protect the genitals, Doctor. Please hurry, you’re wasting precious time.”

  “All right, all right!”

  Moving as fast as humanly possible, Mona squeezed into the suit in under a minute. It felt like a second skin. The zipper, which ran from her crotch to her neck, was covered by a Velcro gel-flap that formed an airtight seal. After securing the oxygen tank to her back, Mona fastening a cushioned brace around her neck, tucked her short hair behind her ears, attached her helmet’s air hoses, slid the lightweight helmet over her head, and gave it a sharp turn, creating the final barrier against the unforgiving environment of space. As soon as the helmet clicked into place, the oxygen began to flow.

  “Hurry to the emergency hatch located three meters to your left,” said Floyd. “Punch in your security code, step into the pressurization chamber, and seal the hatch.”

  She did as she was told, trying not to think about what she was doing.

  “From here on, Doctor, Ensign Jeremy Fletcher will provide instructions. He has the technical expertise to guide you the rest of the way … good luck.”

  Mona wanted to respond, but fear caught up to her. Standing in the tiny chamber, her chest and legs trembled, waiting for the pressure to equalize. The process seemed to take forever, though only thirty seconds ticked off the clock. With so little time remaining, every second was precious. She could barely hear the ensign speaking. All she could think about was how young he sounded, how she was placing her life—and the fate of the mission—in the hands of someone who sounded like a teenager.