The Walstone Report was only a dozen or so pages long. It had not yet been aired in the media, and now it never would be. The report described alleged meetings between Admiral Gail Thompson and the leaders of the Kamari. It discussed possible negotiations for hostages, and even went so far as to make claims that the Security Forces might be in some way corrupt. It suggested that Central Command might have been involved in arms deals with the Kamari, and that other commercial arrangements were already in place. The report offered little in the way of proof. Some rumours were best cut short before they could be heard by too many ears.
Raisson carried the report onto the landing and dropped it on the carpet before throwing several books from the study alongside it. On the stairs below, he could hear the housekeeper groaning. She wouldn't be able to move for a while yet so he ignored her mumbling complaints and pulled a plastic case from his jacket pocket. Opening the case, he examined the six thin tubes inside it. Each tube was packed full of white powder and marked with a small red dot.
Carefully extracting the first tube, he popped the lid open and sprinkled its contents over the Walstone Report, making sure to cover all of its pages. He had enjoyed his time in Neech's house, impressed by the fine paintings and beautiful furniture, but now it was time to prepare his exit.
Walking briskly to the end of the landing, he headed into Neech's office and poured a second tube of white powder over the pile of papers that were scattered across the floor. Glancing around the room to make sure he hadn't missed any fine paintings, he stepped out onto the landing and sprinkled a third tube of the powder over the red carpet as he descended the wide staircase, saving just enough to cover the housekeeper's back as he reached the bottom of the stairs. She tried to grab his ankle as he passed by, but he stamped on her fingers repeatedly with the heel of his shoe. She cried out, pulling her ruined hand away from him and started sobbing quietly. Raisson ignored her and headed for the back door.
Once outside the house, he closed the case and slipped it back inside his jacket pocket. There were still three more tubes inside. He was sure it wouldn't be long before he found a use for them. A man had to use the materials at his disposal.
It was still raining outside. Lightning streaked across the gloomy sky as Raisson climbed back into his shuttle and pulled away down the gravel driveway. There were no other shuttles around. Raisson leant back and watched his rear view mirror with interest. He slowed the shuttle at the end of the driveway and waited until he heard a muffled bang and the sound of smashing glass. Through his rear view mirror he could see the first flames flickering from the house's blown-out windows. By the time he reached the junction that led back onto the main road to Cinnamon City, the house was burning brightly on the horizon behind him.
Gail Thompson
Rachel sat in Gail Thompson's office with her right boot resting on her left knee. She stared across the desk with a neutral expression, trying to think of nothing at all. She knew that what Thompson was about to say would act as a severe test in anger management, but she also knew that getting angry wasn't going to solve anything. She had to put Lisa first and forget about her own pride. She had worked long and hard to get where she was in the Security Forces and she wasn't about to throw all that away. Maybe one day she would make commander, if she kept her head down and stayed out of trouble. But staying out of trouble was not something that she had ever been very good at, especially when Thompson was around. There was no love lost between the two of them.
'You came back,' Thompson said.
'I didn't have a choice.'
Thompson leant back in her chair, studying Rachel with intelligent blue eyes. She looked as though she was examining an insect caught beneath bright lights but Rachel had no intention of being another moth on the end of her pin.
'I hear you helped Harris track down a Kamari messenger in the city.'
'He asked me to join his team. I did what I could to help.'
'You identified the Kamari messenger. Is that right?'
'Yes.'
'How did you do that, Rachel?'
'What?'
'How did you recognise the messenger?'
Rachel thought back. She remembered how her mind had opened up, and her thoughts had stretched out into the crowd. She had blocked out everything else around her and found an inner calmness that grew inside her. The messenger had become the focus of her mind even before she had seen him. She had been certain he was the Kamari messenger as soon as he had stepped across her field of vision. There was no way she could explain all that to Thompson.
Instead, she tried to be casual about it. She didn't want to draw any attention to herself if she could help it. 'I don't know. I think I recognised him from a previous combat operation.'
'That's what Commander Harris told me, only it can't be true.'
'What do you mean? That's what happened.'
'It can't be true because the messenger has never been involved in any combat operations for the Kamari. This was his first job as a messenger for them. There's no way you could have recognised him as you claim to have.'
'Maybe he's lying?'
'Maybe you are lying. The messenger is not.'
Rachel held on to her anger. This was how Thompson always behaved. She pushed and provoked, hoping to get a reaction. Rachel would hold her tongue and ignore her insults. 'I'm not lying,' she said. 'I have no reason to lie.'
Thompson looked disinterested. It wasn't the response she wanted to hear. Her mind had already moved on. 'There's something wrong with you, isn't there Rachel?'
Rachel said nothing.
'Have you heard what the other commanders say about you?'
Rachel frowned. 'No. I haven't. I don't listen to gossip.'
'They say that there's something strange about you. They say that you make them feel uneasy when they talk to you, and that sometimes you know things that you couldn't possibly know.'
'Nobody has spoken to me. I get on well with all the commanders.'
'Maybe they don't feel comfortable talking to someone who recognises people that they have never seen before. Maybe they don't want to be in the same room as a woman who can break a man's arm with her mind.'
'I didn't break it. I explained all that in my report. It wasn't the messenger's arm. It was his wrist. He must have broken it when he fell. Maybe he didn't realise he was injured until he tried to fire his impact pistol at me.'
'That's not how the messenger tells it.'
Rachel shrugged. 'Maybe he doesn't remember clearly. It all happened so fast.'
Thompson shook her head, a look of mock pity crossing her face. 'It's not the first time I've had these kind of reports about you.'
'People see what they want to see.'
'I think you know what this is all about, Rachel. You're different aren't you? What is it? What is wrong with you? Is there some sickness in your mind?'
'I'm just a soldier, no different from anyone else.'
Thompson stared at Rachel for a long time and Rachel stared back. The silence dragged on in the claustrophobic room as the walls seemed to close in around them.
It was Thompson who looked away first. She fidgeted with a pencil between her fingers and tapped it on the desk. 'You know why I recalled you, of course.'
'No.'
'You are close to your father, aren't you?'
Rachel folded her arms, 'I have nothing to do with Mekinet News. You know that. We've had this conversation before.'
'But your father is the CEO.'
'I don't work for him. I work for Central Command.'
Thompson smiled, resting her hands on the desk between them. She played her fingers across its surface. With her sleeves rolled up to the elbows, her muscular forearms displayed a healthy network of veins. She was a tough woman in many respects. There was no denying that. She took her combat training seriously and she had a sharp mind. It was just a shame about her personality.
'How does your father feel about it? Does he like his favourite
daughter working for Central Command?'
'He only has one daughter. There is no favourite. He wants me to work for his company, like any father would, but he understands my reasons for wanting to live my own life, in my own way.'
'I'll bet he asks a lot of questions, doesn't he?'
'I don't know what you mean.'
'Having a daughter who is privy to such classified information must be a great asset for a man who runs the most powerful news network in Cinnamon City.'
'He doesn't ask questions. I wouldn't answer them. I am an officer of Central Command. Classified information stays classified.'
Thompson shrugged, crossing her fingers in front of her, 'An officer? Oh that's right, you made major in seven years. An impressive rise through the ranks, don't you think?' Her fake smile said it was no achievement at all.
'I perform to the best of my abilities. My rank is not in my hands.'
'Let me put something to you. Tell me what you think. Mekinet News sends a swarm of very expensive net-feed droids to Havers Compound, an abandoned building to the South. Havers Compound has been home to crows and little else for many years, lost amongst fields of wheat and maize. It's not the most news worthy location in the Orange Zone. Probably the only person to visit the compound in the last few years was the CEO's daughter, who arrived there a few minutes earlier as part of a classified operation. Does that sound like a coincidence to you?'
'Not coincidence. I don't know what it is, but it's nothing to do with me.'
'Maybe we should ask your father?'
'Go ahead. I'm sure he has nothing to hide. I can't believe he has anything to do with this either. Maybe you should do some investigation. You might find some actual facts.'
Thompson laughed. 'Facts? I see you have spirit, Henson. You talk back. I like that. How do you know Riser Trent?'
'Who?'
'Riser Trent. You know him, don't you?'
'No. I have no idea who you're talking about.'
'He's a news hack that works for your father. He has some very special skills that we are only just beginning to understand.'
'My father has hundreds of employees. He doesn't introduce any of them to me. He keeps me out of it. He always has.'
'How convenient. He's just a sweet, caring man, is that it?'
'What do you want to know, Thompson? Just asks your questions.'
Thompson's eyes flashed with anger. She rose from her seat and stepped around to the side of the desk, backhanding Rachel across the face. Rachel's head whipped back, but she held Thompson's eyes with an ice-cold stare. She sat perfectly still, controlling her breathing. She had expected this. She knew Thompson would try to provoke her. She wasn't going to bite back.
'Do you think I'm stupid?' Thompson said. 'I know you, your father and this Trent are working together. Even this fake hostage taking is all part of your plan isn't it?'
'What hostage taking? I don't know what you are talking about.'
'Trent has taken your father hostage - or so he says. I don't believe any of it. He is just trying to extort credits from us. He may be threatening to kill your father, but I know that it's all just part of your little three-way game, isn't it, Henson?'
'What are you talking about? There is no game. If Trent said he has my father then we have to get him out of there. Where is he?'
'Trent is in the basement of the Mekinet News building. I presume your father is with him. Are you lovers, you and Trent? What is your connection?'
Rachel got to her feet and faced Thompson. 'I've never heard that name before today. My private life is none of your damned business. If my father is being held hostage, then we have to get him out of there, right now.'
'No. We don't have to do that at all. I'm the one giving orders around here and you'll do what I tell you. Your treachery hasn't gone unnoticed, Henson. It will be punished. I'm putting you in the detention cells until you have answered all of my questions to my full satisfaction. Don't expect to be out of there in less than a month. These are very serious charges that you face.'
'What charges? What about my father? You said his life was in danger. We have to help him.'
'This is Central Command, Henson, not a charity for old burnt out news executives. If he's going to die, let him die. It's not my problem. Why don't you ask your friend Trent about it when you get out next month?'
'He's not going to die, and Trent isn't my friend. It's a shame that I can't make you understand, but your questions are going to have to wait until I get back.'
Rachel pushed passed Thompson and walked towards the door. A moment later, she felt a sudden impact between her shoulder blades and found herself flying across the room on the end of Thompson's boot. Rachel crashed into the door with the side of her head. The force of the impact bent the steel frame and left her slumped on the floor.
'I knew you were a traitor all along,' Thompson said. 'I'll make sure you rot in the detention cells for your part in this.' She turned sideways and swung a boot towards Rachel's head.
Rachel could tell Thompson wasn't playing around. She pushed herself off the floor with a rapid press-up movement and caught Thompson's boot between her hands. Lifting the boot, she threw it backwards, sending Thompson stumbling sideways into the wall. By the time Thompson had regained her balance, Rachel was back on her feet. Despite her best efforts to be reasonable, she now wanted nothing more than to put Thompson on her back.
The door slid open, grating on the bent frame as it rose into the bulkhead above. Brinkman stood in the entrance, wearing a black, unmarked jacket and trousers. He frowned, staring at them both with questions in his eyes. Rachel remembered having seen him somewhere before. She knew he worked for Thompson, but she couldn't recall what exactly it was that he did for her.
'Kill her,' Thompson said.
Rachel looked at Thompson with surprise, and then at the impact pistol that appeared in Brinkman's hands. It was pointing straight at her head. A flash burst from the nozzle. Rachel whipped her head to one side and the bullet grazed her ear before hitting the wall behind her with a sharp metallic ping.
Grabbing the edge of the desk with both hands, Rachel threw it towards the door. Brinkman tried to fire again, but he had to lower his hands to stop the desk smashing into his legs. He grunted in pain, doubling over onto the desk.
Rachel ran towards him and slammed his head repeatedly into the desk. His face bounced off the polished wood three times before his legs went slack, and then she grabbed him by the neck and threw him back into the corridor.
Thompson stood a short distance away, watching with amusement. Rachel saw flashes of contempt ripple across her face as she approached, but there was something else as well. Rachel felt Thompson's cold thoughts surging out into the room. She wanted Rachel dead. There was no doubt about that, but she was hiding something too, something that she didn't want Rachel to find out about.
'A bloody mind reader can ruin everything. You've got to get rid of her.'
Who's words were they? Somebody had spoken them to Thompson recently. The memory was still fresh in her mind. Rachel let her mind flow outwards, seeking the place of silence within herself. She didn't have much time. She could feel Thompson's swirling thoughts swimming amongst chaotic currents of anger and determination. Rachel let herself fall deep into the dark places of Thompson's mind. It was dangerous, but she had no choice. Dark thoughts scattered away from her as secrets ran in fear. She became aware of an old man's face with tufts of grey hair sticking out from beneath a blue beret. His grey eyes smiled back at her. She knew now that Thompson loved him. His name was Roy. Rachel didn't know who Roy was, but she didn't think that he was any part of Central Command. Something was very wrong here.
Thompson's fist caught Rachel on the side of the head, sending her stumbling into a row of metal cabinets that ran along the side wall. Boxes of memory cubes fell from the top of the cabinets and bounced across the floor.
Rachel tried to clear her mind, twisting as Thompson threw several bo
dy shots. Pain exploded in her ribs. She tried to pull away, but Thompson wrapped her arm around Rachel's neck, gripping so tight that she couldn't breathe. Rachel's throat felt tight, her lungs burning. She could feel heat rising into her face. Adjusting her feet into a better stance, she swung her elbow back into Thompson's stomach. Thompson grunted but held on. Rachel swung her elbow again and again, using greater force each time. After the third blow, Thompson yanked her backwards and threw Rachel across the room. She crashed onto her side amongst the memory cubes, gasping for air.
Thompson was stronger than she had imagined. She was approaching again, eyes sparkling and eager to fight. Rachel waited, lying on her back. She held her ribs and pretended to be injured while allowing her mind to flow outwards. When Thompson tried to jump on top of her, Rachel raised both feet with knees bent in front of her chest. She grabbed Thompson by the arms and pulled hard while kicking up into her hips with as much force as she could muster. Anger flooded her mind. A shock wave flew outwards, slamming the cabinets against the wall. Thompson flew across the room, smashing into the ceiling before crashing down against the opposite wall and landing in a crumpled heap on the floor. The cabinets rocked back and forth beside her. The memory cubes danced upon the ground and the whole room lurched as though spun in unseen hands.
Rachel tried to calm herself. She pushed out a hand towards the memory cubes and they finally stopped dancing. The cabinets continued shaking until she took a couple of long slow breaths. What had she done? Rubbing a hand across her stiff neck, she climbed back to her feet and strode over to Thompson's body, throwing a couple kicks into her mid section.
'That's for my father, you stupid bitch.'
Rachel walked over to the door with anger still flowing through her veins. She threw the bent desk out of her way and strode out into the corridor beyond.
Information Cloud: Science fiction and fantasy series (Tales of Cinnamon City Book 1) Page 22
