The LieDeck Revolution: Book 1

by Jim Stark

  In the kitchen, they found Randall Whiteside pacing back and forth, shouting into the phone ... at the Prime Minister!

  "Maybe it was an RCMP plane, or maybe it wasn't,” he ranted, “but it was marked ‘RCMP,’ Louis. I want the freaking Army here to protect my family. You see to it, or you can forget about my support in the next election and...” He paused for a few seconds, and then said, “Yeah, I can do that; in an hour or so."

  Randall hung up the phone with an emphasis that might have damaged the prime-ministerial eardrum. “St. Aubin won't make any promises,” he said irritably. “He wants me to meet him and the RCMP commissioner at 24 Sussex in ninety minutes. So, what was that Code Beaver all about, Helen?"

  After Helen told Randall her story, the three of them tried to sort out how they should view their situation. “I'm not quite sure which is worse,” said Randall, “worrying that you can't trust the goddam police, like I did all morning, or knowing that you can't trust the goddam police, which I'd say is ... where we are now."

  "Uh—sir,” said Cam hesitantly, “are you sure we can trust the ... I mean, we don't know whether the RCMP acted on its own or whether—uh—or whether..."

  "Enough,” ordered Randall. “I absolutely refuse to believe that St. Aubin could have been a party to...” Doubts took hold. He hated it when Cam was right ... even when he might be right.

  "Any word on Annette?” asked Helen.

  "Actually yes,” said Randall, who seemed grateful for the change of focus. “Amazingly, she wasn't hurt as badly as they thought. They figure she had already fallen off the porch before the bomb exploded. At least no logs landed on top of her, so there's basically just the one bullet wound, and it's pretty sure she'll recover from that."

  "Thank God!” said Helen.

  The psychic temperature in the room finally began to diminish as they talked about Victor living at the manor for the time being. Randall also told his two security chiefs that he intended to rebuild the lodge as quickly as possible—which for “the man” probably meant a few weeks. “Partly for Julia's sake, mostly for my own,” he explained.

  * * *

  After an hour of rehashing, coping, speculating, planning and serious coffee drinking, the telephone rang yet again. Randall answered, and he looked confused. “It's ... for you,” he said to Helen, holding his hand over the mouthpiece. “It's ... Roy Taggart!?"

  She took the receiver, set it down very quietly on the counter, and fished in her purse, withdrawing her LieDeck. She made sure it was on the light mode and gently pressed the condenser mike area against the ear end of the receiver. It was quite awkward, a two-handed operation. With the LieDeck tight against the receiver, she was concerned that she wouldn't be able to get her ear close enough to make out the words. Not only that, but in order to get the LieDeck mike in position to pick up the sound, she had to turn the device upside down ... no big problem, except now she couldn't see the damned light. She stepped to her left, leaned over on her elbow, and glanced up. A chrome toaster was on the counter in front of her, and she'd be able to see the reflection of the light in there.

  "Roy?” she said, incredulity reeking from her voice.

  "Helen, you have to meet me at my house as soon as—"

  "Don't tell me what I have to do, you son of a—"

  "Code Beaver, Helen, as you Patriot people say. I know the score about the attack on the lodge, but I'll only tell you. And come alone. You know I wouldn't harm you.” And with that, Roy Taggart hung up. There was no blink from the LieDeck in response to anything he had said.

  Helen recapped her call for Randall's benefit. “We'll get to the bottom of all this now,” she said, “but Roy said he'll only tell me, and he said I should come alone. Don't worry, it's safe—verified safe—on the LieDeck. How about I'll go in the chopper with you to the office and I can take a Patriot car from there."

  It was arranged, and in forty minutes Helen screeched into the driveway of Roy's house. She ran up the sidewalk, tried the knob, and found the door unlocked. That wasn't like Roy. She tapped her handbag to make sure her pistol was still there and peeked inside the door.

  Roy was almost horizontal in his favorite LA-Z-BOY chair, staring up. There was a trail of blood from his right ear, and his revolver lay on the floor beside a dangling arm. A camcorder sat silently on a tripod, aimed at the chair, and there was a videocassette on his lap.

  Helen staggered in, sat on the arm of the sofa, and slapped her hands over her mouth as the emotional fire within threatened to fell her too. “Oh my God, oh my God!” she said repeatedly. She stared numbly, with tears rolling free. Then she shook her head sharply, walked the several steps over to the chair, grabbed the tape, clicked on the TV, shoved the tape into the VCR, and pressed “play.” She hesitated, then took her LieDeck from her purse, turned it on the beeper mode, and placed it atop the TV. “Jeeze, Roy,” she sobbed as she peeked again at the corpse of her lover. After a few seconds of tape hiss and snow, Roy appeared on the screen.

  "Honey, it's over for me,” he said plainly. “I'm so sorry to hurt you, but at least this way my death may have a positive meaning. You see I organized the assault on the lodge this morning, but before you shoot a damned hole in the TV, let me explain.

  "There's an international conspiracy called the WDA, meaning the World Democratic Alliance, involving politicians, the military, and security people, like myself. It's based in Washington, and its aim is to destroy communism once and for all. But it's out of control, Helen. It's got to be stopped.

  "The entire upper echelon of the Commercial Crime Division is in the WDA, and at least one cabinet minister too—sorry, but I don't know who it is. The Canadian handler is a General George Brampton. He works at the U.S. embassy.

  "The American Ambassador is clean, Helen. So is Bertrand Joly, my boss, the RCMP Commissioner ... and the Prime Minister, too. Please get this tape to the Commissioner immediately.

  "By the way, I should tell you ... we were spying on Senator Cadbury when he met Mr. Helliwell, and we—uh—I mean the WDA, not the RCMP, except for those of us who were both—we had a guy inside Patriot ... Ian Tomlinson. He'll be gone by now.

  "Please, Helen, you've got to believe me. The WDA will stop at nothing to prevent that new C.V.A. lie detector device from getting out. It would threaten the conspiracy.

  "Anyway ... again, I'm ... truly sorry. I love you honey..."

  "Beep."

  "...and I've always been faithful to you."

  "Beep."

  "Now go ... hurry ... bye..."

  Helen watched the screen as Roy got up from the LA-Z-BOY chair, walked straight towards the camcorder, blew a kiss into the lens, reached out, and turned it off. She clicked off the TV and rewound the tape. “Bastard!” she spat as she removed the tape, putting it and the LieDeck into her purse. Then she stood there looking at Roy's body, trying to decide what she was supposed to feel, or could feel. “Jeeeeeze Roy,” she said as the tears began again. She remembered the many sweet things he'd done, the warmth and joy that used to live in those glazed eyes, the miserable things he'd done, the beautiful day they met, their first kiss, their first time in bed, their last time in bed, her love for him ... and she remembered her doubts about him, now confirmed ... LieDeck-verified.

  "Bastard!” she shouted again as she booted the padded underside of the back of the reclining chair. Roy's head jumped, but his eyes didn't blink. “Bastard!” she screamed again as she kicked the chair even harder. Roy's head jumped up and flopped to one side, and a little red bubble in the left nostril slowly grew, then burst ... noiselessly.

  Chapter 19

  RING THE BELL

  Helen ran crying from Roy's house, jumped into her car and backed out, banging roughly over a curb. She braked, slammed the stick into drive, and peeled out. Then she grabbed the radio mike and called, “Mr. Whiteside, where are you?"

  "I'm in the chopper, over Aylmer. I'm on my way to see the Prime Minister. Why?"

  "You have to pick me u
p. Code Beaver!"

  "Jesus ... where are you?"

  "There's a primary school near the corner of Alta Vista and Heron Road. Land in the playground."

  The pilot took the mike from Randall. “That's dangerous, Helen! And illegal!"

  "Code Beaver, God dammit!" shouted Helen. “Alta Vista and Heron. Hurry!"

  One minute later, Helen parked beside the door in the chain-link fence surrounding the playground. The yard was packed with children, playing, squealing with delight, as kids everywhere seem compelled to do when no one tells them not to. That was a shock. Saturday “playdays” had been standard fare in Ontario primary schools for two years, but Helen had assumed that no one would be there on Easter Saturday.

  "Hey, you can't park there lady,” said a little ten-year-old boy with freckle-framed eyes and an attitude.

  Helen got out of the car, took her Patriot Security badge from her purse, and strode onto the playground, waving the badge. “Everybody inside—inside the school—right now,” she screamed. “I'm a policewoman.” The LieDeck in her purse beeped. “This is an emergency. Everybody inside, NOW!"

  Some children obeyed; some just stood there; others didn't hear her or simply ignored her. A supervising parent appeared at an open window and hollered, “What's going on out there? Who are you?"

  Helen waved her Patriot badge and screamed up at the window. “Police. Ring the bell. Get these kids inside the school NOW!"

  More of the children obeyed her frantic appeals, and when the bell rang, they all went in, turning their small heads to gawk one last time at the blond woman with the terminal apoplexy. Helen was now alone in the playground, looking repeatedly at her watch, and searching a blue sky, almost prancing from frustration and fear. “Come onnnnnnnn,” she whispered to the heavens, with clenched fists. “Come onnnnnnnn!"

  Finally the chopper arrived. Grant Eamer touched down for no more than ten seconds, just long enough for Helen to jump in, and then he took off. The faces of several dozen children—plus parents—were pasted to the glass in the classrooms, innocent bystanders, befuddled onlookers, seemingly cast as extras in a movie with no name and no known plot.

  "What's the Code Beaver this time?” asked Randall.

  "Roy's dead,” she said bluntly, handing Randall the videotape and fighting back tears. “He left this. It has to go to the Prime Minister immediately. The RCMP handles security at 24 Sussex, right?"

  "I'm sure they do,” said Randall. “Why?"

  "Call ahead,” ordered Helen. “Tell the Prime Minister he has to get rid of them before we land. I'll tell you why after."

  * * *

  St. Aubin argued with his RCMP security chief as the Whiteside helicopter hovered over the Ottawa River. “For the last time, get your men out of here while that chopper lands, or I'll bloody well have you fired!"

  As soon as they were visibly gone, Grant Eamer landed right on the lawn and shut down the craft. The Prime Minister waved them in, and Randall and Helen hurried into the official residence, closing the door behind them.

  "What the Christ is this all about, Randall?” demanded St. Aubin.

  "You have to see this right now, Prime Minister,” said Helen as she gave him the videotape. “Commissioner Joly should see it too."

  St. Aubin was still upset, but now he was becoming concerned. “Joly is in my study right now, but why did you have me boot out his agents? They probably think you're kidnapping me."

  "You'll see, Louis,” said Randall. “A man died to get this tape to you. Put this on your TV while you run the tape,” he added, handing over his LieDeck. “It's called a LieDeck—a new kind of lie detector. It's a hundred percent accurate."

  "You do it, Randall,” said Louis as he refused the LieDeck and handed back the tape. “I'm no good at electronic stuff."

  As the three of them entered the study, Commissioner Joly got up and walked towards them. He was a tall, barrel-chested man with the gait of a wounded grizzly. Helen hadn't ever met him before. She had seen him on TV, seen his picture in the newspapers, but in person, he was ... well, not quite a sumo wrestler, but still ... huge. When she shook his hand it was a total mismatch, like the palm of a child in a catcher's mitt. However, his kindly face could have been under a pope's three-decker hat, and his manner was that of a concerned parent.

  "I'm so sorry about your friend Annette,” he said, right into her eyes and through to her heart. “When she's fully recovered, I'd like to meet her. And you can believe me on this; when we catch the people who did this terrible thing, they'll pay."

  "Thank you, sir,” Helen managed. It was the oddest thing—she felt a bit like she ought to curtsey to this regal being. And he certainly was well informed!

  "If my force was involved, I want to know about it,” Joly told her softly, firmly. “I run a clean ship."

  Helen had her LieDeck turned on, and it was silent, so she knew the Commissioner was telling the truth. She reviewed the talk she'd had with Roy in Ray's Restaurant, and mentioned that she'd had a LieDeck taped to her chest at the time. “It works off your voice,” she explained. She told the Prime Minister and the Commissioner about escaping from Ray's with the help of one Merrick McFee, and she told them about the mysterious telephone call she'd received from Roy an hour ago. “I went to his house, and the rest is ... it's on the tape,” she finished, resisting the urge to weep or choke up.

  "Well,” said St. Aubin, “I guess we should take a look."

  As Randall put the videotape in the VCR and put his LieDeck on top of the TV, Helen asked to be excused to go to the bathroom. She couldn't bear to watch again, and feel the humiliation of Roy's false declarations of love and fidelity.

  "Out that door and left down the hall, second door on the left,” said the PM, pointing.

  When she returned, she stood outside the door to the room momentarily. The three men were deep into a discussion of what they would do next. St. Aubin was incensed to learn of the depth of the treachery that existed in the national police, and Bertrand Joly was taking the brunt of his controlled fury. The Prime Minister stopped dressing down the Commissioner when he saw Helen re-enter the study.

  "Can we keep this LieDeck device for the investigation of the WDA conspiracy?” he asked Randall, holding the thing gingerly, as if it were some kind of magic wand.

  "As long as there are no leaks about it for a few months,” said Randall.

  "Don't worry, there won't be,” assured the Prime Minister as he handed the LieDeck to Joly. “Here you go, Bertrand. I want progress reports every hour on the hour, and I want those sons-o'-bitches busted."

  "Yes sir,” said Joly, as he turned his massive frame to leave. “Nice to meet you,” he threw back to Helen as he closed the door.

  "You two can't say a word about that WDA outfit to anybody,” said St. Aubin. “Is that absolutely clear?"

  "Of course,” said Randall.

  "I understand,” said Helen.

  "Ms. Kozinski, I'd like a private word with your boss, if you don't mind,” said the St. Aubin.

  Helen left the room, and the Prime Minister turned an ashen face to the president of Whiteside Technologies. “Randall,” he said, “we actually already heard about your lie detector, except we thought it was called the Cluff Voice Analyzer, after some guy called George Cluff. We've got an American defector locked up over at National Defence Headquarters, but he won't say much. He told us that Victor Helliwell was in danger, and Joly tells me that a warning was supposed to be sent to your chap Cam O'Connor, but somebody screwed up—well, the message probably got deliberately waylaid by some RCMP officers who were involved in this damn WDA thing. Anyway, the inner cabinet is aware that some kind of new lie detector is on the horizon, and I can tell you, they're having a major shit fit about it.

  "Now I owe you a big one ... for that tape,” he continued, “and here it is. Listen carefully to what I'm about to tell you. Your LieDeck device? The military will force me to classify it—classify it top secret.” He didn't quite say wh
ether he was referring to his own generals or to the industrial-strength brass south of the border, but in this situation, it hardly mattered. The net effect was the same.

  Randall could literally feel his blood pressure soar. It seemed that the LieDeck would never see the light of day, or the marketplace. “You have got to be kidding!” he said. “You can't..."

  "Tuesday,” said the Prime Minister deliberately.

  "You're ... going to classify the LieDeck top secret ... on Tuesday ... in three days?” asked Randall carefully.

  "Precisely,” said St. Aubin. “And you didn't hear it from me ... or at all, actually."

  Randall now had no LieDeck on him to corroborate this statement, but he had no doubt it was the truth. He stared into the eyes of his benefactor. Louis didn't owe him a favor this big. The warning might have been offered as a matter of principle, but that seemed unlikely, somehow. Whatever his reasons, Randall was reeling at the implications of what the Canadian leader had just done.

  "Why did you tell me that?” he asked.

  "If governments have the LieDeck and ordinary people don't,” said the PM, “we'll end up with Big Brother. I wish you could put this genie back in the bottle, to be honest, but after the attack at your lodge this morning, and after seeing that tape, it's just ... not possible. Besides, we need the LieDeck to shut down the WDA. You do ... whatever you have to do."

  "Now I owe you one, Louis,” said Randall.

  "Big time!” said St. Aubin. “Now ... if you'll excuse me, I've got to figure out how I can arrest an American general who's got diplomatic immunity."

  "Before I go, could you use another LieDeck?” asked Randall.

  "Jesus, yes ... several more ... delivered to me, personally, within the hour. No one must know."