by Hugo Huesca
“I guess you’re screwed,” interjected John. David had gone pale and was staring intently at the table, but neither the agent nor the CEO seemed to notice.
Which was out of character for both.
Perhaps, David thought, both of them know. John does, for sure, because he read my file. Perhaps someone in the CIA told Dervaux.
“Sorry for taking you on this tangent,” said Charli. She was playing with her expensive tablet in her perfect hands. “I was making a point, you see. Here,” she slid the tablet on the table towards John. “You can find a bit of intel the CIA missed on Morrow’s file.”
Even David couldn’t miss the blood vessels start to tense on John’s face. He appeared ready to jump on the table and arrest her on the spot. She was implying she had put an unauthorized investigative detail on a Senator of the States.
It may even have been legal a decade ago. Before the age of the data leaks and whistle-blowers. Sometime after 2018, the Government had cracked hard on any possible “snitch.” Turbulent times. David’s job had been born soon after that. A professional whistleblower, if you may, but one courteous enough to go to the persons whose data he has and ask them for money before going public.
Not even someone like Dervaux could get away from flaunting a law-break like that in front of the CIA. Right?
But, even with his face red and signs of sweat edging his forehead, John Derry was not making any moves. David wondered if he was having a stroke.
Charli held eye contact with the agent the entire time, with the tablet in the middle of the table, waiting for someone to take it.
Eventually, it was John who broke contact, first. He looked down, glanced at the tablet, and took it with a trembling hand. Charli’s smile grew.
“You see, Mister Terrance, any patriot must make a decision sometimes. Can’t have it all in this life, after all. Everything comes with a cost. He could either compromise a new piece of Intel to try —and fail— to arrest me on domestic spying charges, or he can advance the investigation on the murder of the poor Senator. Which do you think is more important?”
David turned to John, who was hunched over Charli’s tablet, pretending he wasn’t hearing anything. But, his face was still red with fury.
Guess there’s your answer.
Not that he faulted the agent. If it had been his decision, he would’ve done the same. People like Charli Dervaux never acted recklessly. They always looked to have the upper hand.
Trying to arrest Odin’s CEO would’ve raised a huge scandal on the media. It would’ve undoubtedly shed light on Morrow’s murder. She knew this.
So, she had chosen to release her intel to the CIA. After all, helping them find Morrow’s murderer was in her own self-interest.
If David had been an eloquent man, he would’ve said something like. “You make interesting conversation, Madam Dervaux. I hope we don’t have to talk much in the future.”
He wasn’t an eloquent man. He grunted a “fucking damn,” under his breath, and that was that.
John pocketed the tablet and finally deigned to raise his head towards the other persons in the room. “Thank you for your cooperation with the ongoing investigation, Madam Dervaux. I’m sure my superiors will find the way to reward you as you see fit.”
“As am I,” said Charli. Her smile slowly became a grin and then a determined scowl. “But you know what I really want. Get that murderer. He must be made an example. A public example, so everyone knows not to fuck with me.”
David decided, for his safety, not to piss her off anytime soon if he could help it.
“I’ll do my duty,” said John as he stood up. “Have a good day, madam.”
Charli nodded and relaxed in her chair. John left the room with angry, energetic steps. David stood up to follow him. Before he could leave, he heard her calling to him:
“David?”
He turned and saw Leonor sitting in the CEO’s chair. She looked beautiful and savage in her motorcycle jacket. Before he could open his mouth, she said: “Remember. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
David blinked in surprise and when he opened his eyes again, he found Charli Dervaux, not Leonor. The CEO examined him with clever, calculating eyes. What are your buttons, Terrance? Are they easier to press than those of John Derry?
“Yes, Mister Terrance?” she finally asked him. He realized that, from anyone’s perspective, he was the one staring at her.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“Goodbye, Mister Terrance.”
Chapter 7
That’s the second time this day that David’s mind had played tricks on him. He had never been in a situation like this before. If stress burned through the PKD chemical in his system, he suspected the bottle would be empty by the end of the day.
Outside the Odin’s HQ, the CIA’s van was already waiting for him and John Derry.
The agent said nothing during the entire walk out of Odin, and he kept quiet when the Van started moving, as well. To David, John Derry appeared to be lost in thought.
“Where are we going?” David asked finally, unable to contain his curiosity.
“Oh, right, you haven’t seen the archives.” John tossed him the tablet. It was a bunch of photographs with dates and locations underneath.
“Mind giving me the short version?”
David had known John for half a day and what he learned of the man is that he was mostly a dick. The hacker was used to working with computers and programming language, not with human emotions. Those pesky, unpredictable emotions.
But talking about things can help someone, David knew, to sort of give them time to buffer through all their shit.
“Turns out the Senator’s marriage wasn’t as solid as we thought,” said John, after a pause. “Dervaux detective’s found out Morrow was having an affair and documented the whole thing. It had been going on for years, judging by the number of images.”
David turned back at the tablet. The first image was of a man, possibly Morrow (the mangled corpse he had seen in the security video was unrecognizable) going into a cheap restaurant David did not recognize. He was wearing a cap, and his shoulders were slumped. The very face of a man who didn’t want to be recognized.
“They met each other through work,” John went on, “during a time when Morrow was going through a rough patch with Angelica. They made up, but Morrow kept the affair going.”
David kept scrolling through the images. Morrow went into the restaurant and then the scenario changed. It was raining and it was late at night, and he was waiting for a cab with another man, about his height. Next picture was in clear daylight, as they walked together into a government building. They kept their distance to each other, pretending they were work acquaintances, but David recognized the shape and build of the man in the last picture. He dressed like a college professor, tweed jacket with patches on the elbows, oxford trousers, a trimmed white beard, crimson sweater, sunglasses, and brown dress shoes. He clashed against Morrow’s style, who exuded confidence and power.
The next pictures had been taken with an illegal spy-drone, judging by the angle and because it was taken inside a motel room. They were explicit in their content and activity.
David put the tablet down. “Who is the other guy?”
“He’s a software developer,” John said, “Wade Phillips. There’s a file on him in the tablet, too. Famous in his circles. He’s currently working at Skyline University as project director.”
“Of what?”
“Human/Machine interface. Software and connections for prosthesis and helping paralytics walk again.”
At a glance, David thought Wade Phillips and Xavier Morrow had little in common to justify a dangerous affair (career-wise, in Morrow’s case). Then again, besides their profession, he and Leonor had little in common, too. Other than their daughter, that is.
“You think he’s involved in the murder?” David asked.
“Well, we’re about to find out, aren’t we? I’d also t
hink we ought to investigate Angelica Morrow’s involvement, so I’ll have someone check on her while we talk to Mister Wade.”
“Check her work’s security feeds,” suggested David. What the hell, they were already shoulder deep in invasion of privacy practices, they may as well go all the way.
He imagined Leonor’s face if she heard that suggestion and he smiled to himself.
“Yes. Among other things.” John was distracted enough to avoid the dose of condescension this time around.
The van stopped a few minutes later, while David was reading the file on Wade Phillips.
“We’re here,” said John. “Welcome to the Skyline University.”
The SU campus extended several blocks and was comprised of different buildings, spaced far enough apart to warrant a system of buses to ferry students and faculty around. If someone looked at it from the sky, they’d think of the campus as a big patch of green in a gray city expanse. Thanks to its corporate funding, it had the best facilities, the best reputation, and the most expensive tuition.
David looked around and caught a glimpse of a football stadium in the distance, where several buses filled with students were currently heading. Traffic was dense towards the stadium, and it was brimming with activity. Flags waved in the distance, proclaiming it was game night.
“It’s the Skyline Grizzlies versus the Majestic Scorpions today,” explained John. “So, of course, the place is packed.”
“Never heard of either of them.”
“Really? The entire city is going to watch the game. Long-time rivalry, game of the year, none of that rings a bell?”
“Well, I was in jail,” shrugged David.
“The VR construct had a live-feed of a news-stream.”
“Fine. I don’t follow sports. Can we go to find Phillips, now?”
John smiled like he’d heard a funny joke. “Of course you don’t follow sports, what was I thinking?”
Surprisingly, he wasn’t making fun of David, more like chastising himself for missing an important detail. It didn’t stop the hacker from feeling vaguely discriminated against.
You have something against nerds, jock?
There was someone else who wasn’t going to the game later on: Phillips himself. Tracking him took them as long as it took David’s Internet browser to show them his class schedules on campus, where he taught Computer Science. His class was stated to end at 6pm, only a couple minutes later.
A bus brought them to the correct building. Phillips’ classroom was already open and a stream of tired-looking students was pouring out of it. David and John waited patiently until the students cleared the area enough to give them some privacy.
Wade Phillips looked just like his pictures. He was in his middle fifties, his hair was graying, and he wore silver spectacles during his lecture. John walked towards him, followed by David, while Phillips checked his notes. The man was a traditionalist, he wrote on paper and his blackboard was an actual blackboard, unlike those cheap, gigantic touchscreens most professors used nowadays.
When they were close enough to him, he noticed their presence. David saw, step-by-step, how at first Wade thought they were a pair of his students, and a second later, suspect something was afoul.
“Yes?” Wade asked. “Can I help you, gentlemen?”
“Wade Phillips?” confirmed John. The professor nodded, still waiting for them to speak their motives.
“We’re with the police,” John continued. He showed Phillips his fake ID badge. “We want to talk to you about Senator Morrow.”
To his credit, Phillips didn’t react in the slightest. To John Derry’s credit, a perfect non-reaction was the same as an admission of guilt.
“What with him? I’m not comfortable discussing my political leanings.”
John and David exchanged a poignant look.
“He died the day before yesterday,” said John.
That got them a reaction. Wade Phillips’ eyes got wide with shock and his face became pale in a second. His trembling hand shot upwards to his chest, not quite grasping it. “Oh… my god…” He slumped over in his chair.
Well, thought David, at least we know he probably didn’t do it.
For a moment, no one moved. Phillips remained stunned like he had become a statue. Then, slowly, he raised his head. “What—what happened?”
“He was murdered,” said John, not without pity. “We think it was politically-motivated. I’m sorry.”
“Oh god…”
“We know you two were in a relationship,” continued the agent. Apparently, he had missed the “giving grieving people a moment” part of his sensitivity training back in the CIA. “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Wade Phillips had been hiding that particular part of his life for years. David wasn’t surprised when the man lied automatically: “What relationship?”
So, John showed him some photos. The ones in the restaurant. “We have more, of course.”
Phillips sighed and slumped even more in his chair, his elbows digging deep into his knees. “God… no, no, that’s enough.”
It felt wrong, somehow, to appear like this in the life of a man who had just lost a loved one.
“We’re working to catch up with his killer,” said John Derry, “but we need your help.”
“My help?” Wade Phillips’ gaze was lost. Like he was in another place. Far away. “What could I possibly do to help?”
“You can start by telling us if someone threatened Morrow’s life. Did he talk to you about it?”
“He was the Senate’s main supporter of the Accountability Act, what do you think? He got so many death threats he had to hire someone else to read his emails.”
John thought for a beat. “I mean, something different than the usual.”
“Different? I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t know. We didn’t talk about work. We…” Phillips trailed off.
“Any suspicious activity? Calls in the middle of the night? Cars with unusual movement? Any—”
“I don’t know!” Wade’s hands closed into fists. “How dare you—stop right now. My—Xavier is dead… And you talk to me like I’m an actor in a police show? Get the hell out!”
His face was red and his eyes had begun to water. Phillips’ blinked and clenched his jaw. He was clearly fighting down his grief with raw anger.
“I’m not here to judge you,” said John in the exact tone one might say “I don’t give a shit, just talk.”
Wade stood up and advanced on the agent. “Listen here—”
“Wait!” called David, probably saving the professor a couple of broken bones. “Wait a second, okay? We’re honestly trying to help. Look, I can’t possibly know how you’re feeling right now. But, if you want to help Xavier, help us find out who did this to him. Let me talk to you.”
The professor lowered his fists a tad. John discreetly relaxed his entire body, like a snake that just decided to let a mouse run away.
“I don’t know how I can help you,” whispered Phillips. “He barely told me anything.”
“Every bit can help. Please, professor. Talk with me for a bit. Then we’ll leave you alone,” said David, who was just guessing at this point. He only had experience with computers.
What the hell am I doing? This called for a professional; he was the least qualified person in the world to talk about something like this.
Phillips gave a deep sight and faced away from them. David gestured at John to give the man some breathing room. To David’s surprise, the agent accepted and stepped away.
“Fine,” said Phillips, turning back. “Let’s talk. But then—then you’ll leave me alone—”
“Great—” began John, but the professor had not finished.
“I’ll talk to you,” he told David. “Neither of you are police, but at least you’re a worse liar than he is.”
John’s hand flew like a flash towards his gun, which was trailed on Phillips’ chest in the fraction of a second. Before David could open his mouth to sc
ream, the agent shot Phillips three times…
David blinked. John was standing right there, pistol nowhere in sight. Phillips had no bloody holes in his chest.
The hacker breathed deeply. His head was dizzy. Another hallucination.
Get it together, David, he told himself.
“My consultant is not qualified to conduct interrogations,” John was telling the professor.
“Neither are you,” Phillips said.
“Derry,” said David, “let me talk to him.”
Then he remembered something he had heard Charli Dervaux say. “It’s for the good of the investigation,” David added.
John’s smile was cold. “You learn fast, don’t you, Terrance? I thought you disagreed with the teacher.”
David said nothing. What could he say? He simply held the agent’s gaze.
“Alright. I’ll be outside. Expecting your report.”
He walked briskly out of the classroom, the perfect image of peacefulness like he only wanted to go for a stroll.
Wade Phillips and David Terrance were left alone.
“First of all,” began Phillips, “I’m not a professor. I’ve a Ph.D. There are several years of research as a difference, so I’d appreciate if you used the correct title.”
David smiled. “Sorry, Doctor Phillips.”
“Don’t sweat it. By the way, mind telling me what’s the deal with you and your friend’s clothes? You look like you got dragged out of a car accident.”
“It wasn’t like that,” David answered. “Not a car, at least.”
The windows of the classroom showed a crystal clear view of an ample garden where half a dozen students lingered. All of them were fine with missing the football match. David ignored the fact he was in the Computer Science building. It was a stereotype that needed to die already.
The sky was a mixture of oranges, deep blues, and traces of purple that grew more intense as night approached. The sun was huge and gave the clouds a red tint.
