by Gwynn White
Cato blinked, a little dumbfounded as he tried and failed to process Frobisher’s sudden interest in his general health and wellbeing. And that was saying nothing about his well-known professional hatred for Zobbles. “Uh… thank you, sir. Yes, some business, indeed. As for the mayor, he’s in a secure location.”
“That’s a relief. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since the imposition of martial law.”
“Yes, sir. That was my advice; he’ll stay off the radio unless it’s something urgent, the best to minimize our enemies’ chances of homing in on his signal.”
Frobisher pursed his lips, one brow ticking up thoughtfully. “Do we know that they possess that technology?”
“I couldn’t say, sir. My general position when it comes to those sorts of things is that it’s best to assume yes and hope no.”
“Ah, of course. Yes, yes, of course. Well, in any case, I’m glad to see you’re all right.”
“You are?” Cato asked warily.
“Absolutely. We need all the help we can get on a day like today. And I suppose this is your partner?”
“That’s right, Commander,” Hank said, having finally joined them inside the station with Luca practically stitched to his side. “Hank Smiley, at your service.”
“Gideon Frobisher. Glad to have you aboard. Follow me, gentlemen. I was just headed to the briefing room.”
“Uh, sir? Before we go, is there someone who can look after our friend, here?” Hank gestured to Luca. She waved shyly up at the tall, dark-skinned commander.
“Oh, of course.” Commander Frobisher knelt stiffly before the girl, offering a wan smile. Dealing with young children clearly wasn’t his forte, but his attempt was admirable nonetheless. “Hello, there. My name is Gideon. What’s yours?”
“Luca.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Luca. You’re in good hands now. We’ll take care of you. All right?”
“Okay.” She sounded unsure, but not unwilling to have her mind changed.
Gideon nodded, rising to his full height again as one of the members of his entourage caught up with him. “Delilah, hon, would you take Luca, here, to my office? It’s probably the quietest place right now.”
Cato recognized the young woman as Gideon’s oldest daughter. She narrowed her eyes, apparently seeing what he was doing by foisting the young girl on her, but she tipped her head and acquiesced dutifully. “Of course, Daddy. Stay safe, okay?”
She kissed his cheek, then leaned down to beam a spotlight smile at Luca as she introduced herself. Taking the girl’s hand, she led her away through the crowd, toward the relative safety of the commander’s office.
“Anyone else outside the command structure get to bunker their family with them while the city tears itself apart?” Cato wondered once Delilah and Luca were out of earshot.
Gideon wheeled in place, glaring daggers at him. There was the Commander Frobisher Cato remembered, the one who had once told Cato that he was disgrace personified. At the time, it had been a reasonably fair assessment—he’d been drinking a lot more in those days—but, still, the words had lingered. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who still held a shred of resentment close to his heart.
“Any day but today, Cato. Can we agree on that? Hm? To put the history aside?”
“You’re right—”
“Because today is not the day. I’ve got dead cops, a city on lockdown, people losing their damn minds—so, yeah, I brought my family in close. Like you’re one to talk, anyway, having Chief Banner deputize your niece.”
“Hey, now, wait a damn minute,” Cato hissed.
“Oh, don’t try to deny it.”
“Deny it? Hell, I was wholeheartedly against it! You think I want my niece involved in this mess? She was just fine where she was. Deputizing her was all Ann’s doing. Long story. Zobbles, as usual.”
It was that last part that seemed to bridge the gulf between them. Frobisher smirk-sneered, rolling his shoulders. “Zobbles. Shit. Well, I could put the kibosh on it, if you want. Find some reason to—”
“No,” Cato said, without realizing he was about to. Thinking for a second, he sighed and said again, “No. Don’t do that. And I apologize. That was out of line. Of course you’d bring your family in close.”
Frobisher could easily have made a big deal out of Cato putting voice to an actual apology, but instead he simply nodded. “All right, then. So, we’re good, Spector?”
“We’re good, Commander. Lead the way.”
Cato and Smiley stepped into the briefing room along with Commander Frobisher, and the three of them were brought to a halt almost immediately. The wall of voices confronting them was cacophonous, turning the briefing room into an echo chamber of frustrations and frayed nerves run amok. Colleagues who normally had each other’s backs against all odds were standing nose-to-nose, barking orders and opposing ideas at one another like petulant, confused children. Granted, it had been a day like no other in recent history, but what Cato was witnessing was a house divided against itself…
At least until Ann made her presence known, that was. With a nod from Frobisher, she detached herself from the back wall and began a slow, solitary march toward the front of the room. One by one those petty disputes and discussions fell away, all eyes following the chief of detectives as she made her way onto the dais, moving toward the podium at its center. The limp affecting her movements was a visible reminder not only of their own fragility, but all that was at stake, as well. Their fair city had been hobbled, that much was true, but like her it was destined to rise again.
The scene had the desired effect. A slow round of applause arose in Ann’s wake, building from a smattering of claps to a rolling wave of acclaim.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Ann said through a self-deprecating smirk. “For a room full of people who’ve thought about putting me in traction at one time or another, you all seem awfully happy to see me up and about.”
There was an art to implicating everyone in the room even while indicting one’s self, and Ann was clearly a master of her craft. Whatever tension was left in the room bled out thanks to that surgically placed remark. Even Cato couldn’t help chuckling along with the room. The best jokes were based around a kernel of truth, after all. Just hours earlier, he and Ann had been all but ready to draw down on each other in the street.
With the room in her back pocket, Ann leaned on the podium as she acknowledged the support of her peers. “In all seriousness, though, I appreciate the love. I do. You all are the best. Somehow also the worst, but the best, too.”
Another collective laugh rippled through the briefing room. Ann waved it down, a perfunctory showing before she looked to the back of the room. “That said, Commander Frobisher? Care to take over? I’ve got ’em good and warm for you.”
“And I do appreciate it, Chief Banner.” Frobisher’s long stride took him to the front of the room in just a few steps. He climbed onto the dais and embraced Ann professionally and, above all, carefully before assuming his place at the podium.
“All right, ladies and gentlemen. I know we’re all glad to see the chief of Ds back on her feet, but we have two pressing issues to discuss. First and foremost, martial law. Thankfully, we have a representative direct from the mayor’s office to answer your questions on the matter. Spector Cato?”
At that, Cato dropped his eyes and shook his head. No wonder Frobisher had been so friendly. And Cato had all but held his hand as the man walked him in front of the bus.
“All right,” he said, marching to the front of the room under a rain of boos and under-the-breath epithets. “All right. That’s real cute, Commander. Nice bush league move, there. But, hey, let no one say I don’t know how to play the game, too, right?
“So, here’s the rub: I wanted nothing to do with martial law, and neither did my partner. In fact, I’m pretty sure there’s at least one among you who can testify to that second part.” Cato looked pointedly to Ann.
“That’s actually true,” she said, th
ough only when pressed. “Mayor Zobbles visited me earlier in the hospital. Cato’s partner was there at the time, and when Zobbles mentioned martial law, we both voted it down.”
Cato nodded, looking back over the chastened briefing room. “So, there you go, folks. We don’t have any say or influence over what the man does; we just work for him. Same as you, come to think of it, whether you like it or not.”
Cato turned his back on Frobisher and stepped off the stage. Hank shook his head in solidarity as Cato joined him again. The two of them were preparing to make their exit when Ann strode forward.
“Stop.”
The word brought them up short. Cato and Hank turned back to regard their unlikely ally.
“This,” she clarified. “This needs to stop, right here, right now. This is what whoever is orchestrating these attacks wants—for us to tear each other apart instead of pulling together, and we’re serving it up right on a silver platter.”
A low, indistinct grumble of chatter began to build.
“Enough!”
The room silenced abruptly.
“Ryen Cato is not our enemy. Hank Smiley is not our enemy. Hell, even Mayor Zobbles, for all his faults, is not our enemy. Anyone who disagrees, come find me when this is all over, and we’ll have a nice long talk. Until then, not another word.” Ann swept her gaze over the briefing room for emphasis, daring someone—anyone—to speak up. Only once she was certain the gulf of silence separating them would hold did she add, “Good. Commander?”
With that, Commander Frobisher stepped forward to reclaim the podium. “Ahem,” he said, doing his best to quickly pivot from that abortive ambush, almost as if it had never happened at all. “It would seem we’re all on the same page as far as martial law is concerned.”
Cato suppressed a derisive snort.
“Moving on, we have an ongoing situation at the prison that needs to be addressed. There have been reports of a disturbance, but our people have had trouble raising them on the radio. We have a SWAT team led by Captain Kenneth Nguyen on site, and he will update us now. Captain Nguyen, are you there?”
“Yes, Commander. Reading you loud and clear.”
“What can you tell us about the situation on the ground, Captain Nguyen?”
“Not much, sir. It’s weirdly quiet. We’re unable to raise anyone inside on the radio, but to all outside appearances, everything looks exactly as you would expect. There are no signs of a struggle or any escape attempt whatsoever.”
Commander Frobisher furrowed his brows. “I’m sorry. Can you say that last part again, Captain Nguyen?”
“Repeat: there are no signs of a struggle or any escape attempt whatsoever.”
“Why would someone stage a takeover attempt if not to break out?” Frobisher wondered, almost rhetorically.
A senior officer near the dais shrugged. “Probably taking hostages so they can gain some leverage and negotiate their way out.”
“Then why haven’t they made contact yet?” the officer next to her wondered.
Cato frowned as he listened to the two go back and forth. Somehow, the explanation fell short against the gravity of the day.
It was Hank who ultimately unraveled the riddle, focusing on a more discrete part of the exchange. “Contact,” he said under his breath, then repeated it, almost as if he were testing the feel of the word in his mouth. “That’s it! They’re not trying to break out or take hostages. They’re trying to make contact.”
“The prison’s antennarae,” Cato said, taking his partner’s meaning. The realization came so readily, it felt almost obvious in hindsight, like an afterimage burned onto the backs of his eyelids. “No wonder Crius didn’t care if his bail came through. He’s trying to get access to an antennarae powerful enough to broadcast to the entire city.”
The room heaved with silence at this revelation, each of those present processing it differently. Then, as before, the room exploded with combative chatter.
It took Frobisher nearly a full minute to bring the commotion to heel. “People, people!” he cried, turning a cautious eye on Cato as the clamor abated. “Assuming your reasoning is sound, is it even possible for them to override the antennarae’s bypass and broadcast on civilian bands?”
Cato thought back to their previous conversation. “Crius said he served in the Gjunta’s intelligence service during the war. I assumed he meant espionage, but if he meant signals intelligence… then yes, I would think so.”
“But why?” Cato recognized the voice as belonging to one of Ann’s detectives. He had worked with her on and off during his tenure with PWD, but, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember her name. “To what end?”
“Think about it, Lael,” Ann said. “Ever since this morning, we’ve been chasing our tails. It’s been one thing after another, with barely enough time in between for us to process it all individually, let alone slot each piece into a bigger pattern. What better way to hide a coup in the offing than behind a seemingly random series of high-profile attacks and revenge killings?”
“But who is the coup against?”
“The Gargoyle Gjunta and the Vampire Aristocracy,” Cato said. “I spoke to Gragos Cairn this morning, and I firmly believe he had no foreknowledge of these attacks. He lost his most trusted ally and his daughter today. Family means everything to the gargoyles. You don’t screw with that just for political gain, not a man like Gragos.”
Hank nodded. “And I met with Erastes Ensanguine. He was too busy composing some opera about his people’s plight on Earth to even bother keeping his ear to the ground. He had no idea Hezekiel Stone had been assassinated or that his people were being blamed for it. Instead, he pushed me off on his second and went right back to composing with that god-awful squeezebox thing.”
“Squeeze-what?” Frobisher and Cato asked in unison.
Hank waved them off. “Never mind. Not important. The point is, Crius Frenn and Kaboc Melo have to be working in concert. They’re trying to take down their bosses and install themselves at the top.”
“While destabilizing the entire city in the process,” Ann said. “Hell, for all we know—”
“Commander Frobisher, sir?”
Frobisher held his finger aloft, silencing any remaining chatter as the disembodied voice of the SWAT captain on scene filled the briefing room once more. “Yes, Captain Nguyen, go ahead.”
“Sorry to interrupt, sir, but we’re getting some readings from inside the prison. My radioman thinks they might be trying to use the antennarae to break into—”
An abrupt, ear-piecing tone sounded through the station. Cato would find out later it had cut through every frequency citywide, both military and civilian. The detectives and officers in the briefing room, the officers and civilians in the station lobby, even the suspects in the holding cells and the medical personnel manning the infirmary—to a man and woman, they were brought to their knees by the excruciatingly shrill tone.
And then, all at once, it ceased.
18
Greetings, citizens of Meridia.
I am Crius Frenn, and I am the Voice of the Oppressed.
For too long, gargoyle and vampire kind have lived under the thumb of our wight masters. They claim we stand equal, but their words do not ring true. Theirs is a soft tyranny, some would argue. Benign. In name only.
I say to that, witness the crimes committed upon our collective peoples today.
Witness the heinousness of those acts, and the despicable weapons used to maim and brutalize our people.
Witness their false elections and the slums they confine us to.
Witness their hatred, their exclusionary institutions.
Witness the burdens you daily bear because the mayor cannot be bothered to hear our pleas.
Witness the inability of the so-called Police and Welfare Division to provide either to our people.
Instead, whom do they imprison?
Why, your own Voice of the Oppressed, Meridia.
That’s right! We have take
n the oppressors’ prison and its antennarae, and with this voice, I implore you to rise up and do the same!
Gargoyles and strigoi, let us unite this night.
Let us honor the memories of the fallen, of Hezekiel Stone and his Strigoyle Movement.
Unite! Unite and take the city! Tear the wight cancer from their homes, from their places of worship, and anywhere else they may show themselves, and let us be free of the curse of humanity once and for all!
19
Crius Frenn’s chilling call to arms had already finished and was cycling through several iterations when at last SWAT on scene reclaimed the frequency.
“Commander Frobisher? Are you there, sir?”
“You’re damn right, I am,” he said, still recovering from the blitz of interrupted audio like everyone else. “Captain Nguyen, your team is a go. Get inside the prison and stop that broadcast, now!”
“Yes, sir, Commander. We are go for breach. Will advise and update as necessary.”
The line clicked off, leaving only everyone else waiting for direction.
“Well?” Frobisher said. “Go! You know your assignments. Get your people and move out. Anyone who’s not here, call ‘em in. This is all hands on deck, people. We need to be ready for anything out there.”
It might have been all hands on deck, but Cato waded forward against the tide of exiting officers and detectives to catch Frobisher by the arm as he came off the dais. “I’m going to remember what you did here today. Just so you know.”
Stunned, Frobisher yanked his arm back. “Get your hands off me. Don’t you realize we have bigger problems right now?”
Cato turned away just as Hank caught up to him.
“Was that really necessary?” Hank asked. “Now, of all times?”
“Why not now? Only time I could have gotten away with it.”
Hank was about to respond when Jeanine came jogging up to them. While they were being briefed, she had been getting officially outfitted as an adjunct officer. The uniform she’d been given was sloppy and ill-fitting, granted, but a uniform nonetheless. Probably someone’s spare. Closer inspection revealed she didn’t even have a proper name tag. Instead, they had improvised one with utility tape and a heavy marker. Still, Cato couldn’t deny she somehow looked the part.
