Tag

by Simon Royle

  “I see, and so Assistant Director Cochran has only minor wounds?”

  “Yes, Sir. They have taken her and Director Flederson to the UNPOL Intensive Care Unit.”

  “All right. By UNPOL Code 23 A, of the UNPOL Regulations Statute, I will assume command of UNPOL until Director Flederson or Assistant Director Cochran is able. I want UNPOL ICU to be put under the tightest security, no one in or out without my explicit authority. Next, close all security zones in or out of New Singapore. There will be no cross-Geographic travel at this time. Cite UNPOL Code 82. Is that understood?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Good. Execute those orders. I will be at the scene in ten minutes.”

  The UNPOL staffer nodded on the Devstick screen and Sir Thomas cut the connection. Rising from the lounge chair, he picked up the scope and walked to the edge of the balcony. He raised the scope to his eyes, it quickly zeroing in and steadying against the tremble of his hands as he watched the scene outside the Club. He heard a cough behind him and he turned holding the scope to his chest.

  “Five dead, Charles, and Flederson and Cochran wounded.”

  “Yes, Sir Thomas. Is Assistant Director Cochran all right?”

  “Yes, only minor wounds, but Flederson is serious, perhaps brain damage. I will be leaving immediately. Please prepare my operations uniform.”

  “Yes, sir, I will attend to it immediately.” Charles, the former maitre d' of the UNPOL Executive Club, had retired with Sir Thomas to be his butler. He backed out of the sliding clearfilm doors and walked across the living room and down the hall, decorated with old regimental battle flags, to Sir Thomas’s bedroom. There, he opened the large walnut wardrobe opposite to Sir Thomas’s sleeper, and selected the operational uniform.

  He lifted out the uniform by the hook of its hanger and turned then he walked with it held away from his body and, smoothing out the back with his arm, laid it gently on the sleeper. He reached forward with both hands and grasped the sanitizer sheet that covered it. With a quick tug he tore the sealed strip down the middle. Taking the bottom corner, he pulled it out from under the uniform and balled it up in his hand. He walked over to the recycler and there, stooping, put it in. Straightening, he looked at the image on the wall hanging above the recycler. It was of Sir Thomas and him in Boston just after the war. Sir Thomas stood in the doorway. Charles was a dark shadowy image in the background standing behind Sir Thomas in the hallway of their hut.

  He turned back to the suit and looked over it for any wrinkles. Reaching across, he smoothed the dark blue cloth where the breast pockets were, then he stood back and let out a long, soft sigh.

  Sir Thomas stepped into the room. Charles turned and walked to a trunk against the wall next to the walnut wardrobe. Pulling the heavy metal clasp upwards, he lifted the lid of the trunk and gently laid it against the wall. Arms spread wide to match the width of the trunk, he reached in and lifted out the top layer fitted out with medals and insignia, and balanced it gently on the chair beside the trunk. Underneath was Sir Thomas’s footwear, mostly shoes, but also boots. He took out the operation uniform boots and placed them on the floor. Set into the lid of the trunk was a wire frame and attached to this frame were Sir Thomas’s weapons. Guns, explosive devices, knives and assorted hand weapons were clipped to the wire frame.

  “Will you be requiring a weapon, sir?”

  Sir Thomas paused in his dressing. He slewed his mouth to one side as he thought.

  “Yes. That would be good for image. Let them know we mean business.” He turned and stared at the lid. He didn’t need to turn to know what was in there but he enjoyed looking at them.

  “The Colt 12-mil automatic, I think, with the UNPOL webbing shoulder holster.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Sir Thomas stood in front of the full length mirror, straightening his dark blue UNPOL tie. Satisfied, he stood ramrod straight, arms by his sides as if a private on a parade ground. He looked his image over head to toe. Then he straightened his Special Operations Executive red beret.

  You shouldn’t have tried to put your freak spy on me, Flederson. That was a big mistake. He angled the beret down slightly on his forehead. Using Cochran to snuff out the trail the runner had laid to him, and eliminate the entire UNPOL oversight committee in one single act, was a stroke of genius, he thought, and smiled to himself. With a smart about-turn, he marched to the door held open by Charles.

  The Heliocopter on the roof of The Marque, blades turning, door open, was for him. The two UNPOL staffers standing next to it saluted smartly. Sir Thomas returned the salute and climbed into the belly of the craft. He took out his devstick and started issuing commands. He would be at the scene of the attack in three minutes.

  Sir Thomas strode out of the Lev into the forecourt of the UNPOL Executive Club. The Lev’s access had been limited to authorized personnel only and the forecourt cordoned off with crime scene red and white striped barriers on the Topside path in front of the club. He paused, hands on hips and looked around. A barrage of flashes hit him from the news people jostling for position behind the barriers and holding their cameras high to get an image. Despite his operational uniform not bearing any badge of rank, they all knew he was Director of UNPOL.

  He walked over the red carpet, noting the darker patches where Cochran’s blood had stained it, and entered the club, his feet crunching on the broken glass and debris on the floor. The room was covered in foam, blood, shards of glass and scattered broken tables and chairs. He looked over to his normal table and saw that it was untouched. A bomb disposal team member walked up to him and saluted.

  “It was a shaped charge, sir. Placed behind the curtain in the rear of the room. The Governors didn’t stand a chance, and by rights Director Flederson shouldn’t be with us.”

  “Yes. Have you found any evidence, any trace?”

  “Nothing yet, Sir, but we’ve only just started. Unfortunately the fire crew contaminated the area when putting out the secondary fires but we’ve identified their trace and it just means that sorting out the forensics will take a little longer, sir.”

  “Very good. Carry on.”

  The BDU officer saluted.

  But you will find evidence, thought Sir Thomas. Once you sift through the pieces, something won’t fit, and that thing that doesn’t fit will do away with the spy who’s trying to bring me down.

  Sir Thomas walked out of the club and over to the crime scene barriers where the news teams were waiting. They all started shouting and asking questions at once. He held his hands up and patted his hands in the air signaling for them to quiet down. The noise settled and Sir Thomas cleared his throat.

  “There will be a full news conference at — ” he paused and looked at the watch on his wrist, “10pm at the UNPOL press center. Other than that I have no comments at this time.” The news peoples’ shouting of questions immediately resumed but he ignored them and turned and walked back to the Lev port. Entering it he took out his Devstick and said, “Call the Secretary General.”

  Chapter 28

  Meet The Press

  UNPOL Press Room, UNPOL Headquarters, Topside, New Singapore

  Friday 3 January 2110, 10:00pm +8 UTC

  Filled to standing space only, the press room at UNPOL’s Headquarters was silent. Sir Thomas and the Secretary General of the United Nation, Lin Deng Chui, sat at a raised stage at one end of the room. Behind them the twin flags of the United Nation and UNPOL. Deng took a sip of water. He could not see any floor from where he was sitting, the room was too packed. The 10pm broadcast out of New Singapore was global. It was 2pm in London, 9am in New York and 1am Saturday in Sydney, and the datafeeds showed almost global attention. Six and a half billion people were watching.

  “My fellow humans. It is with great sadness that I address you tonight in my capacity as the Secretary General of the United Nation.” Deng spoke looking straight out at the crowd in front of him.

  “In the wake of this latest attack, I have requested that the Acting D
irector of UNPOL, Sir Thomas Oliver, briefs us in UNPOL’s progress in putting a stop to this violent madness. We ask this, not in criticism of UNPOL’s efforts, let us be clear on that, but rather in pursuit of transparency, and simply because we know that humans everywhere are shocked by these outrages against humanity. I will ask Sir Thomas Oliver to continue.”

  Sir Thomas adjusted his round rimless glasses and shifted in his seat, leaning slightly forward with a straight back. He cleared his throat preparing to read the words that Jonah had crafted and sent to him thirty minutes earlier.

  “Thank you Mr Secretary General and my fellow humans. We at UNPOL appreciate your kind words on behalf of our contribution to solving these heinous crimes.” Sir Thomas’s eyes flicked to the Devscreen on the table beside him as he read the next line in his prepared speech.

  “I asked Secretary General Deng for the opportunity to talk with you here tonight because it is time that we share with you what we know about these crimes in order that you can help us to stop this vicious violence. The attacks are related to the coming Tag Law. A powerful, criminal organization called the Hawks is acting now to intimidate us to not go forward with the Tag Law. This flagrant attempt to obstruct the law of the Nation, the law decided by the people, is something that we at UNPOL will not allow. Freedom of choice is the basis of civilized society and I promise that we will maintain that freedom for you.

  “I have spent my life protecting the freedom of the individual but in that time I and my colleagues in UNPOL have fought a constant foe. That is the criminal gangs that still persist in our society. Operating at the highest levels, on the fringes and within the respected organs of state, these criminal gangs are now desperate with the thought of the coming Tag Law and seek to derail or delay it. The simple reason for this is that the Tag Law will make it impossible for them to continue with their criminal activities.

  “I am sorry to say that the institution of UNPOL has also been penetrated by these criminal subversive elements. We have made much progress in identifying the global nature of this gang called the Hawks, and in identifying their leaders and members. Arrests are imminent. My fellow humans, while operations against the Hawks are in process, we must ask that you be ever-vigilant against any suspicious behavior and report such as immediately as you can. These people are desperate now that their criminal empire is in mortal danger, and desperate people do desperate things.

  “I have requested of Secretary Deng that UNPOL is provided with the opportunity to attend to our internal problems immediately. To this end, all of Jurong island and the sea around Jurong for a distance of three kiloms will be accessible by UNPOL-authorized personnel only. Travel in and out of New Singapore will be done through UNPOL checkpoints at all entry and exit points. These measures will also be enacted in any and all locations where a terrorist bomb is exploded.

  “The Secretary General has received the approval of the UN Security Council to take these measures, and these measures have been deemed lawful under the Law of the Nation by the National Court of Justice.

  “I would stress that these measures are temporary and will go before a global PopVote within a week or two, however we ask for your cooperation and understanding of the necessity of these measures in the meantime. Thank you.”

  UNPOL press relations officer, Stephanie Goodson, walked to the middle of room in front of the stage and said, “We will take questions now.” The room immediately burst into sound with hundreds of voices clamoring for attention. Stephanie, a silver haired and elegantly groomed lady dressed in smart outers but not wearing a uniform, stood silently, her arms by her side until the noise died down. She pointed at a woman sitting in the front row of Biosense and smiling said, “Yes, Joan?”

  “Joan Johnson, CNNI. Sir Thomas, can you tell us how many of these Hawks are out there and how long have they been in existence?”

  Sir Thomas nodded, his almost bald head shining bright with sweat under the lights in the room, even though the temperature of the room was ambient for all.

  “The Hawks originate in the traditional criminal gangs that existed in the early twentieth century and in some cases before that. We believe their number to be in the tens of thousands, however the leadership is only a couple of thousand at most. They operate in distributed cells so that it is hard to trace one gang of Hawks to another. The leaders are also a cell, and recently we contained one of the ring leaders. It was his escape that provided us with the ability to track down these other ring leaders and once we cut the head off the snake, the body will die.”

  This comment caused a flurry of hands to go up, but Stephanie calmly picked her choices.

  “Andy?”

  “Yes. Andy McDowel, GNC. The criminal that escaped from New Singapore, has he been arrested yet?”

  Sir Thomas smiled his tight little smile with his hands clasped together on the table. The smile disappeared and he said, “I am not at liberty to discuss the current operations against the Hawks as that would endanger UNPOL personnel in the field. We are making solid progress in the case and have identified a number of individuals that we would like to interview. However our initial focus will be the elements inside UNPOL that have been obstructing the course of justice. What I can disclose to you is that the criminal who escaped was not called Jibril Muraz. His real name is Gabriel Zumar and he is a high-level Hawk. As such he is extremely dangerous and believed to be armed at all times. If you are a member of the public do not attempt to approach this man but do inform an UNPOL officer as soon as possible without placing yourself at risk.”

  Stephanie stood up on her toes and pointed to a man at the rear of the room with his hand up waving at her. “Yes, sir. What is your question?”

  “Mr Secretary General, I, er, sorry, Malcom Nkose of the New African Centinal. Mr Secretary General, martial law has not been imposed since the post-war food riots. Isn’t this response too extreme?”

  “No. Martial law will be restricted to any area where a bomb goes off. This is simply to control the movement of people in that area who are performing the acts of terror. Each is a localized incident but orchestrated on a global level, therefore our response is to treat it as such. The measure of martial law is only imposed on a relatively small local area, while our efforts to track and identify the Hawks are global.”

  “Marjorie?”

  “Majorie Hemmings, New Washington Post. Sir Thomas, I gather from your statement that you have subversive elements within UNPOL that are Hawks. Have you identified who these UNPOL staff are?”

  Sir Thomas cleared his throat, took a swallow of water, and pulled his chair closer to the table until his stomach was pressed against it. Leaning forward, he spoke. “Again, I am not at liberty to discuss current operations, however what I can say is that progress is ongoing and we are confident that with this latest bombing, the forensics will provide us with the final evidence we need to expose the most senior subversive elements.”

  Stephanie brought her hands together as if in prayer and said, “One last question and we must allow the honorable gentlemen to get back to their contribution. Yes, Steven”

  “Steven Haines, GNBC. Sir Thomas, did UNPOL allow Gabriel Zumar to escape so that you could track his movements?”

  Sir Thomas glared at the journalist with a blank expression and shook his head from side to side. “No, we did not. Gabriel Zumar is an enterprising and utterly ruthless criminal who will stop at nothing to maintain his freedom in order to continue his criminal activities.”

  “Sorry, Sir Thomas, one last question. Is Gabriel Zumar any relation to Philip Zumar, Bo Vinh’s confidante and friend?”

  Sir Thomas lowered his head slightly and shook it softly then looking across at Deng turned to face the journalist from GNBC. Sir Thomas brought his clasped hands up from the table and placed them under his chin, looking down at the journalist.

  “We believe, sadly, that he is Philip Zumar’s son. Our information is that his father was murdered by those criminal elements responsible fo
r Bo Vinh’s assassination and that they kidnapped and brought up this Gabriel Zumar in their criminal ways.”

  Sir Thomas turned in his seat and smiled at Deng. The two men rose together to walk off the stage and through the door that was opened by an UNPOL guard, standing at attention beside it.

  Marty, laying on her sleeper with her arms crossed behind her bed, said, “Devscreen off.” She had watched as Sir Thomas had left the room with Deng. She sighed. Tomorrow perhaps, even this morning, the stolen Devstick would be found among the debris in the club and she would be identified and contained as a Hawk. She looked at the time on the Devstick on the table beside her sleeper. 10:20pm. She had to go rogue. She was bone tired but knew that she had to move. Do it now or it was over. Move and there’s a chance. A slim chance, but a chance.

  Her mind went back to the meeting that had led to this moment. Governor Tilling, Flederson and her, just over three months ago, after the seminar ‘Enterprise Level Commercial Crime’. Governor Tilling saying that an eyewitness to a murder allegedly committed by Sir Thomas had come forward but there was no evidence. Flederson — ‘Mother’ — asking her to go undercover and dig for evidence. And now he was in a coma and Tilling was dead. Sir Thomas had outsmarted them all and acted swiftly and ruthlessly. She was sure of it, but she couldn’t prove it. Or was it Cochran? She didn’t know and now was not the time to spend brooding about it.

  She puffed her cheeks and blew out her breath, unfolding her hands from behind her head and swinging her legs over the side of the sleeper. She rubbed her face vigorously with her fingers trying to coax energy out of her body. Fuck it, she thought, and reached to the handle of the table drawer beside the sleeper. Pulling it open, she took out a small capsule that looked like a tube of lipstick. She lifted her bum and pulled her bottom outers down, spreading her knees. Taking the capsule in one hand she pressed one end against her inner thigh. A little green light flashed several times and she pressed the top of the capsule. Marty hated stimulants but she just didn’t have the energy to run. While she sat waiting for the drug to hit her system, she took a deep breath in and held it. The stimulant hit. She felt it coursing through her veins.