At five feet six inches and one hundred and twenty pounds, Nikki enjoyed being on the lean side. The daughter of a Greek father and Chinese mother, she had learned how to combat racial prejudice the hard way and had become a strong-minded woman.
Like many immigrants from the East Asian subcontinent on Earth, she extolled virtues of hard work and frugality. Immensely popular with her segment of the Rossan population, she quickly passed two terms as minister in the House of Parliament, another term as a senator, and after a brutal fight, won her party’s nomination, and went on to win the office of vice prime minister of Rossa. But there were times when Nikki felt that she got her job just because her party leaders counted on her to bring in the women’s vote.
Was this as high as I could go in the government?
The answer came with a crack of a rifle. Pierre Klava fell backwards from the podium, blood and brains spurting from the back of his head. In two seconds, four Secret Service men surrounded him, each with handguns drawn. Fingers pointed to one spot on the upper level. Everyone on the stage looked either to Klava’s body or to the balcony.
Three shots in quick succession rang out from the balcony and a man holding a rifle tumbled over the handrail. His body performed a half loop as he fell on the attendees below.
Pandemonium followed. Six Secret Service men stood on the stage, facing the audience with their guns drawn.
Two pairs of rough hands grabbed Nikki Su and pulled her from her chair on the stage. She found herself rushed to the exit, surrounded by tall broad-shouldered men in gray suits. They pushed her down the stairs and out the door of the building to a waiting limousine. Two men rushed ahead and opened the doors. The men behind her pushed her into the back seat. Terry Overman, the head of her personal detail, got in behind her. Two men slammed the doors shut. She heard a thump on the roof.
Instantly, the black limo shot forward.
Inside, four men in dark gray suits, all members of the Secret Service, watched out the windows, guns drawn.
“What’s next?” she asked.
The man sitting to her right, Terry Overman, replied, “That depends on whether PMOY lives.” Like the US Secret Service, they preferred to call the sitting prime minister by the initials PMOY, Prime Minister of York.
Nikki Su sat stunned as the limo as it blasted through the crowded street with its siren and flashing lights, as did the pair of motorcycle cops in front of them.
“Where is he?” she asked.
“By now, he’s in an ambulance on his way to Gerges.”
“Is he…?”
“I don’t know, ma’am.” He paused while he pressed one finger to his ear and listened to a tag.
His face grew more sober and he looked at her.
“He was shot in the head and pronounced dead before he arrived at the hospital.”
Su sat back in the seat. Like it or not, the mantle of leadership had just become hers.
#
Ash Getner looked at his monitor. Boxes piled around his desk. He was in midst of moving to his new office on the top floor of the York Security Building.
A Mike Shapeck, photo included, had arrived from Earth via the fast method.
Why the hurry? He must be a VIP.
Traveling the faster route was more expensive than even First Class by regular travel. So far, most of the people who used the fast method were business CEOs or officials high up in the government. But a check of this Mike Shapeck’s resume revealed neither.
There were two other reasons for quick travel. Either the person worked for a spy agency or was privately wealthy. Getner checked again. Mike Shapeck worked as a programmer for the Department of Motor Vehicles in the State of California. Not high ranking and certainly not high up in the government. Nor did he have any apparent wealth. His US tax returns showed no income from stocks or bonds and no off-shore accounts. And only a modest salary.
So maybe Shapeck worked for a spy agency. But which one? By last count, there were over one thousand such agencies on Earth and several hundred on Rossa.
There was one way to find out.
Getner emailed his brother in Russia, asking for a deep background check on Shapeck. He sent along the photo from the fast-travel ticket.
He read the article once again of one enterprising reporter who traveled to Earth by that quick method and returned via Third Class. She wrote up her experiences in a series.
As Ash stared at the head shot of Mike Shapeck, he wondered what had happened to the man after his arrival on Rossa. So he tapped his fingers on his keyboard. But the man appeared to have dropped out of sight.
Very strange, indeed. Just like a spook.
He made a mental note to watch for this name.
He smiles. The first major step in the master plan had occurred with Klava’s assassination.
Chapter 18
Sheila Fish was the first to announce the assassination of Pierre Klava since she had attended the speech. Vids were broadcast over and over again of the chaos that reigned after the first shot was fired.
Scant attention was paid to Nikki Su as she was pulled away from the scene.
But Sheila knew her viewers would want to know what happens next, as soon as the public accepted Klava’s death.
Wearing a blue pantsuit and white shirt with wide lapels, Sheila grabbed her favorite cameraman and walked north on First Avenue the two short blocks to the federal building. There she confronted the security staff with her press credentials. The clerk checked her name on his list and nodded.
Hers was the third news station to be allowed into the press room. She took a seat in the front row on the left side of the podium. Soon dozens of her competitors rushed in and filled every seat. Cameramen stood along the walls and on the floor in front of the stage.
Key members of the cabinet and Parliament took their seats on the podium.
Ten minutes later, the PM’s female press secretary walked on the stage and took the podium. Everyone became quiet.
“Less than two hours ago, Prime Minister Pierre Klava was killed. His body was rushed to Gerges Hospital but it was too late. May we have a moment of silence to commemorate his death?”
The room got quiet.
Fifteen seconds later, the press secretary continued. “Vice Prime Minister Nikki Su was rushed from the scene and brought to this building. I now present Harleton Homer, the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, who will conduct the swearing-in ceremony for the new prime minister.”
An aging man struggled to walk to the podium. Dressed in a long black robe, his face was recognized by thousands of viewers and certainly by Sheila Fish. Sheila glanced at her companion and saw him focused behind his camera as it followed Homer to the podium.
Next on the stage came Nikki Su. She was shorter than the men on the stage except the chief justice, at only five foot six. Most people thought she was taller.
Most men born on Rossa reached her height and the woman topped out at five foot two. Being born on Earth in Beijing, China, Nikki often said she considered herself lucky to have reached halfway to six feet.
Sheila watched as Su placed her left hand on the York Constitution and raised her right hand. The reporters in the room stayed silent during the whole ceremony.
Finally, the Chief Justice said the fateful words, “I now pronounce you the Prime Minister of York.”
Polite applause broke out. She was the first female to hold such a high office on Rossa. Half of the leaders on Earth were women but on Rossa, all the leaders were male.
Until now.
#
“Telly off.”
Oh boy. This changed things.
I wondered why the shooter had died at the meeting. Had the man been killed to keep him quiet? The double shooting sounded like a cover-up. If the assassin knew something, like who paid him to do the deed, he could not report if he was dead.
Maybe I was overly suspicious. Spies can be like that.
My heart went out to Klava since he had been instru
mental in getting slavery abolished, at least in York. He had gone against the will of his financial backers on that one. Slave owners contributed heavily to political campaigns. But Klava must have sensed the mood of the voters. Slavery had run its course and now was a footnote in history. A few pockets remained elsewhere on Rossa. After all, Klava was the prime minister of York but York was not the only nation on the planet. Some slavery still existed in others.
Would Su be different? We had never had a female prime minister.
My gaze dropped down to reread Jake’s detailed report on attending the political meeting.
#
The meeting was held to decide who was to be the local candidate of the Conservative Party. Most of the participants spoke like true politicians.
I pretended to be a hardworking delegate named Jack from the downtown area of Zor. The poor sod I was subbing for had fallen ill with an ear infection. That might have had something to do with the virus Andy scratched on his leg as the two passed, using the tip of an umbrella.
Vincent had convinced the absent Jack to go along with the ruse by promising that I would vote his way on key issues.
We gathered in the main room of the Bush Lodge, fifty miles north of Zor.
I sat in the back of the room and listened to the main speaker. Pierre Klava announced his decision to re-run for his seat in Parliament. Everyone applauded with enthusiasm except one. Ash Getner, the head of the York Security Agency, gave only polite applause and from his body language I wondered if there was resentment or jealousy there. He barely applauded at all and seemed distracted.
After the main meeting, we adjourned to do some networking. And drink the free booze.
Several wealthy owners had contributed to this meeting. They could afford it, having large zoons, or plantations, to the south of Zor. It was the old Golden Rule again. He who has the gold made the rules.
Like a fool, I got talked into a drinking contest with a guy whose name escapes me at the moment. All I knew was he came from Russia. I should have guessed he had a great capacity. As the evening wore on, and with a wobbly head, I pushed back from the table and stood.
“Gotta get some air.”
With difficulty, I made my way outside.
The path wound its way around the outside of the guest rooms and I welcomed the opportunity to clear my head.
As I walked by one window of the house we had met in, I saw Ash Getner in a room with only one other person, Pierre Klava. Getner spoke in an animated way, waving his arms with pursed lips and glaring eyes.
I paused in the cold night air of the desert and looked around. Klava stayed on the ground floor in the Presidential Suite, of course. As I walked by Klava’s room, I couldn’t help but peek in the window.
Ash Getner came into my view first. He must have been angry as he shook his hands. As far as I could tell there were only the two men in the room. Voices came to me via the open window. I heard snippets of their conversation but not enough to understand what they were talking about. Damn alcohol.
Getner saw me and stopped his animated talking. He went to the window and stared at me as he closed it.
Embarrassed to be caught eavesdropping, I turned away and walked on.
Chapter 19
There was more to the report, especially on the conversations around the tables. Reading my own words felt weird. I had no memory of writing that report. Or attending that meeting.
I sent a message to my boss, Acorn. In it, I dropped the definite article words (a, an, and the) to make it harder to decrypt.
“Please do deep background check on Getner. From report on political meeting, it looks like he may be our man. Send me info as you get it. It could make difference. Verify every detail if can.”
After sending that, I sat back. By now, living in the ops center was getting boring. It would be nice if I could get a place of my own but right now, the most important thing was for me to remain out of sight.
The main question I faced now was what could I do to get more information about the assassination? I was sure reporters from all the news media would clamor over that one.
Four hours after sending my message, I received an answer from my spy boss.
“Sending information as I learn it. Getner’s mother had been married before for short time. Have no further information on whether she had any children from that.
“Do you need any help there? I think you need someone who’s good at special ops. You should not have to rely on Vincent. He’s better at hacking.
“Onta is six-months pregnant and wants to stay here. Stater showed skill at special ops. I can send him by Second Class. Can’t afford fast method so soon.”
Hmm. If Getner got his new legs from Vincent’s firm, maybe Vincent could help here.
I looked up.
“Ruta, is Vince in the ops center?”
Ruta was the name of the AI in the ops center.
“Negative.”
So I sent a coded message to him and included the photo I had of Ash Getner.
“The master spy probably used an alias when he got his legs.”
My whole body ached. Was this an aftereffect of being rebuilt? Maybe I was growing muscles. Pain seemed to come from every muscle in my body. Every time I moved anything, I hurt. Hell, it even hurt to sit still.
But I had to wonder if the operation would produce any more effects. I had a new face, voice, and hands.
Was my DNA rebelling against that?
Knowing Acorn would want to know of my concerns, I sent another report on this.
“My whole body aches. Since you changed my DNA, I wonder if I will gradually change to appear more like Jake. Do you have any information on this?”
I was about to send the message when I got to thinking of his offer.
So I added, “Please send SG and info on him.”
I sent the message by courier to Earth. We used robotic couriers to go quickly to and from the home planet because they could endure high accelerations and make the trip in two hours or less. In that way, Earth and Rossa kept in touch with each other.
Knowing a reply would take at least four hours, I sat back and read the rest of the reports from Acorn.
One report held my interest since it dealt directly with me. There were only five rejuv clinics on Earth. One in Irvine, California (near Los Angeles); a second in Hartford, Connecticut; a third in Skokie, Illinois (near Chicago); a fourth in Potsdam, Germany (near Berlin); and the last of the five in Osaka, Japan. Maston O’Reilly, the developer of the rejuvenation technique, was well on his way to becoming the wealthiest person on the planet.
With a high price for rejuvenation, there were rumors of secret societies of the wealthy trying to perfect the process. I smiled as I read.
Masons, Illuminati, Skull and Bones, Herbertus, Arboretum─move over. There’s a new kid on the block.
With most of the wealthy class getting up in their years and facing the prospect of death, I could see their motivation. They wanted control of the process, or at least a copy they could use for their own life extension.
After finishing that report, I pondered what I could do about Acorn’s assignments.
Then there was the issue of who else to tell of my being rebuilt. First, I needed to inform Gancha Morentoss. She was not only my current flame but also a member of my spy team. Since this was something I should handle in person, I sent an email to her from my new email address.
“We need to talk. Please come to the center.”
After dinner, I got a text message back from her.
“Will tomorrow be all right?
I much preferred to get this over with but she might be tired. From my memory, Gancha had a business empire to watch. That must take time.
I sent back, “Sure.”
She replied in two minutes with another text message. “Can we eat dinner afterwards?”
I replied again, “Sure.”
After I sent my message, I sat back. Telling her would be much hard
er than any introduction to my team here at the center.
Chapter 20
Naturally, I was nervous. It’s not every day you get to face your old lover with a new body.
Would she feel the same way toward me when I had a new face and voice?
I sat in the planning room of the ops center when Gancha came in. Since I was the only one in the room, she looked at me. She was simply gorgeous.
Gotta remember I have a new face.
“Gancha, have a seat.”
It was all I could do to resist embracing her and getting one of her great kisses. I pointed to a chair across from my table.
She sat quietly in her brown pantsuit. Gancha reserved her fancy dresses for our dates. She stared at me.
“Who the hell are you? And how did you get in here?”
Then I remembered I had sent text messages. Might as well blurt it out.
“My new name is Mike Shapeck. S-H-A-P-E-C-K.”
“So? Answer my other question. How did you get in here?”
I sighed. She was always difficult.
“That’s my new name. You may know me by my old name. Jake Dani.”
Her head jerked to the right and she raised her right eyebrow.
I continued. “Several months ago I went back to Earth to get a template at the rejuvenation clinic. But I woke up and found I had a new face, new voice, and new hands.”
“What!”
“Acorn came in and explained everything to me. I’m a rebuilt. I was made from the template that Jake left behind before he got killed. I’m the old Jake inside but I have a new identity, new face, new voice, and new hands. The only problem is, I don’t remember anything from the time I first got the template made. Couldn’t remember. Didn’t live through those experiences.”
She lowered her eyebrow and dropped her jaw to open her mouth.
“I know it’s hard to accept. Please use my new name from now on. Mike Shapeck. Forget you ever knew the old name.”
Rebuilt: A Jake Dani/Mike Shapeck Novel (Jake Dani / Mike Shapeck) Page 7
