by Graeme Hurry
“Did he hurt you?”
“Sí, my husband was murdered two years ago. Now Señor Venezuela is helping me get my papers. Sometimes he acts like he owns me. I do not want to say anymore.”
“That’s enough.”
She backed away. “The men, I must finish feeding them.”
“Wait. How many men are here?”
“There are four men who work at night and ten men who watch us during the day. They are waiting for me to finish making their breakfast. Rocky told me to bring you refreshments first, but I must get back before they lose their tempers.”
Fourteen goons? Not good odds. I needed to text Agent Gunn for more back up. “It’s okay. I’ll talk to Rico and figure things out soon.”
Rocky and Rico entered the room before I could say more. The drug dealer was surprised to see me visiting with Marie- and annoyed. He looked at her and growled. “I am sure there must be something for you to do besides entertaining our detective. If not you can go back to Mexico for good!”
“The men! They are waiting for me.” She clasped her hands together anxiously. “I am sorry Senor Venezuela. I… I will go to the kitchen and wait for you to tell me what you want for breakfast while I feed the others.” She fled the room in terror. I finished my doughnut and stared hard at Rico. His manners towards women left a lot to be desired. Rocky moved behind me. Rico looked at me uncertainly before settling down in a comfortable chair behind his ornate cherry desk.
The crime lord pretended to be the gracious host. “Will you join me for breakfast Detective Jones?”
“Breakfast sounds good Rico.” We knew each other from other unpleasant encounters and I hated the man, but visions of Marie preparing a meal for me were more than I could resist.
He narrowed his eyes, studying me a moment before he snapped his fingers. “You may leave us Rocky. Have Marie prepare western omelets for us along with a pot of our best Columbian coffee.” He pointed to an overstuffed chair, “Have a seat Detective Jones.” When Rocky left the room, Rico lit a Cuban cigar. After it was lit he reclined in the chair and put two snakeskin boots up on his desk. They were covered in red clay that still looked damp. “What brings you my humble home so early in the morning?”
“A friend of mine named Ken Blake.”
“I know him well. How is Agent Blake? The last time we spoke he sounded as if he might be under the weather.”
“He was murdered last night, or early this morning.” My fists were clenched in silent rage. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to relax and smile. “You wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”
Rico paused to draw in a lungful of smoke, holding it a few seconds before slowly exhaling it. He considered the glowing end of his cigar saying, “No, I am shocked to hear this Detective Jones. Of course I do not know who could have killed such a good man. I will do my best to help you find the evil man who did this thing. I’m sorry for his family. Please pass along my condolences and let me know where his funeral is being held. He locked eyes with me. His gaze grew sinister and his greasy smile was meant to be intimidating. “Perhaps I will send his wife some nice flowers. She is quite beautiful I think. How was he killed?”
Flowers? My temper flared again. Breakfast may have to wait. “You had your gorilla murder him while you watched.”
Rico’s voice was low and menacing. “You shouldn’t make accusations you cannot prove.”
Time to play poker. I tilted my head to one side, studying him indifferently. “We have evidence that will tie Rocky to the crime scene and we have proof that you were there, so call your fancy lawyers and prepare your defense.” This was a bluff. There was no evidence on Rico yet. The film Toni found on site only showed Rocky in it. Nevertheless, I was banking a Federal search warrant and fear would push Rico into revealing his hand.
“Proof?” He stubbed out his cigar and jumped to his feet. Rico leaned over the desk. The thin façade of civility he wore like a mask to hide the dark monster hiding beneath was slipping. So was his control. “You cannot prove any of this! I was not with Rocky last night, or this morning!”
“Yes we can. I noticed Rocky has a thing for expensive Italian leather loafers like the ones he’s wearing this morning. We found matching size 16 footprints near Ken’s body. That places Rocky there. I bet the wet red clay on your boots will place you at the scene of the crime too, but there is something else the best defense team your money can buy won’t be able to get around.”
He straightened back up. Rico’s look turned wary. “What have you found?”
“I got a phone call just before I got here. There was a security camera at a nearby convenience building. We have the whole thing on film. An F.B.I. agent will be delivering a search warrant soon. I can’t imagine what other things we’ll find when we take your home apart. I stood up. “You don’t have anything to hide, do you?”
“It can’t be! Wait! Please Detective; there must be something you can do for me. All I need is a day to escape until my legal team can figure this out! I have much money here, in my desk.” He slowly opened the top right hand drawer of his writing desk. Rico was desperate now. His control was gone. The treacherous monster was out of its cage and the real Rico was standing here in front of me now. “I can make you very rich Detective Jones and I will give you Rocky on a silver platter. After all, you said he is the one who made your friend suffer.”
That did it. My hand slapped his desk hard enough to make him jump. “No! I made a promise this morning and I’m going to keep it.” I turned to leave, and then stopped with my hand on the doorknob long enough to glare at him. “We execute killers in this state Rico. You and Rocky are both going to Hell for killing my friend.”
I opened the door and turned to leave, but the hallway was blocked. There was a man wearing a black hat, dressed in blue jeans, a white shirt and leather duster waiting for me on the other side of the door with a gun in his hand. “Agent Gunn?”
He aimed at my head. “Get down.”
I ducked quickly to avoid being shot, drawing my own weapon as I rolled to the side. He fired twice, narrowly missing me. My ears were ringing, but I could hear a loud crash and the sound of breaking glass behind me. I frowned at the tall cowboy dressed in black. “That was too close.”
He smiled as he replaced the spent cartridges. “I would say that was right on target Barnabus.”
I holstered my gun. We walked back into Rico’s office. The drug lord was lying in a pool of blood, holding a 9mm Glock in his lifeless left hand. Johnny shook his head as he put his gun back in its custom made shoulder holster. “Guess we saved the taxpayers some money today.”
Marie wheeled a breakfast cart inside. She gasped. “What has happened Detective?”
I made the introductions. “Marie, this is Agent Gunn. Johnny this is Rico’s masterful cook Marie.”
Johnny showed his badge and tipped his hat politely. “It’s nice to meet you ma’am.”
I walked over to her. “Rico resisted arrest and tried to kill me when my back was turned. Johnny saved my life.”
She looked at me with hopeful eyes. “I am glad for that.”
“Me too.” I looked at Agent Gunn with a sudden recollection. “We need backup and make it quick. There are fourteen well armed thugs around here someplace.”
Marie touched my hand. “I think you are okay for now. Some of the men are sleeping. Others are out on the grounds. You are lucky it was shift change and such a loud noise will not be easily heard.”
I looked at Gunn. “Did anyone see you come in?”
“Just Rocky I think. I took care of him.”
I frowned. “Dead?”
“Can’t have everything. He’s handcuffed to the bathroom sink, humbled, but alive.”
“Would you mind waiting for me in the living room Marie? There are some questions I need to ask you before the police get here.”
She lowered her gaze with a sad sigh. “Sí detective, I will do as you ask.”
“Marie?”
>
“Sí señor?”
“Call me Barnabus.”
She looked back up searching my face for some clue of my interest in her. Then she smiled. “Sí Señor Barnabus. I will be there when you come for me.” With that she was gone.
I looked at Johnny. Much to my annoyance he was grinning. “She sure seems nice. Marie told me you were in here. A shame Rico’s dead. I would have liked to talk with him about Ken.”
“Well, you can’t have everything, but there are some things we can have right now.”
“Like what?”
I removed a silver lid from a large white plate. “We can enjoy some good omelets, western style.”
He pulled up a chair to join me at the breakfast cart. “That’s just how I like them.”
My whole body felt weighted down. I opened my eyes with difficulty, just in time to see Marie remove handcuff keys from Johnny’s pants pocket. His eyes were closed. The slow rise and fall of his chest allowed room for hope. He’s alive. She took his gun and ammo as well. Hard to find words finally caught her attention when I stuttered them. “What… what happened?”
Marie looked at me in surprise, and then she glanced at my plate. A brief look of disappointment flickered across her face. “Didn’t you like my omelet?”
“The salsa was too spicy. I have… stomach problems.”
“And here I thought you liked my cooking. You hurt my feelings so Barnabus, but I will not hold a grudge.” She walked over to me, withdrawing a syringe from her purse.
My thick tongue already made talking difficult. A sharp prick in my bicep, followed by a warm, relaxing feeling when she gave me the shot made it harder to focus. Fog spreading though my mind made everything so hard to comprehend, but I finally did understand. “You poisoned us?”
“No, I used GHB. We have several friends who are like minded and they give us access to many drugs.”
“We?”
“Rocky and I. Just as we have done with numerous victims throughout the years, mostly young women.”
“Like the girl in Texas. The murder Ken was investigating.”
“Yes, we like our entertainment. I called your friend’s hotel when Rocky found out he was in town. It was easy to play the helpless damsel and lure him to that park.” Her broken English was gone. Every word was sharp. “You will enjoy a nice sleep, just like Agent Gunn and Señor Venezuela’s men while Rocky and I move on… again.”
Her sleeves were rolled up again, revealing purple and blue skin. “What about your bruises?”
Marie traced a finger along my cheek, scratching it. She tasted my blood. “I like it rough.”
My struggle to sit up was useless. I resigned to waiting here for help. “I will find you and Rocky. The two of you will pay for what you did to Ken.”
She stood up with a reckless shrug. “We’ll see detective. Rocky and I need to leave before your friends get here.”
She didn’t appear to know about the video with Rocky in it. Every F.B.I. agent in the country would be looking for them. I relaxed until she opened the door. A strong odor wafted into the study. “What is that smell?”
Marie stopped to give me a dazzling smile. “That is gas señor. All of the gas lines in the kitchen and fireplaces are open now. I do not think we will meet again detective.”
LEVIATHAN
by Simon Kewin
“Do these computing machines really have to make all this racket?” Mitchell, the man from the Ministry, stood in the middle of Leviathan’s Processor Hall ‘A’, a grimace on his face and a serious black briefcase in his hand. “It’s 2015, for heaven’s sake. Surely you can make them quieter by now?”
His question surprised Dr. Ada Appleton. Racket? She loved the noise in here. She found it… comforting. Sometimes she came in here to get some peace. To think. If you listened closely enough you could hear patterns in all the clacking and whirring and clicking. A music, of sorts. Still, she couldn’t expect Mitchell to agree. It was just a shame it was him holding the purse-strings. He would decide whether to approve or can their much-needed third processor hall. And how could someone like him understand a machine like Leviathan?
“Follow me!” she mouthed, and turned to head for the side of the hall. She led him past line after line of switch stacks, valve arrays and storage pots. As they walked, Mitchell peered up and around, like some tourist in Manhattan, amazed at the height and scale of everything around him. Good. Leviathan was amazing. She’d designed it to be amazing and she wanted Mitchell to be impressed.
She pushed through the double doors that led, via a short connecting corridor, into the adjacent hall. The hush was immediate; the only sound, the deep, ever-present hum in the walls and floor. This hall was equally vast - big enough to play a decent game of football in - but completely devoid of machinery. Processor Hall ‘C’ stood ready and waiting. The final stage of her grand design.
Mitchell straightened his tie as he peered around the cavernous vault that had been carved out of the Welsh mountainside. “Can’t you make these machines, you know, smaller?”
His voice sounded hollow in the echoing space. Ada smiled an indulgent smile. “I’m afraid you mustn’t believe everything the Sci Fi writers come up with. Computers the size of books and matchboxes. It would be marvellous, but I’m afraid ‘microprocessors’ and all those other miraculous electronic devices exist only in stories. The truth is obvious. In order to make a Babbagian computer more powerful you have to make it bigger. More valves, more switches, more cogs, more axles. That’s been the lesson of the last seventy years. Each generation of machine has been bigger than the last. The Colossus machines of the 1940s and 1950s. Juggernaut in the 1960s and 1970s. Gargantua in the 1980s and Goliath in the 1990s. Then Behemoth and finally Leviathan from 2005 onwards.”
Mitchell scowled and looked around. She’d done her research on him. A rising star in the government. He was a Treasury man at heart, though. A bean counter. Which was fine. Let him see what a tight ship she ran here.
“Really, though,” said Mitchell. “One wonders why the world even needs so many computers. With Shiva running in India and China’s Long March there are seven of the things crashing and whirring away. I mean, aren’t you going to run out of numbers to add up?”
She forced herself to smile again. She’d heard it all before. Still, his words sent a chill through her. They wouldn’t really refuse to fund the third Hall would they? Not after everything they’d achieved?
“Processors ‘A’ and ‘B’ are currently running at 110% of their designed capacity,” she said. “As I’m sure you’re aware, they aren’t simply adding up numbers. They are executing programs. Sometimes three or even four of them at the same time. Predicting the weather, modelling the economy, solving complex mathematical problems…”
“And playing games.”
Damn. She wondered if he’d bring that up. The bloody papers had published the story a few weeks back. How the boffins used the machine to play games of chess and Dungeon Delve. Which was true, they did. But only when there were free slots in the execution plan, late at night or at weekends. The processor time consumed was negligible. And you never knew what useful advancements could come out of the apparently trivial.
“Occasionally, yes,” she conceded. “But there is obviously never any detrimental effect on the vital work Leviathan carries out.”
Mitchell nodded, but looked unconvinced. He began to pace around, inspecting the walls and power fittings as if he had personally paid for everything. “And are you aware of the cost of running Leviathan? Day-to-day?”
“It’s… a lot, I know. Valves need replacing. All the moving parts require constant maintenance.”
“Every day you use up nearly three thousand discs of top-grade aluminium. Discs a yard across.”
“Our microdot permanent storage platters. We don’t use them up. We store data on them. They’re all still here, racked and catalogued in the archive.”
“Then there’s the electricity. That alon
e amounts to nearly 4% of national power consumption. Did you know that, Dr. Appleton?”
“I… no. I wasn’t aware of that figure.”
“That would jump to 6% if Processor Hall ‘C’ was commissioned.”
“Yes. But still, it has to be a price worth paying.” He was softening her up. Preparing her for bad news. They weren’t going to fund the new hall after all. She saw now. How could they be so short-sighted?
“And surely,” he continued, “we could pay someone else to carry out our calculations for us? Kryptonite in New York. Or Red Square. We’re all friends now, you know.”
Dread trickled through her veins. He wasn’t talking about refusing Processor ‘C’. He was questioning ‘A’ and ‘B’ too. Questioning Leviathan. She didn’t know what to say.
As her mouth opened and closed, Simpkins, her Chief Tech, poked his head around the doors. The papers liked to portray people like him as bald, white-coated boffins and the unfortunate truth was this described Simpkins perfectly. She’d never been able to work our whether he was unaware of the stereotype or playing up to it. Maybe it was irony. She didn’t always get irony.
“Ah, Dr. Appleton?”
“Yes, Simpkins. What is it?”
“That new program we talked about. It’s running now.” “Not another new program?” Mitchell asked. “What does this one do?”
She sighed. A little demonstration they’d arranged. Perhaps it wasn’t going to make any difference now.
“It’s best we show you, I think,” she said. Mitchell nodded his head curtly, as if he was being badly inconvenienced. She turned and walked with Simpkins, heading for the Exec.
As they walked, they passed a window overlooking one of the typing halls. Rows of people sat, reading and typing away simultaneously. Hundreds of them. They needed more, though, to keep up with the daily flow of information. Something else she’d been hoping to speak to Mitchell about.
“And are these the people who, ah, program Leviathan?” Mitchell asked. He stopped and stared through the window. She had the clear impression he was counting heads and calculating the cost of employing them all. As they watched, two white-coated figures rolled one of the polished aluminium platters out of the microdot punch engine and placed it with reverence in its slot on a trolley. Its surface glistened from the rings of tiny pits now etched into it. Couldn’t he see what they’d achieved here? The brilliance of it? And the new platter arrays could read twenty-four of the discs simultaneously, now. A year ago they’d only been able to read two.
