by Thomas Fay
‘Stay alert. God only knows what we’re walking into here,’ John said.
Socrates nodded. John pushed the door open. The smell of stale beer and old wood permeated the ground floor. About a dozen people were sitting around the bar area, beers in hand. A quiet Thursday afternoon.
John and Socrates moved swiftly through the ground floor. They missed nothing.
‘Not here. Upstairs,’ John said.
They moved up the stairs. Several of the people had ceased talking and watched them intently. Even the music seemed to drop a few decibels. They reached the first floor.
‘John.’
‘I see her.’
Seated with her back to them was a woman with red hair. She turned slightly and John recognised her as Simone Greenberg.
‘She’s definitely not trying to hide,’ he said.
‘It would appear that she is waiting for us. That she wanted us to come here,’ Socrates said.
‘That’s what worries me.’
They moved across the first-floor bar area, past the open doors leading to the outdoor verandah. Simone Greenberg remained where she was, sipping a glass of white wine. Her slender hands twirled the long-stemmed glass as she stared off into the distance. John and Socrates approached her from opposite sides.
‘Simone Greenberg?’ John asked.
She turned, her green eyes catching the light streaming through the open courtyard doors. John was struck by her beauty. Her red hair seemed to have a life of its own as it shimmered in the glow of the afternoon sun.
‘Yes?’ she asked.
‘It seems that you were not entirely truthful with us when we met this morning.’
She smiled. It was a nice smile, the type of smile that you thought about on cold, lonely nights.
‘Wasn’t I?’
‘Drop the act, Simone, if that’s even your real name. You clearly wanted us to find you here. We’re here. What did you want to tell us?’
Her smile suddenly vanished as she stared at something behind them. John spun around, one hand poised above his handgun.
Half-a-dozen men dressed in black sports jackets and rumpled jeans stood at the top of the stairs. They had a casual alertness about them that instantly gave them away as ex-military. The two closest to them stepped aside and another man walked forward. He was about six foot tall with broad shoulders, dressed in an expensive tailored suit. His face had a faint scar that started under his chin and ended just short of his left eye. He stared directly at Simone as he spoke.
‘Hello, Simone. You’re a tough one to find, aren’t you? Given us quite a workout, chasing you around the city. Well, now that we’ve found you it’s time we had a little chat about Walter Menzies’s research.’
Nineteen
John assessed the scene before him. Six well-built ex-military men, with at least one handgun each, and the seventh man, clearly someone who had been in violent confrontations before. And survived, judging by the scar. He’d hate to see what was left of whoever gave him that scar. Yet his tone and vocabulary suggested he was more than just an ex-bouncer made good, as did his entourage. While he was certain that Socrates could easily take them all out, there were a number of people in the first floor of the bar who could be hurt if a gunshot went astray. He’d also learned that physical confrontations were best avoided unless someone was absolutely intent on killing you. That did not appear to be the case just yet, although he realised that could change very quickly. He motioned for Socrates to wait.
‘Who are you?’ John asked, taking a step in front of Simone.
The man with the scar smiled.
‘Forgive my manners. My name is Jack Dell.’
‘John Tesh, Sentinel.’
If Jack Dell was at all concerned by that revelation, he showed no sign of it. John continued.
‘What is the nature of your business with Ms Greenberg?’ he asked.
‘Simone and I have an important matter to discuss.’
‘I’m afraid that Ms Greenberg is a person of interest in an ongoing Sentinel investigation. She’s coming with us.’
Jack Dell’s eyes hardened.
‘I’m a man used to getting what he wants. Do not try me, Sentinel.’
‘And I’m a man who really doesn’t respond well to threats. Step aside or spend the night in jail for interfering with a Sentinel investigation. Your choice.’
Even as he said it, John knew that the encounter was only going to end one way.
‘Take her,’ Jack Dell instructed.
His men rushed forward. Before they had taken their second step, Socrates reacted. Fast. He knocked Jack Dell to the side as if he weighed no more than a child’s toy. With the same movement, he lashed out, sending the two closest men to the ground. Sidestepping past them, he kicked out—once, twice—sending the other four flailing down the stairs.
‘Time to go!’ John shouted. He pulled Simone off her chair and pushed her to the back of the bar. They stumbled through a service door into the kitchen. Another man dressed in a black jacket confronted them. John didn’t hesitate. He kicked out, sending him flying into the stove. Before the man could recover, John had reversed his grip on his handgun and hit him across the forehead.
‘Come on!’
They raced through the narrow service corridor to the fire escape beyond. Running down the stairs, they reached the ground floor and spilled out onto the side street.
‘My car’s over there. Move!’
They made it to the Sentinel cruiser. Just as John fired up the engine, Socrates appeared beside the passenger door. Opening it, he slid into the passenger seat.
‘What took you so long?’ John asked.
‘I made sure there were no other hostiles,’ Socrates replied.
John pulled away from the kerb with a hint of tire squeal. Only once they had driven for about five minutes did he look in the rear-view mirror at their new passenger.
‘What the hell is going on Simone? Who was that guy?’
Simone returned John’s gaze through the rear-view mirror.
‘Jack Dell is a nasty piece of work. He used to work for the Haleen brothers; clubs, brothels and drugs. Then he got into horseracing. Every horse he was involved with mysteriously won. Everyone suspected that he was fixing the races for his employers but no one could prove it. During the global riots he found his way into the employ of Karl Hobbs.’
‘Karl Hobbs? The energy trader?’
‘Yes. Jack was in charge of procuring oil supplies for Karl who would then sell them to the highest bidder. Karl Hobbs made millions from rich people who couldn’t give up their old way of life during the global riots. That’s the real truth behind how he made his fortune. His stock market trading is a more recent venture.’
‘So why was he after you?’
‘He wasn’t after me. He was after Walter Menzies’s research.’
‘So it’s real?’
‘Yes, John. What I told you this morning was the truth. Walter Menzies was working on a practical application of M-theory focusing on energy transference. It was the kind of technology that would be worth trillions. The kind of technology that a man like Karl Hobbs would kill to maintain control of.’
John considered what he had been told. A sudden though struck him. He pulled out his phone and dialled. It answered on the second ring.
‘Fernali,’ the voice on the other line said.
‘Fernali, its Tesh.’
‘I was just about to call you. I’ve got some details on who was paying Walter Menzies.’
‘Who?’
‘Well, there were a number of dummy corporations and offshore accounts involved but Streeter managed to trace them back to their source.’
‘Let me guess. Karl Hobbs.’
Silence. Then.
‘How did you know?’
‘Call it a lucky guess.’
Twenty
The Sentinel cruiser glided down a narrow laneway and came to a complete stop behind a two-storey red-brick house in
the back of Vaucluse in the Eastern Suburbs. John turned the engine off and opened the door.
‘Come on, we need to talk,’ he said, turning around to face Simone.
‘Sure.’
The three of them climbed out of the car. John reached through an opening in the gate to undo the latch and pulled the gate towards them. It creaked and groaned with age. He held it open for Socrates and Simone. Once they had walked past, he pulled it shut.
‘What is this place?’ Simone asked.
‘My uncle’s house.’
They reached the back door. John pulled out an old-fashioned metal key. Inserting it into the lock, he turned it. The lock snicked open.
‘No voice control?’ Simone asked, surprised.
‘No. My uncle’s a little old-fashioned. After you.’
‘Thanks.’
Simone walked inside. John turned to his partner.
‘Do a scan of the area. We can’t be sure they didn’t follow us.’
‘Do you want me to alert the others?’
‘No. Until we know more about what’s happening with the Ruling Council, I want to keep my distance from Sentinel HQ.’
‘I take it you have disabled the tracking system in our cruiser?’
John grinned.
‘Very well, John. I will check for hostiles while you entertain the young lady.’
‘What? Hang on, I—’
‘I am, of course, joking.’
With that Socrates turned and exited through the rusty old gate. Once again John shook his head in disbelief at just how human his partner was sometimes.
‘Simone?’ he called out.
‘In here.’
John walked into the kitchen to find Simone sitting at the counter. She had a glass of water in one hand and an apple in the other. She took a bite of the apple, the crunch cutting through the silence of the house. John stared at her. She really was beautiful. Unlike Lauren, who had a runway model look, Simone was the girl next door every boy dreamt about living next to. John suddenly remembered Socrates’s words. He felt a chill pass through him as he realised he had no idea who she really was.
‘Who are you?’ he asked.
She smiled.
‘Simone Greenberg.’
‘There’s no one by that name in city records. You don’t exist.’
She took another bite of her apple. Her green eyes opened wide as she stared at him.
‘Who are you really?’
‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. What you can believe is what I told you this morning. It should also lead you to one inevitable conclusion.’
‘Which is?’
‘If Walter Menzies was working on an alternative to the Flux Cell and he was being funded by Karl Hobbs, then—’
‘Then Karl Hobbs was looking for a way of challenging the Iona Corporation.’
Twenty-One
The sun set over the quiet street in Vaucluse, its orange tendrils retreating across the roads, houses and trees. Finally, it was gone and night fell across the city of Iona. John flicked the lights on in the kitchen. Simone was still sitting at the counter. The door creaked open and Socrates walked in.
‘Anything?’ John asked.
‘No. The area is clear. No one followed us here,’ Socrates said.
‘Good. That means we’ve bought ourselves some time.’
‘Have you made any further progress?’
‘It seems that Karl Hobbs was funding Walter Menzies’s research. That consulting income of 1.8 million dollars was all from an offshore company owned by Hobbs. And we know that the research was real. He was working on an alternative to the Flux Cell.’
‘If what you say is correct, that would also suggest that Karl Hobbs did not kill Walter Menzies.’
‘Yes, it would. In fact, I’m certain of it.’
Simone stood up and walked over to the refrigerator. Opening the door, she rummaged around inside and emerged holding a bottle of water. She sat back down at the counter.
‘What about Lauren?’ Socrates asked.
‘Who’s Lauren?’ Simone asked, suddenly interested.
‘My ex-wife,’ John said.
‘You were married? Never would have guessed.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Simone smiled.
‘Nothing. You just don’t strike me as the type.’
‘Right. Like I haven’t heard that before.’
‘Excuse me, John. But shouldn’t we be focusing on getting Lauren free from Council custody?’ Socrates asked.
‘The Council took your ex-wife?’ Simone asked.
‘Yes. They walked her right out of Sentinel HQ.’
‘Has that ever happened before?’
‘Not that I know of. This is the first time that the Council has interfered with a Sentinel investigation and certainly the first time I’ve ever heard of them taking someone into custody.’
‘So what are you going to do?’ Simone asked.
‘I need to get her back. I’m just not quite sure how yet.’
‘John?’ Socrates said.
‘Yes?’
‘If Walter Menzies was working for Karl Hobbs and Walter Menzies called Lauren for help the night before she was killed…’
John stared at his partner for a minute as the pieces slotted into place.
‘Then Karl Hobbs most likely sent that gunman after Lauren. It makes sense. Walter Menzies was dead and Lauren was a loose end that could potentially lead back to him.’
‘It still doesn’t explain who actually killed Walter Menzies or why.’
‘No, it doesn’t. There has to be another party involved in this, someone who didn’t want Walter Menzies’s research getting out. Other than the Iona Corporation, I can’t think of anyone else that could be.’
Simone smiled again but said nothing.
Twenty-Two
The clock on the wall read 7.45 pm. John grabbed his keys and headed for the door.
‘You’re leaving?’ Simone asked.
‘I need to go out for a while. Socrates will stay here with you to ensure nothing happens.’
‘Alright.’
John reached for the door handle. Turning it, he paused.
‘Keep her safe,’ he said.
‘John, I am not certain I am capable of doing so in light of today’s events,’ Socrates said.
John looked at him for a moment. His gaze flicked to Simone.
‘We don’t have a choice. I need to get Lauren out. She’s already been in Council custody for most of the day. Call me if anything happens.’
‘I will,’ Socrates said.
John opened the door and stepped out. It closed slowly behind him, creaking every inch of the way. He took a breath of the night air, enjoying the hint of salt water. He made his way across the garden and exited through the rusted old gate. Getting into his car, he turned the engine on and drove down the road.
About ten minutes later, he called Fernali.
‘Where are you?’ he asked, when Fernali answered.
‘I’m at Sentinel HQ. Streeter and I were sitting down with Harrison from the financial crimes division to see what our friend Hobbs has been up to. It’s quite an impressive portfolio.’
‘I bet. Did the name Jack Dell come up?’
‘He’s Hobbs’s enforcer. Used to work for some of the more colourful families involved in Kings Cross establishments; he then got into fixing horseraces and finally into oil theft during the global riots. Almost impossible to prove any of it but we know he did it.’
‘Socrates and I ran into him and some of his buddies at the Dolphin Hotel earlier today.’
‘How did that end?’
‘Not very well for them, but the fact that they feel they can challenge Sentinel authority out in the open is concerning. We’re going to have to do something more permanent about Karl Hobbs very soon.’
‘Agreed. From what I’ve read on him, it shouldn’t be too difficult to find something to take him down with.’
Fernali paused for a moment. Then, he said, ‘What about Lauren?’
‘That’s why I’m calling. I need to speak with you in private, away from Sentinel HQ.’
‘Sure. Where do you want to meet?’
‘The usual place?’
‘I’ll see you in twenty minutes.’
The phone clicked off. John waited for a count of ten and then dialled another number. It was an unregistered number, one that automatically screened all incoming calls and, if anyone did accidentally dial it, diverted to a pre-recorded automated message bank. John’s number was one of the few that were allowed through.
‘I told you this wasn’t a good time, John,’ Councillor Alara Green said.
‘I know, and I’m sorry, but I really need your help.’
Silence. Then: ‘What do you need?’
‘I need your help getting Lauren out of Council holding.’
‘They took your ex-wife?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who?’
‘Councillor Jonathan Gage.’
‘Gage? Damn, I thought it was him.’
‘What do you mean? Does this have anything to do with what you told me earlier, about the Council being in a state of flux because Qallan Frost had disappeared?’
‘It can’t be a coincidence. Frost disappears and Gage starts to exert his influence over the Ruling Council and he also starts to interfere with a Sentinel investigation. The only thing I can’t figure out is why he would involve himself directly. Why is your ex-wife so important?’
