Second Solace

by Robert Clark

  ‘Hurry up,’ Cecilia snapped.

  Cage waved a hand at her, but said nothing. I blocked everyone else out and focused on just Cage. It made it easier to recant my story. I wasn’t one for audiences, even at the best of times, and this was far from ideal.

  ‘From there I was questioned by two FBI Agents,’ I continued. ‘I refused to answer their questions, so they made arrangements to have me transported to what they referred to as “a black site”. Somewhere outside of the laws of the government. Their plan was to use inhumane methods to extract the wealth of information I gathered during my time in Afghanistan, and since my return home as a suspected covert operative. Had they gotten their way, I’m sure I’d be enjoying a pretty rough time of it right about now.’

  ‘I have heard of these black sites before,’ Maddox mused. ‘People don’t often overstay their welcome, so to speak. But please, continue.’

  ‘As to why I was being transported with minimal surveillance, I believe that was in order to deter suspicion. The place they were taking me was hardly legal, and if news had broken that the FBI were trying to force information out of me, the media storm would have been immense. It would destroy their plans and put them in the uncomfortable position of having to stick me in front of an actual court. I don’t think they would want me sharing the sort of information I have. Not without risk of some massive backlash. So while the two FBI Agents went on ahead to set up the black site, I was transported via an unmarked truck with one man behind the wheel so that the number of people aware of my capture remained as low as possible. Then, well I imagine you know what happened after that. Your man Corser let me get acquainted with the interior of his trunk.’

  ‘So the only reason you have managed to get this far is due to the knowledge you have been privy to during your time in Afghanistan, yes?’ Cage probed.

  ‘That and a little bit of luck, yes.’

  ‘And can you please detail precisely what this information pertains to?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘A lot of people in the world would pay a staggering amount of money to find that out,’ I said. ‘And not one of them has yet to hear the details. Information has a price I’m afraid.’

  ‘He’s lying,’ spat Cecilia. ‘He knows nothing but how to save his own skin.’

  ‘Come now, Cecilia. The purpose of this hearing is to determine the truth,’ said Cage. ‘We cannot let prior dispersions pollute the course of justice. Now, Mr Stone, I do hope you understand the gravity of the situation. We need to assess whether your presence in our nation is a detriment to our security. In order to do that, we need to know if you will attract hostile attention.’

  ‘I can’t see why, considering no one outside of this little community of yours knows where I am, or even if I’m still alive. It’s been what, a day since the ambush? I could be anywhere in the country. Anywhere in the world, for that matter. So I’d say you’re sorted on that count.’

  ‘We will be the judge of that,’ Cage said.

  ‘Why are we wasting our time on this cretin?’ Cecilia snapped. ‘This is not what we expected. This fool cannot provide what we require. Whatever he knows is not pertinent to our situation. Therefore James Stone is nothing but a liability. The longer we allow him access to our nation, the higher are our chances of destroying everything we have built.’

  ‘Cecilia, I will not ask you again. Hold your tongue until we have heard the facts,’ Cage boomed. ‘I have promised Mr Stone a fair and honest trial. If you won’t hear him out, then you will be excused and we will carry on the trial without you.’

  ‘I think perhaps there is a way we can determine the credibility of our witness.’ It was Rogue Santa. His voice was deathly frail. All eyes turned on him.

  ‘I’m all ears, Fenwick,’ said Cage.

  The man called Fenwick shuffled arthritically in his chair and brought his wizened eyes up to meet me.

  ‘Well, Mr Stone. It may not come as a surprise that we did not stumble across you by happenstance. I feel it would not be above me to disclose the nature of his discovery?’ Fenwick twisted his head slowly to gauge Maddox’s response.

  ‘Fire away,’ he said.

  ‘We received a message,’ Fenwick said after he had twisted his neck back into shape. ‘A data burst, I believe they call it. A brief heads up from a reliable source that something of importance was being transferred to a secure location in the state of Oregon. However, here we find you, Mr Stone. What was that quote of Churchill’s? “You’re a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.” But perhaps there is a key.’

  Fenwick smiled to himself, apparently lost in his own little world. It took a moment for him to stir from his reverie.

  ‘Spit it out, old man,’ snapped Cecilia.

  ‘What? Oh, yes. Well, we were fed this information for a reason. Our source believed that the information inside that truck was of great importance to us. So tell me, James Stone, what can you tell me about-’

  A deafening noise drowned out the old man’s rhetoric and filled the hall. It sounded like an old World War Two siren, slowly rising in pitch to a screeching crescendo, and then descending like a wave. It sparked a reaction like none I had ever seen before. As the pitch hit its pinnacle, everyone jumped to their feet. Ahead of me, Maddox, Cecilia, Fenwick and the two other men leapt up, pulling an assortment of weaponry from their holsters.

  ‘Get to your stations,’ roared Cage. ‘Double time!’

  The courtroom escalated into ordered chaos. People ran in every direction, preparing like soldiers in a battle. As I turned to watch where the bulk of the crowd was going, I felt hands on my shoulder, and I was heaved away towards a small side door.

  It was Corser. He sprinted through the door and up a small flight of stairs. I struggled to keep up. The ridiculous prison plimsolls were less than useless at a high speed getaway, but I didn’t have the time to kick them off and run barefoot. At the top of the staircase, Corser turned left and ran down the corridor into a room at the far end of the building. Massive windows overlooked the settlement and out over the wall, but Corser had no time for sightseeing. He threw me down and snatched up a sniper rifle leant against the window.

  ‘Stay down!’ he ordered without looking at me.

  ‘What is this?’ I asked.

  ‘Just shut up and stay out of sight.’

  With the rifle raised, he swung open the window and pointed the weapon out. Slowly, I peered up and looked through the window. Below, I could see dozens of armed men and women rushing into position. The settlement looked purpose built to defend an attack. Tucked into every available recess, the citizens of Second Solace raised their weapons and scanned the forest.

  ‘I said, get down!’ Corser threw his leg out and kicked me down to the ground. ‘You want to get shot? Do as you’re told.’

  I rested back against the wall, head lowered beneath the window. Corser twisted the rifle left and right, searching the dense woodland for something. The blare of the siren pervaded. I wished it would stop, but I had a feeling it would continue until the threat was cleared, whatever it may be.

  Sitting around like a lemon was killing me. I binged on curiosity. I had to know what was out there. With Corser’s attention taken fully by the scope of the rifle, I slowly eased my head up and around to look again. There was silence. Everyone was in position, weapons raised. The only movement came from the swaying branches high in the trees. I peered out through the sea of brown and green, looking for someone.

  But there was nothing. No one. Not a thing that looked even slightly out of the ordinary. Whatever had tripped the alarm was doing a damn fine job of being evasive.

  I heard footsteps in the hallway. I twisted back around and hid down below the window, facing the door. A large man was standing in the doorway, looking right at me. I hadn’t seen him before, but he wore the same garbs as Corser and the rest of the men and women of Second Solace.

  ‘Hey,’ I said.

  He ignored me and looked at Corser
.

  ‘You’re wanted up on the roof,’ he barked at Corser. ‘Boss’s orders.’

  ‘Philips and May should be up there,’ Corser replied without taking his eye off the rifle scope.

  ‘May is on recon today. Someone’s got to cover the spot.’

  With a sigh, Corser retreated from the window and scooped up the sniper rifle.

  ‘This way,’ he said to me. But the big guy put up his hands.

  ‘The prisoner stays here with me,’ he said, standing in the doorway like a huge boulder. ‘It’s too exposed for him up there.’

  ‘Fine.’

  Corser nodded at me and squeezed past. The big guy strode into the room, stood over me, and looked down at me like I was a disobedient child and he was my carer. I didn’t like that feeling, so I stood up.

  He didn’t object. His rules weren’t as strict as Corser’s. Instead, he folded his arms and glanced out of the window.

  ‘So what’s all this commotion?’ I asked. ‘Did somebody do…. something?’

  The big guy frowned at me.

  ‘Sorry, I’m usually quicker with the wit,’ I said. ‘Haven’t slept much for the last few days, you know. You guys could do with building a better prison cell. The “hole in the ground” technique is a bit uncomfortable and chilly.’

  He turned his attention back to the window. In his hand he held a walkie talkie. I turned and looked out of the window again. Still nothing. What the hell was happening out there? The siren didn’t relent. My eardrums felt damaged beyond repair.

  ‘Seriously, what’s with the panic?’ I asked. ‘You guys expecting company?’

  ‘Don’t ask questions,’ was all he could be bothered to respond with.

  ‘Christ, remind me not to invite any of you around to a dinner party. The repartee here is as ripe as a turd.’

  He didn’t respond.

  I glanced around the room. It was a study of sorts. Lining the rear wall were rows of books. Most looked like they hadn’t been touched in an age. How old was this place? I walked across and perused the shelves. There were some classics. Ancient editions of Wuthering Heights, Of Mice and Men, and A Tale of Two Cities looked like they were worth a penny or two. I picked up the Dickens’ classic and skimmed through the pages.

  ‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,’ said the Wolf as he ran his fingers across the shelf.

  ‘The epoch of belief, the epoch of incredulity,’ I replied. ‘I like the word epoch. It’s from a bygone era.’

  Behind me I heard the crackle of the walkie. The words were hidden beneath the siren’s screech.

  ‘I always preferred the line “it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness.”’ mused the Wolf.

  ‘No you didn’t. You only said that because I literally just read that line.’

  ‘It’s a great line though, don’t you think. It sums us up quite well.’ He said. ‘You are the light, and I am the darkness.’

  ‘How very Goth of you. Next thing I know you’ll be dressing in black and growing your hair out.’

  ‘Not unless you make us.’

  I was about to laugh at the thought, but I didn’t get the chance. Something huge slipped around my throat and began to squeeze. A brief flash through my mind thought it was a python going in for the kill, but it was much worse.

  It was a human arm.

  The immense pressure was immediate. With ease, he picked me up off the ground and crushed his arms tighter and tighter. In seconds my head was throbbing, my eyes bulging. I dropped the book and clawed at the mammoth muscles. He was so much stronger than me, and there was little I could do to pull him off me.

  But I wasn’t completely out of options. With both hands, I gripped onto his arm, and threw my feet out onto the shelf. Running up them like makeshift steps, I twisted my body so it was elevated up over the attacker’s head. Then, with all the strength I could muster, I leapfrogged off the wall. The force was enough to knock the big guy off his feet, and together we crashed down onto the floor.

  But it wasn’t enough to make him let go. On his back, he seemed to have more resolve, and tightened his arms even more. Stranded like a turtle on his back, I could do little but thrash and scratch at his massive arms.

  It was useless. I let go and slammed my elbow down, once, twice, three times into his ribcage. He was a big guy, but not completely invulnerable. The constant attack on his chest took its toll, and I felt him try to recoil out from under me. Yet still, he held on. My lungs were empty. Like an addict, they craved air. My head flooded with visceral panic. The animalistic urge to survive overwhelmed, but under his control, there was little else I could do. As he heaved me aside to protect his ribs, I tried to continue my attack with my other arm, but the change in position seemed to give him more strength, and he squeezed tighter.

  I felt like my spine was about to snap. I couldn’t move my arm. It hung uselessly in the balance like a giant dead weight. There was nothing I could do. Nothing. He had completely disabled me. All there was left to do was die.

  I saw the flash without really registering it, and heard the deafening crack without knowing where it came from. I felt the splatter, smelt the combination of blood and heat, all without a clue what the hell had happened. Surely I was dead. He had to have split me in two. This had to be death.

  But it wasn’t. The python grip loosened. The world came swimming back into focus. I wriggled free and looked around. Standing in the doorway was Corser. Hanging from his arm was the sniper rifle he had wielded earlier, yet he seemed unable to hold it properly. He was in visible pain, clutching at his shoulder like he had been shot.

  Except he hadn’t. The big guy had.

  His head had been completely obliterated. Fragments of brain and bone splattered across the study like a Jackson Pollock painting. Blood trickled out of what remained of his skull, and seeped into the cracks in the floorboards. Someone downstairs was in for a treat.

  ‘What on Earth happened?’ Corser growled through gritted teeth.

  ‘That piece of shit tried to kill me, unless you hadn’t figured that part out,’ I wheezed. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Frank Westaway. Fucking asshole, through and through. I knew something was up.’

  ‘Well, thanks I guess. Although maybe next time don’t use a sniper rifle in an enclosed space. Didn’t they tell you that’s bad etiquette?’

  Corser didn’t respond. Instead, he dropped the rifle and leaned into the wall, clutching his arm.

  ‘You okay?’ I asked.

  ‘Damn arm has dislocated,’ he snarled. ‘Hasn’t happened since I was in high school.’

  ‘You want me to help you pop it back in?’ I asked, hoping he didn’t.

  He shook his head. ‘No. I’ll get the doc. And I’ll get this goddamn alarm turned off. Stay here and wait till I can get someone to clean this mess up.’

  He staggered from the room, leaving me alone with the corpse.

  And a stash of weapons.

  Six

  The Behavioural Sink

  I waited until Corser was out of the door before I began my search. There was no telling how little time I had before someone arrived to clean up, and I wanted to ensure my time was used correctly.

  I started with the pistol. A slender, black weapon tucked into the holster at his hip. No point stealing it. Someone would notice, and I would likely be frisked if there was any suspicion that I had tampered with the body. I ejected the clip and eased out three of the unspent bullets and pulled off my shoe. Slipping the bullets in between my toes took little effort, and didn’t show when I pulled back on the plimsoll. I reloaded the clip and stuffed the pistol back into the holster precisely where it had been.

  Then I started with the jacket. In the left breast pocket was the walkie talkie. Whoever had been on the other end of the call had ordered Mr Westaway to kill me. Someone out there wanted me dead. Big surprise.

  I replaced the walkie and checked the other pocket. Inside, there was a flip knife. The
casing was made from polished wood with the letters FW carved neatly in the centre. I flipped open the blade. It was about four inches long, and incredibly sharp. At least he hadn’t thought to use it on me. Perhaps his desire to keep the courthouse clean had led to the decision to keep it sheathed. It was a sad, disturbing irony that he now was making one hell of a mess.

  Again, I couldn’t risk stealing it. Anyone who knew Mr Westaway well enough would know of his signature blade. But I could steal some of it. I crossed to the bookshelf and rammed the blade into the minuscule gap between the shelf and the support. Using my palm, I bashed it in as far as it would go, and then threw all of my weight into the wooden casing. The blade bent and the shelf groaned under the pressure, but eventually it gave way. The wooden casing broke free from the blade and clattered down onto the floor.

  I scooped it up and twisted the end of the jagged metal back into the case and then tucked it back into his pocket. Taking care not to cut myself, I eased the bent blade out of the shelf. It was tucked tight into the gap and took more time than I was willing to allow it to break free. When it finally did, I untucked my large white shirt, and wrapped the blade in the fabric. Once I was satisfied it wouldn’t magically unroll without my permission, I carefully re-tucked my shirt into my trousers, and pulled the jumper down to cover the whole thing. Enough to survive a simple pat down.

  I left the corpse of Mr Westaway where he lay and sat by the window. The siren had died shortly after Corser left, and the residents of Second Solace had ceased their defensive stance. Most had moved back inside, but a few remained outside. They stood around and chatted with that eager energy that came in the aftermath of a burst of unspent adrenaline.

  ‘James?’ asked a woman behind me. I turned and saw a blonde-haired woman standing in the same battle dress as everyone else I’d seen. She was lithe, and strong. Peaceful and pretty. Maybe early thirties if I had to guess. She didn’t look at the corpse. ‘You’re wanted downstairs. Daddy - sorry - Maddox wants to speak to you.’