Rise

by Victoria Powell

  “Yes, sir,” Remea said quickly.

  The shadow raised a hand. The placid exterior of the mask shaded whatever madness was held within. The unwavering hand slowly descended to rest on the table. “More information is needed. I repeat the instructions you have already been given relating to this group - all players must be accounted for and captured. All players.”

  Silence spread across the group. Defoe let it bend around him, twisting and torturing in its wicked way.

  Remea broke first. “We have no information yet, Ambassador.” The silence stretched on. “The Ackersons, we believe, are together. They fled together.”

  Defoe corrected him. “Miss Jenkins was alone.”

  “Will she have regrouped?”

  Defoe shook his head. “The Ackersons have survived so long by restricting the number of people who know the location of future bases. The distraction technique they used, having Alex and the spare lead us off the trail, that couldn’t have been planned. It was incredibly unwise. They’d be fools to tell her the location of their next base, knowing she would likely be caught.”

  Swanson shot a look at Remea and Defoe. “Likely. Huh.”

  Defoe pursed his lips tightly before continuing, “She’ll be out of the base until the next scheduled meet up. She’s exposed and alone.”

  “No,” The shadow snapped, showing emotion for the first time in the tightness of his voice. “What you mean is, you’ve lost them and you don’t know if she is with them or not.”

  Defoe shrugged petulantly.

  Swanson cleared his throat and tapped on the table. “Remea, find out where they are. We want names. Get the location of all the exits. Anything and everything Somersby knows I want to know too. Then you’re going to cross-check everything she says.”

  Remea squirmed, but remained silent.

  Swanson turned to Defoe. “You. Get out on those streets and start searching. You’ve got contacts out there. Ask your sneaky little shop assistants and street cleaners. See if you can get us a good sighting.”

  “Yes, sir,” Defoe said crisply.

  The spectre stirred again. “The leaders are key - Martyn Davidson, Zoe and Marcus Joseph, even Ewan Thompson and Alex Jenkins. They’ve all got information I want. They will be handed over to my guards for questioning. As soon as you have them I want them brought to me. Is that understood?”

  Swanson saluted roughly. “Of course, Ambassador.”

  The meeting broke up and Remea and Defoe were dismissed from the room.

  Defoe pulled Remea to the side. “What news from Gray?”

  Remea signalled for the junior man to fall in line and follow him. “The tracker is on the move.”

  “Huh.” Defoe was impressed. “Somersby actually did it.”

  Remea waited to respond until they’d passed the guards. “Don’t count your chickens yet.”

  “What do you mean?” Defoe asked. “Alex Jenkins has a tracker under her skin and she hasn’t got a clue.”

  “She’s not bagged yet. The tracker is weak. It needs to calibrate against the local GPS satellites. We will soon get a better idea of where she is, but it will take time to narrow her location down to a building,” Remea explained.

  Defoe slipped his hand into his pocket, poised on a packet of cigarettes. “I don’t care about techno-babble. We have to wait until she’s re-joined the group anyway. That could be weeks.”

  Remea shrugged. “I don’t think the Commander will wait that long. Nor the Ambassador. Look, get down to technological forensics and discuss this with a constable named Travis. He’s monitoring the tracker.”

  It wouldn’t matter, Jenkins couldn’t keep herself out of trouble for long.

  “Thanks, Remea.”

  Defoe broke step with Remea as soon as possible. The man gave him the creeps and right now Defoe needed some headspace.

  Retracing his steps, Defoe headed for his restorative smoke in the cells. He allowed his feet to walk on autopilot while his brain mulled over what had just happened.

  The Ambassador rarely came to the police compound. There was too much exposure for a man who lived openly in the community under an alias. This failed sting on the Ackersons was not worth breaking cover.

  The role of the Ambassador was a mystery. He toured the city during the year prophesying the might and right of the Empire, occasionally he gave overarching direction to the Commander and he audited the city’s performance once a year. Other than that, the Commander ruled the city. Defoe only knew of a handful of times when the Ambassador had intervened like this.

  He waved at the guard manning the thick door leading down into the cells. The sound of his boots tapping against the concrete steps brought focus. His thoughts were momentarily disturbed when he noticed the new guards at the foot of the stairs. Four of them sat there playing cards. Four fools to replace the traitor who sprung Alex Jenkins from the cells.

  Defoe pulled a cigarette from behind his ear. He continued down the corridor neighbouring the cells. With nicotine beginning to enter his blood stream, Defoe settled next to an empty cell. He couldn’t help thinking that this cell should be ten deep in illegals today. Somersby let them down. When this cigarette was stubbed out he would have to pick up his kit from his office and scope the streets for signs of them. He should be going to the barracks for a well-earned weekend of sports TV and loose women.

  Well the inept spy would pay for it eventually. If Swanson has his way Somersby will get a very big bomb dropped on her head soon. The Ambassador didn’t want that. Of all the interventions that the Ambassador could make, why was he so adamant that the Ackerson leaders are captured rather than killed? The Ackersons must have some juicy intel.

  The cigarette was burning fast. Defoe watched it glow orange and tinge grey before the edges lost their composure and sloughed away to the floor. He was thinking about his next move. Who was his best target? Despite the Ambassador’s hesitation, Defoe still thought about capturing Alex Jenkins. He was sure she would be alone and exposed.

  The girl’s youth was a weakness. She often proved herself to be easily manipulated. Just like when she dutifully followed her father into a trap. Her passion was easy to fuel and could be used to control her. Her loyalty to her friends led her to act impulsively. She would move mountains to free them and they might do the same, if they were worthy of her. She surprised him when she did not try to stop her father’s execution.

  Even with all her faults, although Defoe would deny this, he had a growing respect for Miss Jenkins. She evaded capture many times and escaped from a top security facility. Speed was her strength. That run from the train station had nearly killed him. How could she maintain that speed over that distance of vertical climbing? If they let her she could outrun the majority of cops in the city.

  In Alex’s own way, a plain sort-of beauty emanated from her. She was not catwalk beautiful, not like the upper-class models that socialised down in Drayton. She had that youthful commanding confidence that came with a fearless ignorance of the world. Her attraction was based on her strength, courage and intelligence. Her character showed in the way she moved. Such defiance.

  The flickering cigarette started to weaken as the tobacco burnt to its last spark at the edge of the filter. Why did she leave her father in the cells? He would ask her when he caught her. Defoe flicked the butt into a cell and sighed as he righted himself. It was time to hit the streets and find the girl. Soon she’d be an easy target, her location available at the touch of a button.

  She would not get the opportunity to escape again, not like on the train. He would wait and watch. He could be patient - as long as she didn’t do anything stupid.

  24 - The Waitress

  “Excuse me, missy? Can I get another coffee?”

  Blond bob swept back behind her ears, wearing a crisp pencil skirt and deadly heels, the prim businesswoman waved irritably at the waitress standing stock still next to a vacant table. There was no reaction. Chortling, the offended customer studied the girl cl
osely. She was watching something outside. Her knuckles were white, jaw clenched, eyes wide.

  “Miss? I said, I want another coffee,” The woman repeated a bit louder.

  Nina’s eyes snapped away from the window, glaring questioningly at the woman for a second before dropping her order pad and marching to the front door.

  Door half open, Della called from the order counter, “Nina, seriously! Where are you going now?”

  Nina twisted in the doorway. “I’ll be back.”

  Then she was immersed in the crowd, pushed sideways and backwards as she struggled towards her goal. The target was close to the apple cart, skirting the edge of the crowd and moving away from her. Nina needed to work the crowd better than this if she was going to catch up.

  The target twisted down a side street. Nina momentarily made eye contact. Those big green eyes. The look reminded Nina of a cornered street fox. She hesitated on the cusp of the dark alley, but pushed herself forward. The target sped up.

  Skipping down the street, the tatty figure ahead of her sprinted around the next corner. Urging her muscles to put on a stint of speed they’d never tried to achieve before, Nina ran for the corner. A moment of clarity was pushed aside, along with the question, why chase?

  Turning the corner, Nina’s common sense was shouting loudly at her as she ran into her waiting target. Rough hands grabbed her shoulders and threw her against a brick wall. Her cry was muffled as the lean, sculptured arms of her assailant pushed against her neck. Why chase?

  Head held firmly, Nina’s line of sight was locked to the conflicted green eyes of the strong woman in front of her. Panting hard and struggling to break free, panic took her. What if this was a murderous terrorists? Would she get away alive?

  Pressing hard against Nina’s chest, her captor spoke. “Keep still and stay quiet.”

  The command hung in the air. If she stopped struggling would it be easier for her captor to get a knife out and kill her?

  Another shake to Nina’s head. “Look, girl. You’re going to cooperate. Keep still and shut up. You’ve got some questions to answer and I don’t have much time.”

  It took every ounce of energy to still herself, but uncontrollable whimpers slipped through Nina’s lips.

  “Ok.” Her captor sighed, taking a better but gentler hold of Nina, removing all body contact and holding her firmly using only a forearm stretched across Nina’s chest. “Calm yourself. You need to quiet down. I’m going to take my hand off your mouth. Then you’ll answer my questions. Be good and I won’t leave you tied up in a recycling box.”

  Nina took long steady breaths. She was going to live. It was Ok. Nina nodded to indicate she’d be good.

  “Why are you following me?”

  Her first instinct was to gulp down lungfuls of air as her mouth was uncovered, gasping hysterically. A hand grabbed at Nina’s wildly swinging head and held it still.

  “Answer me.”

  Nina spotted the collar of a nightshirt poking up from beneath the tatty coat. She saw the lock of dark hair that had slipped from beneath the headscarf. There was a light scar grazing the neck beneath an ear. Above all the other signs, the piercing green eyes confirmed Nina’s first guess. “I know who you are.”

  Her captor flinched, regret and despair flashed across her face. “Really?” Nina felt the panic boiling in her stomach and fluttering through her head. “So why the hell did you follow me into an alley?”

  Nina bristled. “Um. I. I think. I don’t know.”

  Leaning into her, “Were you going to try and catch yourself an illegal?”

  “No,” Nina snapped, feeling some unexpected courage bubbling from somewhere. “No, I want to help you.”

  Alex drank in the stature of the girl pinned to the wall. Age barely separated them, but Alex’s years in training had morphed her into a formidable opponent compared to the mollycoddled child. A waitress, in uniform, complete with food stains. The little luxuries pinned through her ears and smeared across her face suggested the girl had grown up knowing the good life, but the cheap copper on her wrist was a sign that the girl aimed at a higher station than the one she was in. She was a soft touch. She could have a loose tongue.

  “Are you serious?” Alex asked.

  Nina tried to nod, but her chin was held in place. “Yes, I am.”

  Alex eased up on the girl, letting go of her chin and lifting the pressure from her body, only leaving a closed fist in place against the left shoulder. “You didn’t think this through, twinkle toes. Do you know what they do to people who help us? Or even just for talking to us? There’s no excuse.”

  Nina hesitated, feeling the passion projected in Alex’s voice. “I know. I know what would happen.”

  “I don’t think you do. You have your fancy little house and your cushy job in the cafe. You’ve never seen your family being tortured by a cop. You’re not forced to live a vagrant lifestyle moving from safe house to safe house. At best, if you were caught talking to me you’d end up being shipped out to the farms. I knew people who were taken. They’re blood farms - nobody comes back. They work until they die,” Alex snapped.

  “I...” Nina’s voice faded. Was all that true?

  “I’m giving you a warning now. Go home and forget you ever saw me.” Alex lifted her hand off the girl and stepped back. “Go home.”

  Nina stepped sideways, tempted to run. Very tempted to run. “Why?”

  Alex scoffed. “What do you mean?”

  “You have other informants. I’m not the first person to help. You’re in your pjs with a coat over the top. Nobody who wants to blend in comes out looking like you do right now. You left in a hurry and I’m guessing you have nowhere to go.” Nina noted the embarrassment fresh on Alex’s cheeks. “Let me hide you.”

  Alex rolled her eyes. “In this part of town? I stick out like a sore thumb.”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  Alex ignored the question. “What happened that made you such a rebel?”

  No, Nina didn’t want to remember that. She couldn’t see his lifeless body flitting through her mind again.

  “It’s not just a dislike for politics, is it? Someone left your restaurant without tipping you?”

  Nina shook her head. “It’s a lot worse than that.”

  Alex said, “This area’s sheltered from the Government antics. You don’t have forced labour hours or food rations. People don’t decide to be a sympathiser because of gossip.” Alex took in Nina’s reaction. “You’ve seen more than I thought?”

  “I need to help you,” Nina begged.

  Crossing her arms in front of her chest, “No. I was honest with you before. This area is too open, too busy and too full of cops. I didn’t pass through here by choice.”

  Nina stepped closer, trying to urge her to reconsider. “But I can get you clothes and food. You could stay with me for a couple of weeks at least.”

  “You’ll be out of routine; people will get suspicious. I don’t do well in small spaces. When it comes to hiding I have a blind side to common sense.” Alex turned away.

  “Hide with me or you’ll be seeing the inside of a very small room, covered in chains,” Nina said.

  Alex waved her off and walked away. “Prison. I’ll end up there anyway. Go home.”

  Nina chased her again. “Please. Please just let me fetch some clothes for you. You’re sort of my size.”

  Alex turned around and tutted. “I’m taller and lankier than you are.”

  “So, what if you show a bit of ankle below the hemline. And nobody will see the fit of your dress below your coat. They will notice pjs though.”

  “Dresses? Go home. I don’t need your help. I don’t need a dress.” Alex turned away again.

  “Yes, you do.” Nina ran in front of Alex, barring her path. “Ok then. Tell me what help you think you need.”

  This girl was serious and determined. She didn’t know what she was getting into, but nobody could really understand until their name was signed
on an arrest warrant. When the ink was wet on the page it still felt surreal. It felt like a dream until the moment you were locked in a cell waiting for that final sharp tug on your neck. That fresh realisation was still hot in her memory.

  Alex stared at Nina, not fully knowing how to answer the question. The plan to get back to the Ackersons was not fully formed in her mind yet. Each day was going to be a milestone, until she could meet one of the contacts. Every day she would need food, water and shelter without money and with her face plastered over billboards.

  “I need...” Alex drifted off.

  “You need me.”

  25 - The Recruiter

  “Zoe... this place is a shit-hole.”

  Zoe scanned around the decrepit warehouse. The corrugated iron structure was sound, except for a few holes in the roof and a rattling draft howling through the walls. The layout was standard, with a roof access and a cellar hatch stuck out from below a pile of crates.

  The worn-out recruiter squeezed her husband’s hand. “Marcus, it was our only choice.”

  “Really?” Marcus shook off her hand and marched to the base of the staircase to take a better look at the roof door that banged in the wind. “When was the last time you checked the security on this place?”

  “Marcus,” Zoe tsked.

  “Seriously. How did you find somewhere worse than the last place?” Marcus kicked the crates off the cellar hatch and lifted the door wide, slamming it back on its hinges. “Not a single exit is secure.”

  “We can fix the place up,” Zoe said.

  Marcus stared at the back wall. “Half of that wall is just patches on patches. It’ll take half a day just to secure one wall.”

  People were still coming in through the far doorway. Emma was signalling them from a forest of little kids. “Zoe?”

  “Not now, Emma,” Marcus interrupted, piling the crates back on top of the hatch.