End It With A Lie

by Peter M. Atkins

Wednesday 4.25 pm

  Bo knocked gently on Lee’s office door before he opened it and poked his head into the room. Lee was seated at his desk and although the numbers on the large screen television invited his attention, Bo would not be drawn.

  Instead he gazed intently on his boss’s face and took in the grey pallor that shaded its features.

  Lee was silently listening to someone on his desk telephone and seemed to be totally absorbed in what he heard. Bo wondered if maybe a full minute had passed before his presence was noticed. Lee looked physically sick as he finally looked up and acknowledged Bo, and with a slow wave of his fingers beckoned him into the room.

  Bo closed the door behind him and stood uneasily with his back near and toward it. He hoped his invited presence to Lee’s office was not going to be bad news for him also. Something was seriously wrong he thought, but his basic understanding of the events of the day regarding the web clock would not allow him to speculate on what news could be worse.

  He waited while Lee put his telephone back into its cradle, and then watched as Lee solemnly looked at his open hands whose backs lay lightly against the edge of his desk top. Lee gazed into his hands for some seconds before he let his fingertips touch. Then with a slow even motion he brought the two palms together and raised them to where the tips of his index fingers came into contact with his forehead.

  A slow sigh came from the man who appeared to be in prayer, before he finally looked up and toward the door where Bo stood. As his face lifted, his hands retained their position so that his index fingers now rested lightly against his lips.

  Bo had preserved the silence as long as he was able, but finally it overtook him.

  “You wanted to see me, Mr. Lee?”

  Lee’s voice was quiet, and it sounded tired.

  “Yes Bo. What is it?”

  “You asked me to come to see you when I had a quiet moment at the bar.”

  “Of course. Sorry Bo, I’ve a bit on my mind at the moment.” Lee paused to collect his thoughts before he continued, “Bo, do you remember a year ago when I took some time off and just dropped out of sight?”

  “Yes. Mr. Lee,” Bo answered, relieved that his requested presence had leaned toward a better outcome.

  “Well I plan to do the same again. Will you be happy with the same arrangement that we had last time?”

  “Yes, Mr. Lee.”

  “Good. You are to be my eyes and ears. Tell no one anything and keep me informed.”

  Lee took a new mobile phone from his desk drawer.

  “I’ll call you on this phone. Don’t. Under any circumstances use it personally. You can’t know who might be listening, and if you have to use it to call me then keep the calls short. Let me know if there’s a problem and I’ll get back to you. Understand?” Bo made a move toward the door when Lee asked.

  “How’s the wife?”

  “I think she’s coping Mr. Lee. Some days she’s up, and then the next day she’s down. She’s cheerful enough though. Always been a fighter.”

  Lee had met Bo’s wife Kate on two occasions, and he didn’t like the woman much. He felt she played on her situation, which either went entirely unnoticed by Bo, or he put up with it for some reason that Lee could not fathom. With that thought in mind Lee felt that there was no reassurance he could offer that was not based on a lie, but rather than make no comment at all, he suggested.

  “Don’t be backward in coming forward if there is anything I can do for you Bo.”

  “Thank you Mr. Lee,” Bo replied as if with hat in hand.

  He lingered momentarily before he turned about to make his second attempt to exit. Then as with half a mind he paused by the closed door and politely asked.

  “Mr. Lee? What about you?” Bo glanced at the floor before he proceeded, “I mean, when I was at the door and you were listening on the phone you looked like you’d seen ghosts. Are you alright, Boss?”

  Lee’s eyes showed telltale signs of sadness, and although his face suddenly produced a new mask in the form of one of his wide grins, it failed to address the windows to his soul.

  “I’ll survive Bo, unless this clock thing has substance. If so, then we’ve all got twenty-three minutes up our sleeves.” They both looked at the web clock for a moment before Lee said with a light laugh, “Better check to see if any of our customers need a last drink. It might be a bit warm in the afterlife for some of them, don’t you think?”

  Bo was silent for a moment, and then his old face crinkled with lines of amusement.

  “Mr. Lee, Louie hasn’t turned up for work again today and I’m a barperson short….?”

  Lee looked thoughtful briefly before he smiled lightly.

  “Ah, yes. I’m afraid Louie didn’t quite come up to scratch and his employment here has been terminated. You’ll have to find someone else to take his place. You know the routine, so I’ll leave it in your hands.” As Bo closed the door behind him he gave Lee one last glance. Noting that the look of sadness had once again found its place in the man’s green eyes, as his lips returned to rest on the tips of his two touching index fingers.

  It seemed to Bo that there were more countdowns to inevitable outcomes within his immediate environment than just the web clock.

  Dan was nervous, as was Larry the bean counter and now Lee looked like he had just lost his best mate.

  It didn’t worry Bo if any shit hit a fan.

  After all, he was only the bar manager.

  On second thought, Louie had only been a barman, and the way Lee had said terminated certainly had ring of finality about it. He was thoughtful as he made his way behind the bar, and helped himself to a shot of single malt from the bottle he kept below the bar.

  One of his younger customers spoke out loud.

  “You’re looking pretty thoughtful, Bo?”

  “Just thinking about a warmer climate mate, are you right for another drink?” His eyes shifted to the bar rooms television, where the red digits displayed an uncertain future.

  As he watched, twenty minutes suddenly became nineteen.

  Wednesday 4.48 pm

  Ben Preston’s skin felt flushed after his shower. He’d stayed under the steaming hot water as long as he’d been able to bear it, and after he’d washed his thinning head of hair twice, he reluctantly stepped from under the pressured spray. As he dried himself down, it occurred to him that for the first time in his long career he was guilty of washing away evidence. Under different circumstances it may have appealed to his dry sense of humour.

  The thoroughness of his physical cleansing had allowed him the certainty that he was uncontaminated by a single particle of Horton. Now, as he looked carefully at a spot on his arm he realized, that for some time anyway, he would see his freckles and skin blemishes in a whole new light.

  He’d stolen a plastic bin liner from the cleaners cluttered closet for his soiled clothes, and now with its weight at the end of his extended arm he made his way back to his office. Scratching as he went an irritation at the back of his neck where he’d forced his skin to accept too much soap.

  As he walked through the open planned office area he looked about the room and noted the serious intent of his colleagues. They worked incessantly in search of the vital clue upon which theirs, and their cities well-being might hinge.

  He was sure the awareness of their colleague’s death was in all their minds at this very moment. Also, he was just as sure that they, like him, knew that now, like no other time in their careers they had to prioritize their actions and their thoughts. To be sure, they’d all at some time in their careers had to prioritize, but then it had always been on someone else’s behalf.

  It was their job to serve the public.

  Today, at this the beginning of a new millennium, a subtle change had come about. They still persevered to serve that public, but the web clock made it more personal, in that it was aimed just as squarely at them as anyone else. His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp voice that for a moment issued f
orth from a television set. It had been wheeled into the airy room to allow all those present visual access to whatever was to take place in ten minutes.

  The sudden loud sound, which was probably due to its previous user leaving its volume on high, caused everyone in the room to startle.

  From where he stood he had a clear overview of the desk and computer laden detective’s station. In the instant of the television being turned on and delivering its high definition noise, the eyes and minds of every person in the immediate area were forcefully dragged from whatever they’d been concentrating on.

  Two of them, Ben noticed, had instinctively reached beneath their coats to where their weapons were concealed. One had wasted his coffee with a hapless hand and its flow flooded the papers and report folders that inhabited his desk top. No word was spoken, but Sean, who was in charge of linking the televisions screen to the A.F.P’s central computer, became the centre of attention for the intense focus of a dozen sets of eyes. He apologetically held out his two hands and then almost as abruptly turned his attention back to his technical task.

  Ben noted the tension and understood the pressure.

  He was also heartened by the fact that none had made personal comment towards Sean. It suggested to him that although they felt the pressure, their temperament was far from being affected by it.

  It also became startlingly clear to him, that although it is said that there’s a comedian in every crowd, this small group of men was without one. Ben wondered what Rodney might have said if he’d been here. His comment and humorous light hearted wit had always softened the serious, and now, the lack of it made his absence more than obvious.

  Ben suddenly and forcefully snapped his mind back to attention. As he raised his eyes from the point where they’d been focused on the floor, he began a short walk throughout the room. He enquired of some of his people short verbal reports on progress, before offering quiet words of guidance and support.

  Knowing as he did so he felt no better than anyone else, but part of being the boss was to plant the basic seed of morale by advising that his door was always open.

  He approached his team’s youngest and newest player last. Allan had only been with the squad for a little under three months. He’d been Rodney’s partner and on the job apprentice for the whole of his service career. Ben, through the sight of his experienced eyes, had watched as they’d become an integral part of his command.

  “Anything new, Allan?”

  “No Sir,” Allan replied as he turned in his chair and looked up at Ben. “Reasonable news and bad news I’m afraid. I’ve run the best search programs available to us in an effort to track the website of the web clock, but it appears there isn’t one. Sorry. That’s impossible.”

  Allan paused momentarily and held his hands apologetically, as he made a second and more concise effort to explain.

  “What I mean Sir, is that there must be one, but it’s either hidden ultra-carefully, or it’s camouflaged as something else so it appears not to exist.”

  Allan reached forward and tapped a single key on his keyboard. The script he’d been reading disappeared and was replaced just as quickly with a map of England. It was overlaid with a lightly coloured circle which encompassed an area stretching from Weymouth to the Scottish border.

  He looked to his boss while he pointed an index finger toward the computer’s screen.

  “I talked to the wizards in our tech department. They informed me that the most they can confirm is that the web site is somewhere within this circle. Within this particular satellites footprint, and whoever is running it has a monster mainframe at their disposal. It seems their programs have been specifically written for this particular venture. So the bad news there is, we’re up the creek so to speak.” He paused again before he turned to speak eye to eye. “Sir, I know that what I’m doing here may appear to be a fruitless line of enquiry, but I’d figured that these people being as professional as they appear to be, must be linking themselves directly through satellite. I thought that if I ran a search and intercept program on that satellite, to sift out any information with Sydney addresses, I’d be overwhelmed. So I narrowed it down a little by setting the search task to exclude Federal, State and local Government departments, Western Religious groups, oil companies, Federal and State Police, banks and numerous others. I’ve also excluded private residents, other than those with a new connection less than three months old, but that search and intercept is running separately on Rodney’s computer.”

  “And?” Ben asked.

  “That’s where it gets a bit sticky, Sir. This search and intercept program needs to be left running twenty-four seven if we want to catch our culprits with their pants down. If Kane is our man, then he will most surely expect that he’s under surveillance and steer clear of his communication site. As it is almost countdown time, then maybe his part in the operation is near completion. If so, then his necessity for access might not be needed. Either way, I think we’ve missed him.” Allan paused for thought for some seconds before he continued, “But. If he does use the site again, we’ll have a fair idea where his computer is, and its hard drive will more than likely give the wizards downstairs something to work on for evidence against him, after the fact. If Kane is not our man, and the culprits use the site again, then at least we’re not yet out of the race. That’s the reasonable news, Sir.”

  “How long has this program been running?” Ben enquired.

  Allan looked at the computers clock.

  “Two hours and forty-five minutes.”

  “Can we have look and see what it’s got to say for itself so far?”

  Allan turned again to his keyboard and punched some keys. Ben watched as the map of England disappeared to be replaced with a list of mainly business names. It was a comparatively short list at this early stage of the programs running, and as the two men stared at the names of the list one thing became obvious to them.

  “Maybe the back packers have given us something to go on.” Ben suggested as he pointed to one, and then to another business name on the list. “People on the move are undoubtedly the ones who rely on an internet café.”

  “Alan, get in touch with Kane’s surveillance team. See if they can furnish us with a photo of Kane, Wild and a fresh one of Walters. Tell them that I said it’s extremely urgent. When you’ve got them, then pay a visit to all internet cafés within a mile of Kane’s accommodation and Grey Street. See if anyone recognizes them.”

  “Yes, Sir.” Allan replied as he again turned his attention to his computer. He was glad he had something to get his teeth into, but he had to turn toward his boss again as Ben offered congratulations.

  “Good work, Allan.”

  “Thank you, Sir, but I should have thought of internet café’s earlier.”

  “So should’ve I Allan, but it may have been overlooked altogether if not for your tenacity.”

  It appeared that Ben might say more, but he was suddenly interrupted by a call from the other side of the office. He turned to see that everyone’s eyes were intent upon the televisions screen, as Sean’s seemingly loud voice reminded him.

  “Boss, the show’s about to start.”

  CHAPTER 22