Louise was thankful for the forensic gloves that she wore as she picked up Anna Smith’s head and put it in a body bag with the rest of her remains. She started zipping the bag closed when she saw something that made her pause.
‘What the hell,’ she whispered.
She reached into the bag, pushing back the hair from Anna’s cheek. The floodlights positioned by her team allowed no mistake.
Bite marks?
She pushed her gloved little finger into the largest hole, it went in nearly to the first joint.
Right on the carotid artery and too deep to survive - and yet the artery is still intact? What the hell - someone is playing games?
Louise’s lip curled into a derisive smile, she zipped the bag closed with a sudden movement and stood up.
‘Okay boys, move this trash out and complete the sweeps.’
She stepped back as two of her operatives picked up the body bag and took it outside to one of the waiting vans. She looked back around the lounge room with fresh eyes.
If this family had been my target, there would be three bodies here, not one. This is not a professional hit. Who bites someone’s throat out and then chops their head off?
And where’s the blood?
Louise shook her head, continuing with the task at hand, she had a device that looked a lot like a smartphone and which behaved like a powerful torch. She walked through each room, scanning all the surfaces with the light from the compact unit. At the end of the sweep, she had not found any biological traces of the Smith family.
She tapped her earpiece, ‘all clear, Sir.’
James Haley’s voice came back through the comms channel, ‘let’s wrap this up, there is still more work to do tonight.’
Louise walked out of the house, dropping her gear off in the nearest van. She approached the driver of the other van which had Anna Smith’s body in it.
‘Get this corpse and the other trash to Rikers Island for disposal.’
‘Yes, Ma’am,’ the operative replied.
James stood by his car, waving her over.
She quickly walked over, joining him in at the car.
‘We have a local office. We need to check in on our target,’ James said.
‘Yes, Sir.’
They got into the car, and James drove them away from the court.
She had been working with James Haley as one of his direct subordinates for six months now. She was used to making correct assessments of people in the first five minutes. She had found James Haley to be very hard to read, and that intrigued her. The only other person that she had met that was more impenetrable was the woman who had interviewed her for her current role - General Chloe Armitage.
Now that was one stone cold killer.
In General Armitage, she had found a shell just below the surface that surrounded secrets she was convinced that she would never discover, and that annoyed her. She enjoyed knowing how other people ticked, what their buttons were, what they would respond too, especially under stress. It was her skill, knowing people, and being able to control what they would do. Louise was used to asking questions and getting back much more information than the person answering the question would ever suspect they had given away.
She looked across at James as he drove the car into the center of the city of Boston, descending into an underground car park.
‘That didn’t look like a terrorist incident. It also didn’t appear to be the actions of a mad man. It just looked - different.’
James snorted, ‘every newbie always asks a variant of that question,’ parking the car, he turned to Louise and stared directly into her brown eyes. ‘There’s some odd shit from time to time, but our job is clear, protect the security of the anti-terror operations. So just do your job, you will live a lot longer that way.’
Louise usually felt fear as a form of excitement, but there was something in the way that James had just spoken, a supreme confidence in consequences, that sent a genuine shiver of dread up her spine.
She shutdown the desire to frown, it was not her way to wear dangerous emotions like fear on her face. She followed him silently out of the garage and into the offices of a front company owned by Shadowstone. James flicked a pass over a reader and the door swung aside. As she passed through the doorway, Louise read a set of gold lettering on the door. R.I.S.C, Risk, Investigation, Security, Consultants.
I’ve been working for Shadowstone for six months. I have more questions now than when I started.
* * *
Anton arched his back, stretching cramped muscles, he repositioned for a better view of his home.
There had been a brief discussion in front of his house between the Boston Police Department Detective and the suit that had shown up waving a badge. Anton was too far down the street hiding under some bushes in a neighbor’s front yard to hear precisely what was being said, but the suit had won and the Boston police, CSRU staff, and the ambulance were all gone. He could see two black, unmarked vans and the suit’s own dark gray sedan. He counted nine other people in the suit’s team, eight men, and one woman, and they all deferred to the suit.
He studied the suit closely, he wanted to be sure that he would never forget this man. He was tall, about six feet four inches, powerful looking, more a wrestler’s rather than a boxer’s body. He had short, dark brown hair, a little gray starting to show at the temples, and a pronounced receding hairline. He had strong features, big nose, big jaw, and big hands. He looked tough, hard, and dangerous.
Another objective to add to my list, another one who will need to be dealt with.
Men with backpacks of equipment, sprayers and wand like lights had worked in the house for about half an hour after the Boston police had left. Anton had never seen equipment like it, he had seen a series of flashes of an intense blue light, like a welding arc through the windows of his home.
Anton clapped a hand over his mouth as two operatives carried his mother out in a body bag, unceremoniously throwing her into the back of one of the vans.
His eyes widened, his face paled and his fists clenched tight. Rage was a fiery torrent running like a wild animal through his soul. For a long moment, he was beyond words, biting down on his own hand to avoid getting up and running over to try and kill the men. Anton shut his eyes, burying his face into the ground.
I’ve got to get this together, it’s no good just running out there, they will kill me or worse in seconds. That’s not what my mom and dad would want. They would want me to be smarter than that - where are they taking her?
Anton saw the woman talking to the driver of the van, he lifted his head, straining to hear what she said. Her words were mostly muffled by the distance, but he could just make out, “Rikers Island” and “disposal.”
What’s at Rikers Island?
He watched as the men completed packing their gear into the waiting vans. Within another minute, everyone had left, the woman leaving with the suit in charge in his dark gray sedan. Anton turned, dragging himself through the bushes, he crouched, scuttling to the backyard of the house, where he clambered over the fence. In moments, he was through another backyard, down a driveway, and onto another street.
The street was strikingly normal, it almost seemed like a different world to the nightmare that he had left behind. His fears had been confirmed, there was an organization working for the vampires and keeping their secrets. There was an around the clock threat, humans during the day and vampires at night. Anton pulled his cap down close above his eyes, pulling the hood of his jacket tightly over his head, he slung his backpack over his shoulders.
I need to find somewhere I can sleep, somewhere I can be anonymous.
Anton started walking to the city for the second time that night. He walked without looking back.
* * *
James finished off his fourth cup of coffee.
The clock read 05:21, he stood feet apart, his arms folded across his chest. He faced a wall of computer screens displaying a current track on the 01
:00 express bus from Boston to New York City as it pulled into the New York Port Authority Terminal. He had four fully briefed operatives covering gates sixty to sixty five at the terminal. The Panopticon tracker had been put on the bus shortly after it had left South Station in Boston and the bus had been in continuous motion ever since. The Panopticon tracker consisted of every available camera on the Bus’s pathway and hacked cameras within the bus itself. Anton Smith was seen getting on the bus, the bus had been in continuous motion since the tracker was initiated, he should still be on it when it arrived in New York.
His men would visually confirm his arrival, they would then tail him, maintaining around the clock contact with the target until new orders were issued. Every available camera in the terminal that could sight the bus from Boston swiveled automatically on their mounts to bear on the target vehicle. No one was getting off the bus without being surveilled from multiple angles.
A large screen displayed a top down satellite view of the terminal with blue markers on the locations of his operatives and a red outline around the bus. The Panopticon integrated and cross-referenced all the data feeds. It ran a threat board on another large screen, where predictive algorithms scrolled a prioritized list of proposed risks and potential issues that may need James’ attention.
The threat board was green, his operatives were well positioned, and the bus had pulled to a stop.
‘I don’t think he is on the bus,’ Louise said, as she carefully scanned the screens displaying video feeds from within the bus.
‘What the hell?’ James turned to face her, growling, ‘well, we will soon find out.’
It took less than three minutes for the bus to empty, with people milling about as the driver unloaded the luggage compartment on the side of the vehicle. Above the head of each person on the screen was a panopticon red dot - not a match with the target.
James clenched his hands into fists, ‘Damn it, he got off.’
He looked at the data on the Panopticon tracker on the 01:00 bus out of Boston. It started at 01:04:54.
Nearly a five-minute window to get off the bus without us seeing him?
‘He expected to be tracked, he is smarter than you think,’ Louise said calmly.
James’s eyes narrowed.
The boy is not such a pup after all.
He snorted, ‘it won’t make any difference. We’ll -’
‘Sir, the target is not here,’ an operative at the terminal said, his voice relayed by encrypted satellite link.
‘Roger that, Johnson. Pull the team back to Fort Dix.’
‘As I was saying,’ James continued, ‘we’ll blanket the Boston area and pick him up again.’
‘What if he has simply used another method to get to New York, or anywhere else? He may have stolen a car or hitchhiked.’
James returned to his terminal, initiating another Panopticon search.
The main screen on the wall began to fill with a sea of red, with a cluster of orange hits in Boston.
‘The evidence shows that he is still in Boston.’
‘The evidence shows that he knows that someone is looking for him and he is actively protecting himself,’ Louise said as she flipped close a printed file on Anton Smith and stood up from her desk.
‘Sir, did you read his file in full. Sure he’s young, he’s just turned eighteen, but he has an IQ above a hundred and sixty. I think that we need to be careful that we do not underestimate him. He could be on the way to anywhere within a thousand miles of Boston by now. He took out over nine hundred dollars, he could have hiked over to the airport and hired a light airplane. No need for a security check, he could be in the air by now.’
‘The airports are heavily surveilled; he would have been flagged by the Panopticon.’
Louise stared at him in silence for a moment.
James continued, ‘of course unless he’s covered his face extensively. We only have photos of his face.’
‘Yes, my read on this is that he wanted anyone looking for him to think that he has left for New York City. In reality, he most likely has gone to ground. He will be frightened and alone, he will want to stay in familiar territory. He will stay in Boston.’
‘Well, we will soon find out if you are right,’ James said as he set the search on the Panopticon to continuous mode.
Every camera that the system could reach in the world would be looking for Anton Smith twenty-four hours per day, seven days a week.
‘The Panopticon sweeps will find him soon enough.’
Louise sniffed, ‘do you want to put money on that?’
James stared at her and his eyes narrowed menacingly, ‘do you want a career change?’
For a second their eyes met, and then Louise looked away.
Know your place girl.
* * *
It was almost midnight.
Anton leaned against a brick wall across the street from the Lighthouse Center Homeless Shelter, it was a typical red brick Victorian era building in the South End neighborhood of Boston. He was exhausted, he had been awake for more than forty hours. He had discarded the idea of using a youth hostel or a hotel. Those places had cameras, demanded ID, and would cost a lot more than a shelter.
I need to get the finances sorted before I run out of cash, I have to conserve what I’ve got. I don’t know when or how I’m going to get more - how does anyone make a living underneath the radar?
He pushed himself off the wall, walking over to the shelter entrance. He went up a short flight of steps, pushing open the door, he found himself in reception.
There was an old guy behind the counter wearing a Boston Celtics cap and an odd assortment of clothes that looked like they had been randomly picked out of the shelter’s laundry.
The old guy looked at him and barked, ‘we’re all full up!’
Anton was suddenly overtaken by a jaw breaking yawn, putting a hand on the counter to steady himself.
‘Hey buddy, I would be happy with a piece of floor.’
The old guy squinted at him, ‘fuhgeddaboutit - it’s against the rules!’
Anton’s heart sank.
I can’t even get a piece of floor in a homeless shelter.
He had a sudden vision of himself waking up under a three-day-old newspaper on a park bench.
Is this what I’ve come too?
‘You can’t stay here - you’re gotta go somewhere else!’ The old guy said, waving his hand toward the front door.
Anton shook his head, stepping away from the counter he turned to go. He was halfway out the door when he felt someone grab his arm. He stopped, there was a young woman, dressed in jeans, a pale green sweater, and white sneakers at his side.
She smiled and said, ‘hold on a second there big guy.’
She pulled him back into the shelter and said, ‘I was out for a quick break and Barry was manning the desk. He is a bit of a fixture around here and he can be a bit overzealous sometimes.’
‘He’s a hockey player - he doesn’t belong here,’ Barry chimed in.
‘Look, I’m Sam,’ she said, extending her hand.
Anton took it, she had a firm grip and a friendly smile.
‘Grab a seat right there,’ she said, guiding him to a chair.
Anton gratefully sat down in it.
‘Would you like a hot drink? Chocolate?’ She asked.
‘Yeah sure.’
‘Me too,’ Barry said eagerly, ‘don’t forget me.’
Sam smiled, ‘Barry, no one who has met you would ever forget you.’
Sam turned back to Anton, her long brown hair swishing over her shoulders, ‘now just wait here.’
She quickly walked down the hallway, ducking into a nearby room. Two minutes later she emerged with three mugs of hot chocolate.
The three of them spent the next five minutes sipping their hot chocolate while Barry related, ball by ball, the last game between the Boston Celtics and the Los Angeles Lakers for the 1984 championship.
‘That’s an amazing memory yo
u’ve got there Barry,’ Anton said.
‘Yeah, he’s one of a kind,’ Sam said, patting Barry on the shoulder. ‘Okay then, I best get you booked in stranger.’
She opened a ledger.
Anton frowned.
‘What’s your name, I can’t keep referring to you as the “Big Guy,” now can I?’
‘Ant ... Anthony.’
‘Okay, I can roll with that,’ she paused, grinning at him, ‘the handsome Mr. Anthony with no last name.’
Anton looked Sam directly in the eyes, lifting his eyebrows in silent supplication, and she shrugged her shoulders, ‘I’m not going to turn anyone away when we still have a cot available.’
She signed him in as Anthony X.
‘Come this way soldier,’ Sam said, leading Anton down the hall, and up a flight of stairs.
The next floor held four separate dormitories, each with four beds, and a communal bathroom at the end of the hallway. She showed him the fire escape and then his bed, it was the bottom bunk of a double. The other three bunks were already occupied; the top two guys lay quietly, but the man on the other lower bunk was snoring loudly.
‘Sorry for the symphony,’ she said, shrugging her shoulders.
‘I’m beyond caring, thanks - this is great.’
She patted him on the shoulder, ‘well, you have a good night.’
She sauntered off down the hall, her hips rolling in her jeans.
Anton just managed to hear her say ‘So buff,’ to herself as he turned into the dorm.
Anton got himself onto his bunk, swapping his backpack for his pillow, he managed to pull his shoes off, before rolling back into the bed.
Sam, thirty hours ago I would have been interested.
He crashed into a dreamless exhausted sleep.
* * *
Cornelius Crane relaxed on a lounge in his library, opposite him sat two of his five Generals in separate chairs, Chloe Armitage, and Haras Mosule.
Chloe was dressed in a crimson dress, with a small black hat and black shoes. She sat simply with her hands in her lap and her long legs neatly crossed. Haras wore his customary black pants and boots, white shirt and short black jacket, his long wavy hair fell loosely across his shoulders and he regarded his companions with intelligent brown eyes.
A Subtle Agency Page 8