She flinched, as the sudden blare of a cruiser horn rung out from above. To Hall, it sounded close She gripped the handrail tightly and whipped her head around in panic. Her eyes scanned the area for signs of the armed response unit she was convinced were right behind them; weapons drawn. She breathed a sigh of relief as there was no one there. They were alone.
The one called Oliver – who was directly in front of her – caught her apprehension and tried to give her a reassuring smile. “You’re quite safe, my dear. These old stairs are sturdier than they’d have you believe. We’re nearly at our destination.”
“And where is that, exactly?” she asked, as she had no idea where she was. After she’d followed Brooks – led by his comrade who was mostly silent – over rough ground for ten minutes, the course piece of cloth had been pulled away from her eyes and she was met with the kind face of Oliver – she surmised was one of Brooks’ closest confidants – who’d smiled warmly to her, before gesturing to the death-trap she was currently climbing down. There were a few more who had been waiting with the doctor, but he’d simply chosen to introduce himself and not the others.
Oliver smiled, turning to resume his progress. “Do keep up, Miss Hall.”
With little option but to ‘keep up’, she was left to ponder the reality of her predicament with each treacherous step. She thought of her parents. What would they think of their only daughter – now labelled a murderer and an enemy of the state? She choked back a sob. She was sure Oliver had heard her poor attempts of hiding her pathetic snivelling, but thankfully had the common decency to ignore it.
She pictured their horrified expressions in her mind’s eye as they were told what she’d done – spoon-fed lies with complete disregard for the truth, or their feelings and the impact it will have on both their lives. She felt like throwing up. She shivered with revulsion the more she pictured the scene she’d created in her head; of her parents’ world being shattered. Would that devious bastard, Banks, use them to get back at her? It was entirely possible; he certainly had no qualms with murdering a police captain or a senior investigator.
Her life wasn’t going to be the same again. It was now thrown into uncertainty – that was if she managed to make it down this fucking stairwell in one piece. Her career was in tatters, there was no doubt about that; everything she had envisioned for the future gone in a puff of smoke. She felt tears gently rolling down her cheeks. She was tempted to wipe them away, but couldn’t summon the energy, so just left them to trickle down to her chin – what was the point.
But amidst her crippling fear, there was also rage, simmering just beneath the surface. She was angry at Moretti; if it wasn’t for the shit-storm she’d wreaked over the last six months, she wouldn’t be in this nightmare. She was furious with the SPD for being convinced of her guilt – their complete lack of loyalty for one of their own was like salt in an already festering wound. But most of all, she was angry with herself for being too rash and ambitious with her investigation, which made it easy for that fucking spook to play her like a fiddle.
So lost was she in her inner-turmoil, she hadn’t noticed the procession had stopped. She bumped into Oliver, who oddly apologised. She looked over his shoulder. They’d reached a long stanchion which ran into the structure from a small platform, perched at a slight angle. Brooks quickly checked there were no stranglers then made his way into the structure.
He’d barely uttered a word since they’d left the carpark. When Moretti had punched him, she was sure everything was going to descend into chaos. She couldn’t believe the Proxy of Sanctum-One had personally killed Moretti’s son. It was possible Brooks had been lying to her as a means of manipulating her, but he’d seemed genuine. She hasn’t been on the force long, but she knew a liar when she saw one, and Brooks wasn’t lying – to her eyes, at least. The fact he’d kept it a secret from her, given he’d had opportunities in the past to tell her. It didn’t shine him in a particularly good light. For the moment she decided she’d make her own mind up as she hasn’t been privy to the whole story.
It made her think about Moretti; the woman who’d shoved a gun in her face and dragged Hall to where she was now. Despite the anger she felt towards ‘the woman’, she was beginning to understand her frame of mind. She’d been a cop, and something had happened that had caused the death of her son. There was a good person hidden beneath all the rage and the violence. There had to be – why else would she risk her neck by rescuing her from a NewHaven spook outside an SPD precinct?
She gazed up at the sky, mottled with cloud, wondering if this was going to be the last time – if at all – she’d see its beauty. One thing she did notice about this part of the city, was the distinct absence of Zeps – which she’d always thought spoiled the skyline. She understood why the group used the abandoned structure as a means of slipping in and out of civilisation. It was completely devoid of surveillance.
With one baleful glance over the rusted railing, down to the broken concrete thirty feet below. She took one last breath of fresh air and entered the structure.
~
Marr gripped the handle of his gun so tightly it was beginning to hurt the joints in his knuckles. His trigger finger trembled; the urge to fire barely suppressed as he kept it aimed at the hapless cop sitting across from him. The temptation to decorate the cruiser’s interior with both his captive’s brains was almost overwhelming – though, ‘captive’ was used in the loosest of terms. His control of the situation had slipped from his grasp the moment that little bitch had ambushed him outside the precinct, absconding with Hall, and most debilitating of all, his scribe.
The moral high ground he’d had over Faulks – ironically caused by the Proxy’s recent inability to keep things under control – had disappeared in a puff of smoke. In the end, he was just as much a fuck-up as his boss, the reality of which grated on his nerves. His head throbbed as he was sure he could feel his blood pressure sky-rocket the more he dwelt on the most catastrophic failure of his career. But it was all he could do. He was known to be a man of precision and purpose; always several steps ahead of those foolish enough to cross his path and he’d lost it; lost all that defined him as Sanctum-One’s best. The way he felt vulnerable and helpless; completely at the mercy of someone else’s agenda was presumably what his enemies felt when they knew who hunted them.
The cop, Deacon, looked as miserable as he felt. He knew a gun was currently trained on his head, but he chose to face the front, head down slightly. Blood dripped off his chin and onto the fabric of the seat between his legs. He seemed not to care, as the idiot looked to be too preoccupied contemplating his doom in defeated silence. It helped a little to know he wasn’t the only one in this shit-heap of a cruiser miserable as he was.
The woman, however, was a different matter. He directed his eyes to the rear-view mirror. She was staring at him; her eyes seeming to read his every thought from behind that ridiculous mask she wore. Her new friends, as she’d called those fucking firebrands, had clearly gone to great expense providing their new ally with some new equipment and battle attire. He could see the mad joy crinkling in the corners of her eyes. It was enough to make him want to scream. She really was fucking psychotic.
When he’d surprised her in the alleyway – during which time he’d been convinced he’d steered events back to his advantage – he’d noticed her new attire and how pleasing it was to the eye; the way it had gripped her every curve. His pleasurable appraisal of her figure was soon soured by the revelation she’d handed his scribe to Sapien-Republic. The only thing he’d wanted to do to her after that was rip her to pieces, burn her corpse, and piss on the ashes.
They steadily climbed a slight incline in the road; the buildings beginning to rise in height as they approached the heart of the city. Above, the numeracy of Zeps increased exponentially, looming over Sanctum-One, emblazoned with images ranging from political messages – usually an effigy of the Prime in all his fatherly splendour – and advertisements of products varying
from household droids to lap dancing club offers. Amidst the hubbub of business and leisure opportunities flaunted by the city’s elite, the white monolith that was NewHaven stood proud at its centre, its magnificence second to none.
Faulks had been less than friendly given their last encounter, but his frosty demeanour had been tempered when he’d told him the news that he was in custody of the woman – negating to mention the full facts, of course. Faulks had brightened at the prospect of finishing what should have been dead and buried months ago. He gave Marr instructions on where he would be; telling Marr to lead their happy trio to the rear of the building.
“Where to?” Moretti asked, waving her hand out towards the white structure.
“Round the back, I’ll direct you. The Proxy has relieved security to the rear of NewHaven. He seems quite excited to be reunited with you.” He found the cruel smile that spread across her face very unsettling.
~
Lex followed the spook’s instructions as she wound her way through the centre of the city. It wasn’t even dark yet and still, this part of Sanctum-One was lit up like a Christmas tree. Garish billboards flickered their trinkets of the day. Neon lights were already lining the busy nightlife in a multitude of colours which, if she hadn’t been wearing the mask – whose optical sensors dimmed their obtrusive light – would be giving her a headache.
She glanced back to the spook now and again, to make sure he was still going to play ball and not decide to put a bullet in her or Deacon’s head. She didn’t trust him, and she certainly wasn’t going to underestimate him. She knew a man like that didn’t get to his position by playing fair. The moment an opportunity arose that gave him a chance of turning the tables, he’d take it – she’d bet her life on it.
She shifted her gaze to the cop. He looked tired and completely out of his depth. His face was chalk-white and she could see beads of sweat peppered across his anxious features. He wouldn’t have known what they’d been talking about with regards to the ‘Inner-Sanctum’ – in her eyes, it was better he remained in the dark. She just had to find a way to get him out of this. It was a problem she wouldn’t have had to deal with if he’d just did as she’d asked. She had no doubts the spook had already decided Deacon had heard enough to not let him get out of this alive.
They passed by security checkpoints which weren’t manned; the barriers were raised and the guard-boxes were absent of armed personnel – the Proxy’s doing, she presumed. He’d want this little meeting to be nice and private. Unbeknown to him, that was exactly what she’d been hoping for. She was finally going to be face to face with the man who’d killed her little blue-eyed boy.
“It’s just passed this last blockade. Pull over to the side, under that canopy,” the spook said. She complied, directing the cruiser under a large canopy which she surmised was used as a smoking shelter. Black smudges, edged in grey, pitted the ground on one corner, near the gate; remnants of countless cigarettes extinguished by footwear. In spite of dusk being an hour or so off, the area was unusually dark.
She killed the engine and climbed out. Her muscles tensed; her mind alert for an ambush. The spook and Deacon vacated the cruiser. Banks searched for signs of his boss.
“Where’s the Proxy?” she asked.
Before the spook had a chance to reply, a shot boomed out from the darkness. Charlie Deacon staggered back, his expression one of bewilderment. A sheet of blood cascaded down his face from the gaping hole which had appeared on the top of his head. He raised a hand up to the laceration. His mouth worked but no sound came out. His outstretched fingers got as far as his chin before his legs gave out on him and he collapsed to the ground.
The spook’s eyes darted in all directions, in search of the shot’s origin. Confusion and surprise had him at a loss on how to react. Lex, not prepared to be next in the firing line, had no such problems. She threw herself over the bonnet towards Banks, who didn’t expect her speedy reaction to the sudden gunfire and dealt him a chop to the throat. He gargled a choked protest, gripping his throat with both hands. Lex slapped his hands away and wrapped her arm around his neck, using his body as cover.
She glanced down at Deacon’s prone form; her teeth clenched in a snarl. He was sprawled awkwardly, blood pooling from the top of his head, staining the concrete black. “What the fuck is this?” she hissed into the spook’s ear. “Deacon was ignorant in all of this… just a stupid cop,” she roared.
“But a part of this all the same,” a voice called out, reverberating across the area. The sound of boots thundered in the quiet as a dozen armed guards – garbed in heavy Kevlar with the seal of NewHaven emblazoned across their chests – emerged. They formed a line in front of her and Banks. “Let Marr go,” said a man in his fifties, emerging from the gloom. Marr? How many names does this fucker have? He held a pistol, lowered casually at his side. She had no doubt it was the weapon who’d killed Charlie; she could see tendrils of smoke seeping out of the barrel. He wore a dark suit, white shirt, and a blood-red tie. He smiled at her with too many teeth, which to Lex, made him look reptilian. It was a smile she’d only seen once before – the rest of his features wreathed in shadow – but it had been enough to brand her dreams ever since; grinning down at Julian before he pulled the trigger.
She could feel her inner-demon – the one the Proxy had essentially created – try to fight for supremacy within her; to take over. For the moment, she pushed it back. She had to stay in control. “Tell your men to stand down,” she said, nodding to the flunkies wielding their automatic rifles in her direction, “or I snap his neck.”
The Proxy chuckled. “Like I care what happens to him,” he said, waving a dismissive hand towards his man. She felt Marr tense at his boss’ lack of concern for his wellbeing. “The way I see it, I could give the order to gun the two of you down and rid myself of two pains in my ass for the price of several rounds of ammunition. Those fucking terrorists, as they’ve been ridiculously labelled, can keep sending me lambs to the slaughter. We’ll find them eventually.”
This wasn’t going how she’d intended. It looked as though the Proxy wasn’t as enthusiastic in bringing down Sapien-Republic as his superior. Her mind raced with an alternate plan other than getting herself killed. The Proxy clearly wasn’t feeling as pressured into cooperating with her as his subordinate was. But then again, he could be bluffing. She needed something to call him out with… That was when it hit her. She thought back to Marr’s conversation with the Proxy in the alleyway. Not once had the spook mentioned she’d passed his hardware to Sapien-Republic. He’d only mentioned he’d lost Hall and that he had ‘the woman’ in custody.
“That is a shame,” she said, keeping her voice level. “I’m not surprised by your lack of worry. A man in your lofty position is untouchable to the likes of a few firebrands waving their banners for attention.”
He nodded and waved his hand; his expression suggesting a point had finally been grasped by someone intellectually inferior. “Exactly… now if you’re ready to die, shall we?” he said in the same tone one might use when asking if anyone wanted the last piece of pizza.
She ignored him. “On the other hand… if said ‘terrorist’ organisation had the means to gain access to the very heart of the Inner-Sanctum’s dirty little secrets, you know… like the one I stumbled upon back when I was a cop – which then led to my boy being murdered in cold blood, you fucking cunt, then I wouldn’t be so carefree now, would I? Those banners would certainly begin to have an opportunity to chip at the foundations our gracious Prime created.”
The Proxy looked perplexed. The spook struggled in her grip, but she tightened her hold on his neck. “What the fuck are you talking about?” The question was for her, but Lex noted he only had eyes for Marr – and they seethed with rage.
She drew her lips close to the spook’s ear. “Tell him.”
“What the fuck have you done?” the Proxy asked his man.
Lex loosened her grip on Marr when she realised, he couldn’t speak throu
gh the tightness of her hold. “She took my scribe,” he croaked, “gave it to Sapien-Republic.”
Lex took great delight in watching the smug, self-satisfied confidence drain from the Proxy’s face. “You fucking idiot,” he screamed. “Do you realise what you’ve cost us?”
Lex retightened her grip once more. She glared at the Proxy; her eyes promising unspeakable violence. “So, I would advise you to stand your minions down and relieve them of their duties before I do something rash. If I die, Sapien-Republic will gut you from the inside out – and I’m the only one here who knows where they’re based.”
She watched the Proxy. He glared at her with such malice, she could almost see the things he wanted to do to her. Then his expression of panic subsided, replaced by the look of a man at peace and in control of the situation – which was odd as she had him over a barrel.
That was when he heard the scrape of a boot on the concrete behind her.
She turned just in time to see a bleeder plunge his taser-rod into her neck. The interruption was enough for Marr to break free. He pushed her back, taking a few steps away from her, just in time to avoid transference of voltage. She tried to stay upright, but her body spasmed and wracked uncontrollably. Her legs went from under her, her vision blurring. She was then grabbed roughly by the arms and dragged into NewHaven.
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