by C G Cooper
Chandra said, “You guess right. Please understand, I want to help in any way I can. This school is my home. The students are, for all intents and purposes, my children.”
Mac sipped. “If there was one thing my grandmother taught me, it was how to stay on a lady’s good side.”
“Smart woman, your grandmother,” said Chandra. She set her mug down on the stand-up desk. “Now. I believe you have had time to— How shall I say it? Come to terms with yesterday’s pronouncements. Forgive me for speaking of what I know little about, but do you really think you can help us?”
She waved him to a faux-leather bench set against the wall and sat down beside him.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Forgive me again, but I believe you do know. This school is grieving, Mac. Grieving not only for Tiffany, but for the illusion we had of our own safety,” Chandra explained. “This is more than a place of learning. It is a home, a haven. Those who live here have a right to feel protected. That is why I accepted my good friend’s offer to bring you on board.” Her expression turned a bit wry. “I feel like I’m apologizing too much, but I must once more ask your forgiveness for saying that I would not have taken this step under ordinary circumstances. My politics are not so different from Paul Arken’s.”
Mac remembered the public indecency charge from her dossier.
“What I am trying to ask, Mac, is, can we feel safe again? Men in your line of work must see frightful things. Do you really believe you can make this go away?”
The ice chinked in Mac’s glass. “I have to try.”
“I don’t mean to burden you.”
“It’s not your fault. There’s evil in the world. Just the way it is. You say you want your people protected. I want you to feel safe,” Mac said. “Right now, I don’t even know who’s threatening that safety. But I’ll find out. That much I can promise. Then, anything I can do, I’ll do. If it’s in my power, I mean to take care of it, personally.”
Chandra smiled weakly. “You said as much yesterday. To be honest, I asked you up here just so I could hear it again, and to say I have every confidence in you.”
“Mahalo,” said Mac. “That means a lot.”
He finished his drink and said goodbye, pledging to keep her up to date on any developments. He’d purposely left out anything about Gardner or the watcher from the night before. No need to spook her.
As he was passing into the hallway, he saw Brian Jarrald waving his keycard in front of the lock on his office door.
“Mac!” said Brian. “Delighted to see you. One of our early risers, I see. Would you like to come in, see the family photos?” He reached for the door, but the lock failed to open. He waved the keycard at it once more. “Och. A curse on whoever invented these blasted things!”
“Sorry,” said Mac. “Another time.”
“You’re a busy man. Ah well. Keep your head down out-of-doors. Stramash brewing. Barbarians at the gate.”
“Huh? Thanks. I’ll watch out.”
“Sure you will,” said Brian. “You’ve endured enough to mind your own, eh?” He swayed over to Mac’s side and clapped him on the back.
Chandra saw him through her open door. She tilted her computer glasses onto her nose. “Brian? You’re here to drop off those curriculum notes, I suppose?”
“I said I would in the morning, Chandra. Stars still twinkle in the sky. I’ll not keep ya, Mac. Cheerio the nou, goodbye.”
“Aloha,” said Mac.
Chapter Thirteen
A vein in Paul Arken’s temple pulsed as he railed at a security guard. The guard didn’t answer back, just listened with his hands by his sides. Mac watched from inside the entryway of the Admin Building. There was a back exit he could take to avoid Arken and the student protesters he’d brought with him, none of whom had seen Mac as yet.
There weren’t enough protesters to trigger his anxiety, but if he let Arken’s influence fester, next time there would probably be a larger crowd and he would probably not be able to intervene. He pushed through the door.
“—demand to see her right away,” said Arken, finishing a speech. “We’re prepared to stay all day, if necessary.”
The guard shrugged. “Fine by me, Professor. I’ll call it in. But I told you I don’t even know if the president is up yet.” He stepped back from the accusatory finger Arken had raised and spoke into his walkie. “HQ, this is Chambers—” the rest of his words were rendered inaudible by an exclamation from one of the protesters, a woman whose chest could have floated in the Macy’s Day Parade.
She held a sign that read, “EYES HERE NOT HERE.” Beside the first “HERE” was an illustration of a pair of eyes. An illustration accompanied the second “HERE” as well. Mac thought at first that it was a crude representation of her signature feature. Then he saw that the rough circles were meant to be the rotors of a quadcopter.
“It’s him!” the woman said, pointing up the steps. “Narc! Narc! Narc!”
Arken whipped his head around so fast, Mac was surprised his neck didn’t snap. He waved his hands, instructing his followers to spread out and began a chant of, “Big Brother, go home! Big Brother, go home!”
Now that they’d put themselves in motion, Mac saw that there were more sign wavers than he had imagined. His conversation with Chandra had left him feeling grimly determined to be done before the Tuesday deadline. He glanced down at his watch, swiping to view the countdown. 83:19:46. He steeled himself to nip a flower in the bud.
“Aloha! You looking for me?”
As he descended the steps, the guard, Chambers, moved between him and Arken. Mac extended a hand, reaching past the obstruction. Arken ignored the offered hand.
“Please stay back, sir,” said Chambers. “We don’t want trouble.”
Mac said, “You’re right, no trouble. I’m here to ask my friend to breakfast. What you say, Professor, wanna get some grub?
His cheerfulness was for the students’ benefit. He didn’t expect to get any traction from Arken. But if he could make the man look a little silly, maybe some in his wagon train wouldn’t be so eager to hitch up.
“Fascist,” said Arken. “I don’t break bread with imperialist lapdogs who spy on us in our beds. Technological dominance doesn’t excuse your abuse of power, pig. You may obfuscate the evidence, but we know what your people did.”
“Uh, what people are you talking about, Professor?” said Mac.
“Let’s keep some distance,” Chambers warned.
Arken said, “You’ve gotten soft after years of misleading the masses if you think you can get away with perpetrating atrocities on our home soil.”
“Help me understand. What atrocities would those be?”
“Experimenting on students. Government cover-ups. Murder.”
The accusation was delivered with such vitriol that Mac had to squash an impulse to slap the scarecrow’s face. Arken was a candlestick, so shriveled that Mac was surprised he could stand upright.
Mac forced a grin. “I can tell you right now, I’m not part of any conspiracy, but I can see that you’re upset. Let me put you in touch with somebody who will listen to your story.” Before Arken could refuse, he asked the guard, “Can you help me out?”
“Uh, sure,” said Chambers. “What do you need?”
“You radioed a moment ago, asking for the president. Any reply?”
“No. I mean, my shift captain is on it. Nothing from the president yet.”
“Maybe I should try,” said Mac. Holding his phone close to his chest, he tapped out a quick message to Chandra.
“Whatever you’re trying here, it won’t stop us,” said Arken. Shouts of approval erupted from his followers.
Mac brought up Chandra’s contact information and showed it to Arken. “All I want to do is get permission to bring in an unbiased third party. I mean, you want your complaints heard, right? I get that, and I’d be glad to listen to anything you have to say. But maybe you don’t trust me. That’s fine,” he
said in his most reasonable voice. “If Chandra’s okay with it, we can call in an arbitrator. A lawyer, maybe, or retired judge. A member of the press, if that makes you more comfortable. You can have a forum, get your voice heard.”
Instead of answering, Arken turned his back, holding up his hands to the protesters. “Oh, we will be heard. They can’t silence us by calling in the agents of the oppressors. We, the people, cannot be silenced.”
Mac stood back as a new round of chanting broke out. So much for diplomacy. Something the crusty renegade had said stuck in his mind.
“Professor Arken,” he said. “What did you mean about murder? You think the CIA had something to do with the death of Tiffany Garrett?”
The sound of the lost girl’s name stilled the voices of the protesters. The effect on Arken was negligible.
“The CIA is but one tentacle of the vast illegal octopus now strangling the liberty of our country. That they should stoop to assassination inside our nation’s borders should surprise no one.”
“Okay,” said Mac, storing “Vast Illegal Octopus” for the next time somebody asked him for suggestions on a band name. “What about these experiments on students you mentioned? Where’s that coming from?”
“Cut the pretense, fascist.”
“Mac,” corrected Mac. “And I don’t understand.”
“You know your history. You must. Project Paperclip? MKUltra? They still teach those names in your re-education camps, do they not?” Arken sneered. “We remember. Issue your public denials. Pretend that the press holds your kind to account, but we know what’s what. You can fool some, but you can’t fool me.”
He had amped himself up to the point that he’d forgotten he was speaking for a movement, Mac noticed. Further talk would do no good. Mac’s skin felt itchy, an externalization of inward pressure. The chanting of the crowd was beginning to scrape his nerves.
Mac put on his best smile. “At least I tried,” and went to scoot around Arken. The scarecrow moved to block his path.
“You need help, Professor?” said Chambers.
“We’re cool,” said Mac. “Professor Arken, how about we pick this up another time.”
“No time like the present,” said Arken. “It appears your text didn’t get Chandra’s attention.”
That was because Mac’s text hadn’t asked for a response. He just wanted to let Chandra know about the situation and his intention to handle it.
Arken finished, “Perhaps we should redouble our efforts.” Shaking his fists, he elicited a wave of cheering from the protesters.
Mac felt pressure in his skull like a maximally inflated balloon. “I’ve got to go,” he said.
Arken sidestepped in sync with him, extending a hand to clasp his shoulder. Without meaning to, Mac shoved him, open palmed. Arken stumbled backwards, gawking in mock outrage.
Mac raised both hands to show peaceful intent, but the truth was that if Arken stopped him from leaving once more, he was going to crack the man’s jaw. Not because he wanted to, but because his desire to get out of the situation had become a biological imperative.
If he’d been thinking clearly, he might have left another way. But the chanting and Arken’s physical confrontation had pushed him to the edge of panic. Fight or flight kicked in. There was no third option.
A voice from the direction of Fountain Tunnel said, “Hey, guys. Where was my invite to the party?” It was the tall, good-looking man, the one who’d winked while throwing his arm around Emma at the luncheon. His hands were tucked firmly into the pockets of his moleskin jacket. In addition to this and a pair of dockers, he wore a smile so bright it hurt to look at. “Paulie!” he said. “Did you Facebook this meet-up?”
A couple of girls waved. The newcomer waved back. He smacked his lips at the “EYES HERE” girl.
Arken said, “I provided the where and when. The students did the rest.”
“Good for them. Nice initiative, guys! And, hey, it looks like you made a friend, Paulie. Be a good host and introduce us.”
Arken grumbled under his breath, but extended a hand. “Professor Mahoe,” he said, “Professor Marshall.”
“Tad,” said the grinning charmer.
“Mac,” replied Mac. “Aloha.”
“Aloha, dude,” said Tad. Rounding on Arken, he said, “Listen, Paulie, all this? It’s great. Shows a lot of civic pride. Thing is, Chandra’s got a lot on her plate. And it’s early. Some of the less responsible members of staff are still home sleeping off hangovers. How ‘bout you take a break? I can get you a meeting with Chandra. Special office hours today.”
“We won’t be silenced,” said a protester.
Craning his neck to see who had spoken, Tad said, “Dave? You can’t even fart silent, dude.” With the slightest shift in tone he said, “Don’t worry, you guys. Nobody’s trying to silence you. You will be heard. Let’s just, you know, get some breakfast before we save the world, ‘kay?”
There were murmurs of agreement and a few complaints Tad pretended not to hear. Nobody broke out in rhythmic chanting.
Mac saw Arken’s forehead crinkle. Then, with a tremble like vibrating glass, the fury bled out of his expression. He saw the inevitability of his defeat and accepted it. It crossed Mac’s mind that his friends in Recruitment would jump at the chance to headhunt a natural-born diplomat like Tad Marshall.
Without so much as a glance at the students, Arken said, “Fine. That’s fine, Tad. Tell President Velankar that I’ll expect an audience no later than noon. If she can’t make accommodations that fit our demands, we’ll fill the green by twelve-thirty.”
“No problem, Paulie. No problem. I’ll call you before ten o’clock.” Turning to Chambers he said, “Hey guy, you on all day?”
“Huh? Uh, yes sir, Professor Marshall.”
“Good. You stay here, keep in touch with HQ. When the president is ready to take callers, you can walk Professor Arken right in, okay?” As Arken turned to disperse the crowd, Tad touched Mac’s arm. “Hey man. See you around?”
“Yeah,” said Mac, smiling. “I’m sure you will.”
He had just put the crowd out of earshot when his phone rang.
Chapter Fourteen
The first thing Detective Chance said when Mac wedged himself into the sunny Bob Evans booth was, “Is that your car? I thought all you guys drove black Escalades.”
“That’s Secret Service,” said Mac.
“White Broncos?”
“That’s OJ.” Mac nodded at the blue sedan through the window. “It’s a rental.”
“It would be. You eat yet?”
“Not a bite.”
“The French toast is just like Ma used to make.”
“I was raised by my grandma. She mostly made fish.”
“Forget I mentioned it.”
Remembering what a help the detective had already been, Mac lightened the mood with a smile. “Sorry. I’m annoyed and short on time. Don’t mean to take it out on you. You said on the phone you had something to show me.”
“Yeah,” said Chance. “I do.” His teeth were so bright they cast shadows. With a flick of the hand, he sent a plastic bag sliding across the table. It had a label showing case and item numbers below the name Garrett, Tiffany. The bag contained a woman’s compact. “After you showed me the mirror thing, I got to thinking about her effects. Didn’t come up with the phone, but—”
Mac unsealed the bag and removed the compact. “Where was this?”
“Jacket pocket. She was holding it. Her, uh, her other side absorbed most of the impact.”
A waitress bustled over. She was cute, with hips the uniform couldn’t tame and eyelashes long enough to sweep the tables. Mac scooped the compact into his lap.
“Can I get you fellas started with some coffee?” said the waitress, whose badge said her name was Charity.
“None for me, thanks,” said Mac. “Just water.”
“I’ll have mine and his,” said Chance. “Those little cups of cream or whatever on the sid
e.”
“Great,” said Charity. “I’ll be right back with that.” She walked off, her pendulous braid swaying.
“Wow,” said Chance. “You could dip her in chocolate and she wouldn’t come out no sweeter.”
“Maybe you could,” said Mac. “I’ve got too much respect for the Easter Bunny.”
He examined the compact. It was intact, a translucent plastic clamshell in pale blue. As he lifted the clasp and opened the shell by its hinges, Chance said, “If you give the mirror—” but Mac had already pressed two fingers against the glass. The frame around the mirror lifted. With a slight application of pressure, it rotated like the cap on a pill bottle.
He set the compact on the table, looking around to make sure nobody was looking. It was a slow day, just a couple of retirees and the inevitable family with too many toddlers. The toddlers were busy fighting over a pack of crayons, so Mac lifted the mirror and its frame out of the compact’s shell. Coiled behind the glass was a stiff black wire with an oval-shaped nodule on one end and a mini-USB connector on the other. He lifted it out, pocketed it, and had the compact reassembled before Charity shimmied back.
“One Joe and an H2O,” she said with a twinkle. Leaning over the table she said, “See anything you’d like to take a bite out of, fellas?”
Mac ordered first to give Chance a minute to untie his tongue. When they were alone again, Chance said, “These college girls, huh?”
“I think she’s got a few years on the senior class.”
“Yeah?”
“Years and mileage.”
Chance snorted. “Mileage. Sure. Doing a good job keeping air in the tires, though.”
Mac produced the device from his pocket, rolled the stem between thumb and finger.
“So what is it?” said Chance.
“Something I didn’t expect.”
“Don’t keep me sweatin’, here.”
Holding the nodule in his right hand and the connector in his left, Mac said, “It’s a radio transmitter.”