West laughed nervously, “Very peculiar.”
Stanwick stared at West in stunned disbelief, “That’s all you’ve got to say? Peculiar?” She rubbed her arms, chilled by Charlene’s revelation.
West sat back, relaxing his weight into the leather cushions, “It isn’t anomalous Stan.”
Stanwick was wild eyed now, “Pretchis spoke directly to Charlene through the hopper and it’s not anomalous?”
West shook his head, “Charlene was experiencing my memory.”
Stanwick shrugged, “So what?”
“So Pretchis wasn’t talking directly to her, Charlene was hearing my thoughts.”
Doubtful, Stanwick pursed her lips as she looked at West, so he continued, “It was a phrase that I recited in my head, while Pretchis addressed everyone in his grand dormitory. It was something I had read in the archives and it kept going through my mind as Pretchis spoke because I was certain at the time that it must have been Pretchis who had first uttered those words.”
Stanwick breathed out slowly and nodded as she looked at Charlene.
“There was something else I noticed,” Charlene began.
West leaned forwards attentively, “Go on?”
“The people you were with … I’m sure I recognized some of them.”
West nodded, “Ahken’s parents? Lucas and Petra Miller.”
Charlene looked confused, “His parents?”
Stanwick nodded, “Ahken’s parents, and my adoptive parents; Reiner and Petra Kith Tiarsis, aka president and first lady Lucas and Petra Miller.” She laughed, “Make no mistake Charlene, I would not be welcomed into The White House with open arms right now.”
Charlene closed her eyes and tried to commit everything she had heard to memory. Stanwick extended her leg and prodded Charlene’s bare knee, “Don’t stress the small stuff. You’re not going to be tested on any of this.” Charlene smiled and nodded gratefully, “It’s been a long day. I wish I didn’t have so many questions.”
West was sympathetic, “I’d be more concerned if you didn’t have any questions. Please, don’t be afraid to ask anything.”
Stanwick grinned, “Do you mind if I ask you something Charlene?”
Charlene shook her head uncertainly.
Stanwick’s grin broadened, “Have you ever wished you could visit a particular period in history?”
Charlene held her hand to her mouth as she thought about the question. She had never had a great deal of interest in history, but she didn’t want to appear to be ignorant. Mostly she’d learned about American history in school and she’d come to appreciate over the years that a lot of what she’d learned was pretty biased.
“Honestly, I wouldn’t know where to begin.” She looked apologetic, but Stanwick shrugged dismissively, “It’s not a trick question. We’ve seen a lot over the years and I’ve made a lot of recordings on the hopper.” She could see that Charlene was embarrassed and she tried to comfort her, “Hey, it’s not a big deal. If you do think of anything you want to see, just ask.”
West laughed, “Don’t worry Charlene, Stanwick’s life reads like a history of bare knuckle brawls and tribal warfare through the ages; you really aren’t missing much.”
Charlene smiled, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Spiff
David had drifted rapidly in and out of dreams and nightmares, waking occasionally to find Stephanie lying with her foot on his throat, or her hand over his face. He lay staring at the mottled streetlight which shone dully through the fabric of the sheet which he had pulled about his face, trying to block out the unfamiliar surroundings and imagine that he was back home in Washington. He blinked slowly, once, twice, then his eyelids fell heavy and he found himself in the front cab of the van, driving towards Calvert. He could hear the two agents hammering behind him, claw like fingers scraping on metal, but he knew what he had to do. He turned on the radio, trying his best to block out the horror of his situation and the song that played was immediately familiar; the slightly frantic marimba that he heard every school morning, which usually signaled that he only had about fourteen seconds to reach Stephanie’s bedroom before he would be forced to endure Mamma Mia for the thousandth time. He fiddled with the radio, punching at buttons, but every station was the same, and when he tried to turn the damned thing off, the girls still started singing anyway. That’s when he remembered the alarm. Stephanie’s alarm.
He woke with a start, tugging the bed sheet from his face, looking for the source of the alarm. There … Stephanie’s backpack lay on the floor, a couple of feet from the bed. David dug through her things quickly, bleary eyes shying from the light of her phone’s screen. Swipe to snooze. Back to bed.
The routine came more easily each time, the weight of tiredness dragging him back into uncharted waters, or even worse, to dark and oft charted depths. Emerging from the darkness, he saw a familiar oak door, an ornate brass handle inviting him to explore further. He felt uneasy, as he had every time he’d stood in front of that door, because he knew that any exploration would lead to disappointment. His father would be busy, his head in a book, or his fingers clacking away at a keyboard. He turned from the door now, crept down the hallway which was too long; much longer than he remembered. The door opened behind him, and he heard the ominous drumming of his father’s fingers on hard wood. He felt the white hot fear in his chest. He’d been here before. He’d dreamed a hundred dreams of his father’s return from death. How had they not realized that he would come back to life? David wanted it, more than anything, even though he blamed his father for his own shortcomings, but not like this. Sometimes in his dreams, his father was healthy and engaging, other times ailing and maniacal, but his visits were always fleeting. He knew that if he turned, he would have to deal with the knowing, the acceptance that his father was back from the dead, only to have him snatched away by his waking. He felt himself choking up, even though he knew that he should be happy.
“David, it’s okay.”
No, he couldn’t face him right now. He ran down the corridor, towards the impossibly distant staircase, covering his ears with his hands in an attempt to block out the voice which was coming from inside his own head. “David, stop and talk to me.” He ran quickly, desperate to escape the sound that he missed so much, his father’s sonorous and commanding voice. “David, come back, please, I need to tell you. There’s so much you need to know!” But the words now became lost in the urgent refrain of music as David ran faster, and suddenly all that he could hear was the music.
Sitting bolt upright, he struggled to pull the sheet away from his face as he looked for the phone a second time. He swiped the screen, and heard a voice coming from the small speaker.
“David?”
“Dad?”
“David, it’s me.”
“Hannah? How did you … Oh Jesus.” He threw the phone on the floor and mashed his bare heel against the glass front several times, but the cracked screen still glowed cheerily. He picked up the phone and bent it in half, clambering for a bedside lamp which he knew must be there. Holding it under the light, he knew that secreted away in a small compartment was a sim card that he had to get at, so he continued to twist the device in his hands, bending and snapping it every way that he could. When he was finally satisfied that he’d thoroughly destroyed it, David sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the shattered remnants of Stephanie’s phone. He knew it was a problem. He wasn’t sure how much of a problem, but he knew enough to be paralyzed by fear. Stephanie stirred, pulling the blanket over her eyes to shield them from the light. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, trying to calm his nerves, “Hey hon, I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Daddy what’s wrong?”
Grimacing at the broken glass and cracked plastic, he lied halfheartedly, “Nothing Spiff.” He turned to face her, “When did you turn on your phone?”
Wide eyes peaked out from under the blanket, “I didn’t dad. You told me I
couldn’t.”
He turned away from Stephanie with his eyes closed tight, lay down on the bed and tried to open his imagination to the trouble he might have caused, “I should,” he sighed heavily, his breath heaving in his chest several times, “I should probably go and talk to West.”
“Can I come?”
“Oh, sure. You should probably come too.”
He felt his daughter’s small hand on his shoulder, but rather than comforting him, she pushed him towards the edge of the bed, “It’ll be okay. You’ll see.”
Agent Brad Cobb waved his hand in front of the monitor and scrolled through the report from forensic accounting. He found it troubling to look at Dave Beach’s various bank and card statements, not because they showed any unusual activity or signs of unscrupulous behavior, quite the contrary; David Beach was average, almost to the point of absurdity. Cobb could see from the notes in the side margins that the accounts department had held a similar opinion of Mr Beach. Beach didn’t fit the profile of a conspirator to assassination. Up until his sudden flight, every aspect of the investigation thus far had only gone to highlight the fact that Beach was an upright citizen. The only possible exception to this had of course been Beach’s phone conversation of March sixth.
Cobb drummed the edge of the desk with his fingertips. What had gone wrong?
There was nothing in Beach’s history that would suggest he was capable of taking on two field trained agents. Beach had been interviewed by McMahon, so if the two had accidentally crossed paths at Beach’s home it surely wouldn’t have come as a shock, and it seemed unlikely that it could have lead to a violent resolution; certainly not one which would end in Beach’s favor.
He looked up from his monitor as he noticed in the periphery of his vision that someone was approaching from the far end of the office. Agent Danielle Wheatley presented somewhat of a challenge for Cobb’s ability to assume an air of professional detachment, especially at three in the morning. Cobb was already dangerously close to exhausted delirium, and he was sure that Danielle Wheatley, specialist in audio analysis, would tip him over the edge. He never intended to flirt with her. It was never on his agenda, but for some reason, he felt like he came across as a creeper when he was around her. Perhaps it was her height, he wondered; at 6’4, she towered over him, and that fact alone made him feel like a little boy. He stared studiously at his monitor as she approached, and he found himself wondering why she was so disarming. She was never anything other than completely professional, but Cobb still found that she presented an obstacle to professionalism.
“Cobb, you’re on Beach now right?”
Blink, smile, nod, focus on her face, “Yup, reassigned today.”
“The warrant you requested came through for the kids phone. A call went through a couple of minutes ago from Beach’s sister.” Agent Wheatley frowned as she noticed Cobb’s eyes wandering off to a point in space somewhere above her head, “You want to hear the recording?”
Cobb snapped to attention, wide eyes staring at her, “Of course,” he got up from his desk, “Lead the way.”
She walked a few paces ahead of him, leading him to a small office which was tightly packed with equipment. She sat at her station and queued up the recording.
“David.” Cobb recognized Hannah Beach’s voice.
“David, pick up the god damned phone.”
No response from the other end of the line, just some muffled shuffling sounds.
“David you piece of shit, pick up the mother fucking phone.”
Still no response. Cobb sat down beside agent Wheatley and listened to another five minutes of Hannah cursing and screaming before she hung up.
“Is that it?”
Wheatley shook her head, “Nope. She called back straight away.”
She started the second recording. Five seconds of ring tone, then, “David!”
“Dad?”
“David, it’s me.”
“Hannah? How did you … Oh Jesus.” The phone clicked off.
Wheatley smiled, “It’s not much to go on, and the kid’s sim went dead, so I’m figuring Beach smashed the phone.”
Cobb leaned back in the office chair and pushed away from the desk, the wheels rolling across the smooth floor silently.
“Did he say Dad?”
Wheatley nodded.
“I’m pretty sure his dad’s dead.” Cobb mused, “Why the hell would he expect him to be calling?”
Wheatley shrugged, “I have no godly idea. People are weird. Every day man, I tell you, I hear the stupidest shit.”
Cobb laughed, “This is great though Danielle, thanks.”
She shrugged, “Great would have been getting point of origin on the call. Wherever Beach is, there must have been some pretty heavy hardware baffling the signal. Still, it’s a start. I’ve got it down to a small cluster of cell towers in Manhattan.”
Cobb punched the air weakly, half expecting to be met with a fist bump from Wheatley, “I’ll work this up right away. You’re a star Wheatley, I could kiss you.”
She raised her eyebrows, looking doubtful, “No Cobb, you really couldn’t, but thanks for keeping it weird.”
“What’s up? You look like shit.”
Stanwick’s words did little to soothe David’s troubled mind. He closed the door behind him and turned away from the others, composing himself, “I’ve made a mistake.”
“What kind of a mistake?” West asked calmly, wondering what damage David could have possibly done in his brief absence.
“I answered Stephanie’s phone.”
There was a long pause before West spoke again, and his voice remained calm, “What have you done with the phone?”
David turned quickly, mouth trembling, “I … I destroyed it, but it was too late. I heard Hannah’s voice, and I’m not sure how long the phone had been turned on.”
West looked confused, “So where was your mistake?”
“I shouldn’t have answered the phone.”
West rolled his eyes, “No, you shouldn’t have had a phone to answer, but that was my mistake, not yours; I should have been explicit in my instructions regarding the phones.”
“But I shouldn’t have answered.” David replied, certain that he was at fault somewhere.
West looked at Stephanie, who was standing beside her father, biting her lip nervously. He knelt in front of her, smiling, “Stephanie Beach, have you ever in your life stayed awake all night?”
“Nope.” She responded truthfully.
West raised his eyebrows, then he pulled out his phone to check the time. Four twenty-five, not bad. News app, happily informing him that the entire world was about to be turned on its head; not great. His eyes, wide with excitement, met with Stephanie’s again, “I have a feeling that this is going to be your first all-nighter, which would make this breakfast time.”
Stephanie grinned from ear to ear, “I get to stay up?”
West nodded, “However, I recall that someone around here had a very specific list of demands regarding breakfast.” He stood up and walked over to Stanwick, handing her his phone, “What say we all take a quick shopping trip, then get this show on the road?”
Stanwick read the headlines on West’s phone, then returned the phone to him, basking in the warm glow of his child-like glee. She had missed him. She leaned past him and gave Stephanie the thumbs up, “Breakfast!”
Stephanie gritted her teeth, bouncing on her heels, growling with excitement.
Cobb retraced David Beach’s digital footsteps, clicking back and forth from website to website. Knowing Beach’s Shadowcab73 alter-ego had opened up so many doors Cobb pondered; it was still unnerving to him that McMahon in particular had ignored that trail. Granted, behind many of those newly opened doors, there was a picture of a slightly depressed, aggravated, petty, misanthropic troll, but when Cobb put all of those pictures together, the composite of David Beach was of someone who cared, someone who towed the party line, and above all, someone who believed unwaveringly i
n the Tiernan administration. He had called Brice Daniels in to assist, delegating the task of liaising with the various website administrators. He was certain that within the past week, one other person must have gone knocking at all of those same doors, and with Brice’s help, there was a chance that this person could be located.
Brice called over from his workstation, “Brad, have you seen this shit?”
Cobb didn’t look up from his monitor, “What?”
Brice pushed away from his desk, beady eyes as wide as they could go, sweaty fingers stroking his clammy forehead, “Cobb, have you got your head up your ass or something? You’re on the web right?”
Cobb scowled, “What do you want me to look at?” He opened a fresh browser window, which defaulted to the browser’s own news page. The news feeds from several sites affiliated with Associated Press were dominated by similar headlines, ‘Tiernan Alive? White House aides and security report sightings of President Allan Tiernan on White House grounds.’ Agence France-presse affiliates were leading with ‘Présidence contestée : Président Loube retourne Palais de l'Elysée.’ Cobb clicked feverishly to Reuters affiliates, and read that former Prime Minister Arthur White had arrived unceremoniously at Downing Street.
Cobb stood up from his desk and pointed at agent Daniels, “Quit fucking around Brice.”
“What?”
Cobb laughed heartily, “Really, you had me there for a moment. Elaborate. Genius really, but the joke’s over okay?”
Brice shook his head slowly, “Brad, this has nothing to do with me. It’s the real deal.”
“Jesus Daniels, I don’t have time for your shit, I’m supposed to hit the ground running with this.”
Histories of the Void Garden, Book 1: Pyre of Dreams Page 23