Judgement

by Fergus Bannon

  DeMarco still had his head in his hands. 'Pinch me! Pinch me! I wanna wake up now.'

  'This all started with Middleton, didn't it?' asked Leith.

  Slattery was looking intently at him. 'Yeah, for me it started with Middleton, but that was only one strand of the web.’ He smiled appreciatively. ‘It’s going to be up to us to find the spider, and I don't think we have much time.'

  Lola stood at the threshold of her flat still dressed in her light grey business suit. It was 6:30 and she'd just got back from work. She looked him up and down.

  'You're looking well, Bob.' She stared him hard in the eye and her mouth tightened in a flat, mean little smile.

  'I believed you, you know. And I worried when I didn't hear from you, and couldn't get in touch with you, I figured you were dead. At least I did for about three days. Then I worked out you'd just given me a truly heroic brush-off.'

  He laughed and took her in his arms and hugged her but she did not respond. It was like hugging a statue.

  'It hurt me, Bob. More than I expected,' her voice was muffled by his jacket.

  'No,' he said, 'it wasn't a brush-off. I swear I missed you so much!'

  'Then what happened?'

  'I can't say. Things didn't turn out the way I expected.'

  'So it was all paranoia?'

  'Yeah,' he said, his head on her shoulders where she couldn't see his face, 'all paranoia.'

  She hesitated, then put her arms round him. It felt great.

  CHAPTER 13

  Long Island, New York

  Swinging out over the Atlantic, and banking to the left, the jet began its approach to Kennedy. They slanted through the dense cloud until grey waters became visible below. Just for a second Leith thought they were landing in the sea, then it suddenly gave way to grass and the blackness of the tarmac and the plane was down.

  The pilot taxied her straight to the private hangars where a helicopter was waiting, its rotors already in languid motion. Durrell, shouldering the steward aside, was quickly out of the plane, checking right and left before sprinting to the chopper. After a quick inspection he motioned to Leith who quickly followed.

  Manhattan was hidden at first in the fine autumnal rain and the early evening gloom. They were over Queens before they caught the first glimmers of light in the sky, like a lone galaxy trapped above the island. The Queensborough Bridge slipped by below them, then they were amongst the crystal stalactites of Manhattan.

  Leith had seen film clips of helicopter flights across Manhattan, but even so was unprepared for the complex beauty of the new universe it revealed.

  The pilot circled the chopper round what looked like a brilliant string of pearls atop one skyscraper. He took it down in to the middle. Water whipped up from the surface billowed out like a skirt around them.

  Outside it was cold and windy. By the time they got to the elevator Leith's fawn raincoat had been darkened by the rain. He ran his fingers through his soaking wet hair as the elevator fell towards the street. Durrell was in front of him as the doors opened, his hand beneath the left hand lapel of his bulky grey coat. Rush hour was over but stragglers were still crossing the lobby, umbrellas mushrooming as they surged out of the revolving doors.

  'Follow me,' said Durrell tersely and strode quickly across the lobby. The revolving doors seemed to concern him and he restrained Leith from entering.

  'I go through first. When I signal, you move, and fast.' Durrell's paranoia was catching. In the few brief seconds of vulnerability when Durrell was on the other side of the door checking the street, Leith glanced nervously over his shoulder at the lobby.

  A loud bang made him jump and he almost lost his footing. Jerking his head round he saw Durrell's heavy palm flat against the glass. Durrell gestured angrily and Leith guessed he'd missed his signal. He dived into the first chamber of the door, irrationally afraid any hesitancy on his part would make Durrell smash his way back in.

  Outside a dark sedan was waiting with the engine running. It moved off as soon as Durrell, hanging back to let Leith in first, slammed the door shut.

  Leith watched the commuters scurrying through the streets, coats and hats held tight. New York's concrete canyon walls worked aerodynamic wonders, amplifying gentle gusts of wind into cyclones that inverted umbrellas and sent people skidding across the greasy sidewalks.

  As other cars flashed by with minimal clearance it occurred to him that the company driver must have trained on the Yellow Cabs. Either that or he'd been severely brutalised as a child.

  A ten block drive, another dash through the rain and they were at their destination. Leith shrugged off his overcoat as the elevator took them to the third floor. He had expected to see a bustling, open plan newsroom with excitable people in shirtsleeves shouting at each other and chewing on cigars. It turned out that the advertising manager of 'The Independent News' lived in an office well away from any hustle.

  It was well furnished and the curtains had been drawn, giving it a cosy atmosphere. Saunders wore a dark business suit and had a 'Thank you for not smoking' sign on his desk. He looked younger than Leith but about ten times better paid. The gold cuff links and signet ring he wore must have doubled his weight.

  After giving them a firm handshake Saunders indicated the free chairs. Leith had quickly learned to let Durrell decide where he was going to sit first. Not surprisingly the man took the most peripheral of the three well-padded leather armchairs in front of Saunders' desk. This gave him the best view of the door as well as of Saunders himself. Saunders mistook hesitation on Leith's part as a sign of deference and, looking expectantly at Durrell, asked:

  'So, what's all the fuss about?'

  Durrell gave him his long-dead zombie chainsaw killer look but said nothing. Saunders visibly recoiled.

  Leith cleared his throat and the man seemed grateful for an excuse to look anywhere but at Durrell.

  'I'd be grateful if you'd bear with us, Mr. Saunders.' Leith reached down and pushed the slide-switch in the handle of his briefcase. Inside, the signal generator worked through the frequencies. The electronic display in the design logo of the case showed positive. Durrell was out of the chair in one smooth motion and unplugged Saunder's terminal from the power socket in the wall beside his desk. Saunders raised an eyebrow but said nothing. The red light went out and this time remained unlit as the generator swung again through the frequencies.

  Leith looked back up. 'Mr. Saunders, we're here on a matter which has grave national security implications. I must warn you that any attempt to record or report this conversation will inevitably be construed as an act of treason against the government and people of the United States. I must ask you to sign this declaration which says that you understand this.'

  Leith took a form from his breast pocket. He was discovering that the CIA had stuff to cover all sorts of eventualities.

  'I'm sorry gentleman,' Saunders sat back in his seat, shaking his head, 'but I'm signing nothing. I'm as patriotic as the next man, old fashioned as that might sound, but I'm not gullible enough to let you knee-jerk me into doing anything you want.'

  'For someone who professes such patriotism you've acted in a surprisingly contradictory manner. You've already given your services to an enemy of the United States, to someone who is responsible for the most damaging acts against us since Pearl Harbour...'

  Saunders laughed incredulously. 'For selling some advertising space. Come on! And what 'damaging acts'?'

  Durrell turned to look at Leith and raised an eyebrow. The well-tailored clothes jarred with the smashed face and the brooding malevolent expression.

  Leith pretended to hesitate, to give the impression he was considering his options.

  He turned back to Saunders, just in time to see his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed.

  'We've little time to spare,' he said. 'It's not as if we're demanding to know the identity of a source, of someone who might have tipped you off about some Capitol Hill scandal. Journalistic ethics might be a
problem in those circumstances, and I would respect your stance. But this isn't some whistle blower or victimised citizen we're after. Quite the reverse. We need to know who placed that advertising copy.

  'Let's make this clear. You either sign this paper and tell us all you know about the person who placed the ad or we arrest you for treason and take everyone in the building in for questioning. We can do that quite legally, and can hold everyone for up to seventy-two hours. How many editions would you miss? Four, maybe five? How much advertising revenue would you lose? And even if you do beat the charge, what kind of job will you have to come back to? An advertising manager who blew several million dollars of revenue just because he wouldn't help agents of the government to prevent grave damage to his country.'

  'We'd sue for lost revenue. And win!'

  'We don't care! By then the terrible thing we're trying to prevent would've happened and your paper's name would be shit.'

  Saunders blinked, then pursing his lips he picked up the paper and read it. 'Look, I'll tell you all I know, but I'm signing nothing!'

  'We have your assurances that all we discuss will remain confidential, that you won't communicate any information to journalists from this or any other media?'

  'You have my assurance. As you say, I'm an advertising manager, not a journalist, I don't want to know what's going on.'

  'Let me make it clear that your verbal assurance is binding. We have taped this conversation. Do you understand?'

  'Yes.'

  Leith nodded. 'Just tell us all you know and we'll leave you in peace.'

  Saunders smiled at the thought. 'If you're lucky, I may be able to do better than that.'

  The woman was red cheeked and full faced, almost as though she'd taken the stairs instead of the elevator, but the security camera had clearly showed her emerging from the elevator doors.

  The woman waddled her way across the lobby of the Independent News. In the lower right hand corner of the screen little white letters showed the time as 3:15 PM and the date was just four days ago. The video recorder in security recycled every four days. A few more hours and the tape would have been reused.

  'Why three days of tapes?' Durrell had asked. 'Most cameras recycle a standard eight hour compressed VHS.'

  Saunders had shrugged. 'It's for the journalists, I think. Apparently they get a lot of tips, most of them untrue, but some turn out to be gold dust. This may be the only truthful record of their sources. If a story hasn't checked out and broken in four days then it's ancient history and nobody cares anymore.'

  'Can we zoom and freeze?' asked Leith, peering at the keyboard.

  'Sure,' Saunders eased his way in. His hands caressed the keys. 'According to this there are just 190 digitised frames covering her appearance. I'll load them into video memory and you can flick through to get the best shot.'

  The video was in colour. It was slightly grainy and not best lit, but there were a couple of good frames as the woman hesitated briefly, apparently reading the interior signs. Durrell took up position by his shoulder as Leith rapidly mastered the keys.

  'What do you make of her?' Leith asked.

  Durrell was silent for a second or two. 'Female, late forties, high blood pressure or very excited. Medium height, 150 pounds, fat legs, wide hips. Eyes grey-blue. Tan calf length overcoat with broad padded shoulders, brown business shoes, and two-inch heels. Shoulder length auburn hair, greying. Matching brimmed ladies hat: fifties style. Straight out of the 'Philadelphia Story.''

  Leith looked round at him.

  Durrell narrowed his eyes, unsmiling. 'I could take her. A couple of 9mm between the eyebrow pencil and she'd be tits up before you could say 'Abu Nidal.''

  'Something on your mind?'

  Durrell stared back at him, not answering.

  OK, thought Leith, maybe she doesn't look like a major terrorist, but then it was unlikely Saunders would have accepted her advertising copy if she had.

  He turned back to Saunders who had returned to his desk. 'How did she talk, what kind of accent did she have?'

  'I couldn't place it. Boston maybe?'

  'But definitely American.'

  'Probably. Maybe mid-Atlantic. I'm not good on accents.'

  'Did she seem to know what she was talking about? Did she give you the impression she'd placed copy before?'

  'Very much so. In fact she seemed able to anticipate most of the things I needed to ask her.'

  Leith looked back at the screen and the florid face. 'Don't you ever check the veracity of the people you do business with?'

  'Of course we do! We checked the address she gave, a telecommunications company in Geneva, as well as their offices in New York. We also checked with her bank to make sure her credit was good.'

  'Let me have copies of everything she gave you.'

  'And the copy itself?'

  'Yeah. Forensics'll want to go over every inch of it.'

  The rain was heavier now and it was night. From four hundred feet up and through the bottom of a martini glass all the bricks and mortar of the buildings had disappeared leaving only a fairy tale kingdom of light. He thought of the little lights as torches, each carried by a Lilliputian as they clustered round, all looking up expectantly at him.

  'Well?' Durrell said.

  They had stopped off in the dimly lit bar a couple of floors below the helipad, waiting for the weather to break so the chopper could take off. Durrell had wanted to get the driver to take them out to Kennedy but Leith had told him to forget it.

  He didn't try to answer Durrell but took another pull at his drink instead.

  Looking up he saw the anger on Durrell's face. What was it with this guy? He'd never shown any regret for having him tortured, never mind remorse. As for respect, that was clearly out of the question.

  'Well?' said Durrell, louder this time.

  'Yeah,' he said, putting the drink down, 'That's the one.'

  Durrell snorted.

  'What did you expect? An AK-47 and a sweatband?'

  Durrell shook his head. 'No, she was just what I expected. She's what I said she was from the beginning. A fundamentalist nut, who wants to peddle her brand of brain rot to a gullible public.'

  'Even if she is, that might fit. It's possible some kind of rich religious foundation did get their hands on the technology to breach 4-space.'

  Durrell shook his head but this time added a sigh of disgust.

  Leith sighed. Why do I put up with this, he wondered? I'm supposed to be in charge here. He looked around. The bar, festooned with ivy and tropical plants, was almost empty of customers. A red-waistcoated barman wiped industriously at a glass.

  He took the section of newsprint out of his wallet. He unfolded it and smoothed it out. One edge touched a splash from his martini and a crescent of moisture started to slowly expand across the paper. The full-page advert had a bold headline promising 'The Truth.' Below it the text read:

  Relax.

  Everything is under control.

  The world is full of lies and propaganda,

  but all is about to change.

  From the 4th of October a new satellite network will be transmitting information worldwide on eight channels. Transmissions will reveal new information about past events about which there has been deliberate secrecy. The information will be totally authentic, its source unprecedented.

  Channel contents will be subject to change but will generally follow this form:

  Political

  1. Western Hemisphere

  2. Eastern Hemisphere

  Historical

  3. Western Hemisphere

  4. Eastern Hemisphere

  Criminal

  5. Western Hemisphere

  6. Eastern Hemisphere

  Current Miscellaneous

  7. Major events of immediate global attention

  Directory

  8. Rolling list of items on other channels.

  24 hour notice of items given on all channels except 7.

  On the first day
of transmission items covered will include definitive revelations concerning the assassinations of:

  JF Kennedy

  D Hammerscholdt

  M Zia

  S Allende

  Channel 5 programs will include the identification of the present ten most prolific serial killers in the United States.

  On October 4 Tune in to The Truth.

  At the bottom of the page the satellite positions and transmission frequencies were listed.

  It had been DeMarco who had first spotted the advert in the Independent News. The guy was still a pain in the ass but Leith was beginning to appreciate just how hard the little fart worked. 'Maybe this is what we're looking for,' he had said with a smirk, dumping the paper down triumphantly on Leith's desk.

  Leith had read it and nodded slowly. 'Yeah, perhaps. We know their intelligence is good, phenomenal in fact. This would be a really smart way to put out their own propaganda. Lard in a few real truths and, hey presto.'

  'Hey presto what?'

  Leith pursed his lips then looked back up at DeMarco. 'I don't know. Maybe they're trying to start up a new political or religious movement. Look at the Bible. Few hard facts, virtually no corroboration, yet it's still in press and selling like hotcakes.'

  DeMarco pointed to channels 3 and 4. 'See this 'Historical' category. Maybe they're going to give us their low-down on the late JC.'

  'Mmm. Maybe! The Second Coming. That could be quite an angle. With access to the fourth dimension they might even carry it off. Appearing out of nowhere would be quite a trick.'