by K. C. Sivils
Stopping by the chair reserved for her, the woman tilted her head slightly, her expression one of expectation.
Alfeg responded first, quickly moving to help seat the lady.
“Good evening Warden Gravestone,” Dmitry said wryly, carefully observing the representative of the Lost and the prison authorities. “I appreciate your taking the time to attend our council meeting. I apologize for it being on such short notice.”
EASING UP TO THE VALET parking, Markeson put his hovercar in park, leaving its powerful power plant running. He exited the vehicle, handing a twenty-credit hard currency chip to the valet while accepting his parking ticket.
“Good evening, Captain,” the valet said, happy to see Markeson, or more likely, the handsome tip to park the detective’s vehicle.
Markeson just nodded and made his way to the entrance to the restaurant. He smiled at the irony of his choice of establishments to meet with Cassandra, a voluptuous blonde. Having seen to it the pesky Sarah was far, far away, Markeson had decided to revisit the embarrassing scene of their last, unfortunate meeting.
A somber maître de greeted Markeson without speaking and motioned for the detective to follow, leading the way to an exclusive, private room located in the back of the dining area. Stepping aside, the maître de opened the door and motioned with his hand for Markeson to proceed before him.
Rather than follow and exchange pleasantries with Markeson as was his custom, the man shut the door and departed, leaving Markeson alone in the elegant, but dimly lit room.
Sitting at the lone table in the room was a man Markeson had never seen before. Dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit, complete with all the required trappings for a man to be considered stylishly dressed, the man smiled and stood up in greeting. Still a detective despite his questionable ethics, Markeson took in the rest of the stranger’s appearance. Noting the stranger’s hair was cut and styled like his, not a hair out of place, Markeson glanced first at the man’s expensive, imported shoes, then his perfectly manicured hands, both of which were bare of any jewelry.
“Where’s Cassandra?”
“I’m afraid the lovely Cassandra will be occupied elsewhere tonight,” replied the stranger, his voice a silky smooth baritone. “You will have to settle for my company this evening.”
“Good evening,” Markson replied, turning to leave.
“Please, Detective, it was you who requested this meeting.”
Markeson froze, considering the man’s words before answering. His back still facing the mystery guest, he replied in a measured tone. “You must be the individual who left me those messages.”
“Yes, indeed, I am that individual,” the mystery man replied in a gracious tone. Curious, Markeson turned to face his apparent host for the evening. “This meeting has been too long in the making. Please, take a seat. This evening is my gift to you as a way to make amends for the necessarily secretive manner in which this meeting has come about.”
CHAPTER FIVE
FATHER NATHAN AND I passed the time waiting for our shuttle with idle talk. Josephson showed up having checked our baggage and equipment. In the corner of my eye, I spotted Bones making his way towards us, holding what looked like a container of greasy, fried food from one of the overpriced chain fast food joints. Sarah was bound to appear any minute.
“Sully, Father,” Bones mumbled, his mouth full. He nodded a hello to Josephson who sat across from me. He smiled in my direction, and I turned slightly to my left to find Sarah standing at the edge of the bench next to me.
“Don’t do that,” Father Nathan exclaimed with a start. Sarah just looked at him and then shrugged before responding. “I can’t help it Father if you don’t see me when I approach.”
I sensed an argument brewing, so I headed it off.
“Let’s go. Shuttle’s leaving in ten minutes.”
I stood up and moved towards Gate 58, our point of departure. My group fell in behind me in silence. Sarah right behind me followed by the pup Josephson, then the good Father and finally Bones.
We were taking the nicer of the two shuttles operated by Graham. One for transporting prisoners to and from the prison. The shuttle we would be traveling in handled visitors, employees of Graham and the various mines on the moon. It was clean enough and smelled like decent air freshener was used on a regular basis.
The only passengers on board, I watched my team spread out. Father Nathan sat down behind me and promptly pulled out his tablet and began reading. Bones sat behind the Father and reclined his seat to get comfortable and take a nap. Sarah dropped down in the seat across the aisle from me, strapped herself in and promptly reclined, pulling out her new badge to entertain herself.
Josephson took up residence behind Sarah, leaving a seat empty between them. His face looked pale, and the pup was beginning to sweat, the anxiety plain to see on his face. He strapped himself in, gripped the armrests and closed his eyes.
His fear of flying would keep him silent for the duration of the trip. The only movement he would make would be to squeeze the armrests tighter. The medication he'd taken before departure to help with his fear and anxiety was a waste of time.
Satisfied my bunch was okay, I strapped myself in and watched Sarah play with her new toy. There would be plenty to do soon enough.
“IF YOU REALLY WANT a war, that can be arranged,” Dmitry said evenly, his face not betraying the slightest emotion.
"You just can't be all, like, I didn't sanction this, so somebody’s got to pay,” Jamaal complained. “This is a council. We share power.”
Dmitry stared across the table at the leader of the GBs, allowing anger to show in his eyes.
“One of our augmented was shanked, alone, in her cell in AdSeg. We lost a valuable property. Irina Chekov was skilled and brought in a steady stream of revenue.”
"I get that," Jamaal replied firmly. "I'm tellin' you. We didn't have nothin' to do with takin' her out. I get why you're ticked. What's upsetin' me is this stuff about the screw. If a screw needs to be taken down, that's the way it is."
Warden Gravestone cleared her throat.
“Need I remind you, Jamaal, the penalty for killing a C.O. is a death sentence, sanctioned or not.”
“Killing a screw is bad business,” Dmitry growled, glaring at Jamaal. The Aryan’s watched in silence, enjoying the conflict between the Russian and the leader of the GBs.
“Indeed,” Gravestone said in a smooth tone. “Lockdowns, snap inspections, surprise searches, moving prisoners, none of it makes for a smooth operation. Then there is the issue of the outside investigation. Warden Corona has informed me an Inspector and his team have been sent from Beta Prime to handle the investigation.”
She looked at the face of each of the leaders present before speaking again.
“It matters little if the murder of the C.O. was not sanctioned or carried out for cause, simply sacrificing one of the Lost will not satisfy this investigator. We all stand to lose if this investigation goes on for an extended period. From what I have been told, this inspector, his name is Inspector Sullivan, is a loose cannon. Doesn't care which rules get bent or whose feathers he ruffles, he wants to get to the truth."
Dmitry glared in open hatred at first Jamaal and then Josef. “This is why I am King! This is why only I can approve a sanction like this.”
“And I’m tellin’ you, King Dmitry,” Jamaal sassed back, “my people didn’t do it. The screw or your augmented.”
“If I were to sanction either of these individuals, we would have claimed the kills,” Josef said firmly, hiding his thoughts behind a rigid expression.
Looking at each of the three leaders sitting at the table, the Russian shook his head in irritation, frustrated at how simple these leaders could be at times. Dmitry shook his head slowly to calm himself before speaking.
“You fools don’t get it to you. If none of us ordered these killings, then there is another power working amongst our ranks. The screw was alone when he was killed. Only a pro c
ould have pulled it off, the same with Irina. If one of us is not responsible, then who is?”
SLOWING TO TAKE THE off ramp at a reasonable speed, Markeson pulled off the hoverway. Spotting an open parking spot on the busy street, he eased his hover car to a halt and turned the power plant off. As the vehicle settled on its landing gear, the detective mused in silence about the meeting that had consumed most of his evening.
Snowflakes settled on the warm hood of the hovercar and melted from the residual heat of the rapidly cooling power plant. A thin sheet of ice would soon form as the water from the melted snowflakes froze. Couples walked past, some holding hands while others kept their hands in their pockets and intertwined the arms in an effort to fight off the chilling cold.
Some dressed in outlandish outfits; vivid colors drawing the eye to the individual or couple so dressed. Others dressed in the muted blues or greys typical of how the working class dressed in Capital City. Those who drew attention to themselves could afford to do so as the members of the elitist upper class or as children of the wealthy. Tonight was just another night of fun, be it chemically induced or otherwise. The others lived on a budget. Tonight was a special treat or a first date, something that warranted the splurging of hard earned and limited credits.
Bright neon lights of all colors of the rainbow produced a glow that gave a false sense of warmth in the freezing cold night of Capital City. As doors opened and closed, the sounds of music of varying types escaped from the various bars and clubs, each competing with the other as a clarion call to draw in unsuspecting customers.
Drug dealers and other forms of human villainy awaited inside the clubs and bars, several of which worked for Markeson. Preferring not to mix business with pleasure, the detective seldom checked on sales totals when out for an evening of fun. Tonight would be no exception.
The strange conversation with the mystery messenger had taken hold of Markeson, filling his mind. He needed to think, to see all the possible angles to what the agent had proposed. Any enterprise that offered the amount of potential upside as the one put before him that evening also had the potential to be an equally great trap.
With Sullivan constantly on the prowl and two near calamitous deals fresh in his mind, Markeson sat in silence, pushing away any ideas of an evening of fun. As the sheet of ice formed on his hood, the detective’s greed and desire for power ran headlong into his well-formed sense of personal preservation.
“Think this one through,” he whispered aloud, noticing the frozen vapor from his breath floating in the rapidly cooling air of his vehicle. He watched the passersby on the sidewalk, moving through the eerie shadows created by the bizarre mix of color from the neon lights. The snow was falling faster, cooling his desire to contact the mystery messenger and agree to the offer.
Markeson started the power plant again. Warm air from the heater, floated over his body, warming him as the image of a quiet bar came to mind. He needed a place to think carefully, to consider his options and to find the hidden traps scattered about.
THE APPROACH TO THE small spaceport took us over the prison complex, giving me a good view of the aboveground portion of the facility. From an aerial view, Graham looked like most prison complexes. A high wall, topped with sharpened razor wire encircled the prison. Six guard towers, one in each corner and two additional towers, one dead center of the exercise yard and one centered in the long, western wall, allowed for armed, sharp shooters to keep an eye open for any cons thinking of escaping or causing trouble.
Separated by the yard and its guard tower was two large cellblocks, also called housing units. The unit to the north was the women's minimum-security facility, and the unit to the south was the men's MinSec facility. Each had cells for 500 convicts.
To the east was the building that served as the prison entrance and administrative building. Just to the right of the admin building and outside the protective bubble over the prison was the small spaceport. Just north was the Warden’s home, like the spaceport, it was outside the bubble and exposed to the vacuum of space.
South of the prison was the power plant and life-support building, to the left of which was the housing units for the Correctional Officers, support staff, and their families. It was also the location of the recreational facility and cafeteria for employees.
From the air, it was a typical Alliance prison facility. Designed to confine four classifications of convicts, minimum, medium, maximum and SuperMax, there was little hope for escape. The moon Persephone had no atmosphere of any kind. A sealed dome covered the minimum-security level of Graham. Below, buried beneath the surface were the other three prisons, one below the other. There was no doubt an excellent system of detection devices to detect the sounds and vibrations from any tunneling effort were present.
Getting outside of the prison would be hard enough. Going beyond the bubble without a suit meant death. Factor in the need for a shuttle to get off the moon and it was obviously intended to be a prison where the worse of, the worse convicts were housed. Escape was nearly impossible.
As the shuttle made its final approach, it was not lost on me the danger this facility presented to anyone who entered.
Our pilot was good. I barely felt the nudge as the shuttle landed and engaged the airlock at the tiny spaceport that served the complex. I listened to the sounds of the lock cycling and the air pressure equalizing.
Without looking, I knew Josephson was shaking as he willed himself to let go of the armrests of his seat. Bones' gentle snoring came to a halt as the medical examiner stirred himself. Father Nathan was putting his tablet away in his small carry on. Anxious to get out of the shuttle, Sarah’s ever present need to escape confinement had prodded her to her feet as soon as the prison came into view. Never mind the fact regulations called for each passenger to remain seated and in safety restraints until told otherwise.
I unfastened my harness and stood, stretching in the process. The approach to the landing strip had been a circular one, allowing me to get a good over view of the entire prison complex.
On my tablet was a copy of the most recent plans for Graham and its surrounding supporting compound where the guards, their families, and other personnel lived. My team and I were about to enter a locked box in order to solve two murders, a box with only one-way out.
WELL, THEY ACTUALLY sent this Inspector Sullivan and his so-called team of experts.
Grainy lines ran through the old monitors, causing the images to pulse. Sullivan was the first to step out of the air lock. He appearance exactly as described, a long, prominent scar ran down the right side of his face from his hair line to his jaw, bisecting his right eye in the process. At two meters tall, it was obvious the Inspector was muscular and more importantly, lethal. His blues eyes did not match, a fact that would require investigation. Dressed in leather boots, old Space Marine uniform pants, a greyish shirt all of which covered in part by a great coat that reached almost to the man's feet. Several bulges, particularly one on his right hip and another under his left arm indicated Sullivan was heavily armed.
How interesting, the observer thought. This one bears watching.
Warden Corona greeted Sullivan with a handshake. Exiting the airlock was an older Earth African man, slightly stooped from age and the first signs of grey in his hair.
The medical examiner.
A priest dressed in the black garb of an Anglican priest followed next, moving with ease as he walked up to the Warden as one would when no introduction was necessary. Almost as tall and powerfully built as Sullivan, the priest moved with the lethal grace of a predator.
The priest, and a most unusual one at that.
Bringing up the rear of the group was a younger man, carrying the various containers, bags and luggage such a group would require. His face was pale, and sweat caused his hair to curl up in ringlets about his head.
The young detective assigned to the older, wiser mentor. This one has a fear of flying. I wonder what else he fears?
Growing bored,
the observer watched Sullivan introduce his team to Warden Corona. Just before rotating to another set of cameras, a hint of movement from the airlock caught the observer’s attention.
It caught the attention of Warden Corona as well.
With surprising grace, a slender woman stepped into the range of the CCTV camera. Long brown hair framed her face, a face composed of exquisite porcelain features and big brown eyes. Another floor length black trench coat hid her figure, but there was little doubt it was as refined as her face.
Facial recognition software ran, speeding through stored data. In seconds a match was found.
Well, well. What a surprise. Ellie, you never told me you had a twin.
CHAPTER SIX
I RECOGNIZED WARDEN Corona from the images I’d downloaded. He looked stressed, tired and though I knew our initial greeting would be pleasant, I doubt the man wanted us walking around his facility looking for things we shouldn’t find.
He smiled and extended his hand. Good grip, manly in fact. I expected nothing less from a prison warden.
“Inspector Sullivan, I’m Warden Corona. Glad to see you and your team made it here safely. I’ll show you to your quarters and let you get settled. Then we can talk.”
I just nodded in silence. I didn’t want to make friends with the man. I might wind up locking him up in his own prison if I did my job right. Still, it doesn’t make sense to make enemies when I don’t have to. So I smiled, nodded and turned to face my team.
“Warden, let me introduce my team. This is Bones, the M.E. who came with us. Father Nathan, who has business with your chaplain, so he hitched a ride. This is Officer Sarah and Detective Sergeant Josephson.”
Corona shook everyone's hand, in turn, smiled like a good politician, lingering only with Sarah. She frowned in response and pulled her hand from his grasp. I sensed Sarah fighting the urge to flee. Unwanted attention and the confinement of a prison would be difficult for her. The spirit of wanderlust was strong in her and a source of discomfort when she could not move when and where she chose.