Memoria

by Alex Bobl

  "Frank!" he heard overhead. "Frank, where are you?"

  "Here!" he stopped and raised his head. "The north side!"

  A few moments later, Maggie peered down over the platform edge.

  "I think I heard something," she waved her hand toward the south side of the building. "Some noise where we left Dad."

  "Stay where you are!" Frank swore under his breath and ran to the service exit.

  He'd stopped caring about his aches and pains a long time ago. His bruised body stung, the dislocated fingers could barely hold the axe; he could hardly move. But if he wanted to stop Claney from messing up the lives of millions, he had to keep looking for whatever had been mentioned in the surgery. Max had died for whatever it was. Barney and Maggie were risking their lives for it. He had to stop Dickens from using the transmitter.

  When Frank finally got to the service exit door, he found it open. Could Barney be looking for them because of something he'd found?

  Frank stepped inside and peered into the stairwell. It was bright and quiet.

  Bright? Why? He grasped the axe and stepped back, looking up. A stifled cry came from the landing pad. Without thinking, Frank ran up the steps to the platform and froze, stopped by Dickens' cold stare.

  Dickens held Maggie by the neck pressing her against himself. The fingers of one hand deformed and dislocated, he held a gun in his other hand pointing it at the girl's temple. Barney stood nearby, his arms hanging down, his head turned to Frank. His bruised face was covered with some fresh blood.

  "Kill him," Dickens ordered.

  Barney trundled toward Frank.

  Chapter Twenty-Three. The Final Combat

  Agent Archer radioed Jessup when his helicopter passed over the Harlem's sleeping waters. According to Archer, Claney had avoided arrest in the Town Hall by swapping bracelets with his secretary.

  "I told you so," Jessup rearranged his headphones. "You shouldn't have fallen for that. Claney's sensed we're after him. He'll try to leave New York now."

  "We control all outgoing traffic."

  "He knows everyone everywhere. Bet someone's helping him to get out of town right now."

  "Jessup? Where are you?"

  "Approaching Central Park. Will soon be in view of Memoria tower.

  "How's it going there?"

  "Our assault group has taken the ground floor. There are casualties. Memoria's security force have put up a fierce resistance. Taking it might take time."

  "Anything I can do to help?"

  "Find Claney. Use all your men available."

  "Will do."

  "Over."

  Jessup looked straight ahead where Memoria's tower studded the Manhattan skyline with lights. Somewhere there was the transmitter. Its signal would turn thousands of people into zombified soldiers. The Captain raised his face to the stars and tried to discern amid their pale glow the bright dots of army satellites on their city-bound geostationary orbits. In outer space overhead, their mirrors were now turning, ready to receive Memoria's signal and bounce it back to the electronic bracelets of all the "vaccinated" people. Vaccinated with a mnemocapsule which contained the mind lock. Once activated, the mind lock would block their will and critical thinking. A program would then decompress itself forcing its host to follow the installed procedure and obey external orders. The bracelet would start to receive and transmit information creating a weak electromagnetic field which in turn would ensure that the host's mind and body remained an obedient tool in the puppeteer's hands.

  All this was on the tape Jessup had got from the dying Floyd. And not only that. In the end, Kathleen Baker addressed the nation. She accused Claney of his crimes and spoke of her father. She didn't want his and her invention to become a money-making machine detrimental to humankind. She insisted that everyone had the right to make use of their own skills and talents.

  Agent Archer had seen the tape, too, and offered to find and arrest Claney. Jessup had his hands full with Memoria. He still had to negotiate with the migrants who'd already cut off the city's energy supplies. The corporation, though, had to have their own energy reserves. Manhattan had submerged into darkness, pierced by the sparkling needle of Memoria's tower.

  A new countdown started ticking in Jessup's head. This time though it wasn't about the investigation, nor his dismissal even. Now time itself was the issue, and he knew he might not make it. Claney had to have strong supporters in the Pentagon. He had to have the military on his side to use a whole cluster of satellites for his project.

  Claney must have started plotting this conspiracy a long time ago. It entangled many politicians, generals and scientists that Jessup had no desire of getting involved with. It was the Feds' job, let them do it. As it was, the national security and secret service couldn't react in time. By the time they kicked in, Claney and his generals would have done it. Their obedient soldiers would raze camps to the ground. Could be thousands of casualties, could be more. That meant war. That meant havoc. In the mayhem, no one would seek answers and the puppeteer would keep pulling the strings while he had the chance, making even more new fighters.

  "Turn the beam on," Jessup told the pilot. A powerful shaft of light sliced the darkness in front of the chopper. "What's the ETA on our objective?"

  "Three minutes, sir," the headphones answered.

  Jessup looked around at four special-forces men behind his back and showed three fingers to their officer. He nodded. The sniper put the encased rifle onto his lap to take it out.

  * * *

  Frank didn't move, hoping that Barney would turn around and lunge at Dickens who'd raised his gun toward the stairs. But the boxer kept walking to the edge of the landing pad. His one remaining eye glistened. He didn't seem to feel pain in his injured leg. He didn't seem to notice Maggie — a hostage in Dickens' grasp.

  He kept walking.

  "Barney, wait!" Frank shouted.

  The boxer kept going. His wide shoulders blocked out Dickens and the girl who'd moved to the platform's center.

  "Wait!" Frank took a better grip of the axe, its blade facing the boxer. "It's me, Frank Shelby! Remember?"

  The boxer now behaved similarly to how he had when they'd found him in the lab. There, he'd been strange too, until they unplugged all the machines and pulled out all the cables. He'd spoken as if he was under hypnosis. After that, some sick kind of split personality disorder must have kicked in. The boxer had punched Frank in the shoulder and stared at his own hand, looking surprised. He'd recognized Maggie and even tried to get off the bed, but winced and sat back, grasping his wounded leg.

  Now he kept walking.

  Frank climbed the steps toward him.

  "Dad!" Maggie screamed behind his back.

  A deadbolt clanged, metal against metal. Frank craned his neck to see Dickens better.

  The girl wasn't on the platform. Dickens was climbing down into an open hatch.

  The boxer kept walking. Three more steps, and Frank would be within his reach.

  Frank lunged forward, turning the axe handle up, and used it to poke the boxer's chest.

  In a smooth and well-practiced motion, Barney avoided the blow and grabbed Frank's arm. His other hand slapped Frank against the face, knocking him down.

  Frank hit the platform edge, hurting his back and nearly falling off onto the roof from a height of four meters. He was lucky the edges curled inwards. Frank rolled over, avoiding the boxer's kick, jumped up and bolted for the open hatch. Barney lunged forward blocking his way.

  Now Frank could see the landing site for what it truly was. The platform was the satellite dish; the room below, the transmitter. Dickens had gone down to activate it.

  "Barney, they've been messing with your head! They-"

  The boxer didn't let him finish. He advanced, raising his hands as he walked. Frank turned the axe blade forward hoping it would discourage him for a second giving him a chance to explain. As he walked, Barney threw one arm forward and grabbed the axe handle. Frank blocked his other hand, for
cing his elbow into the boxer's chest. He let go of the handle and jumped aside.

  He couldn't possibly overcome Barney in a hand-to-hand. He could also see that words failed to bring him out of his trance. Somehow he kept following Dickens' orders. When the transmitter started working, millions of people would be like Barney, puppets in Claney's hands.

  Frank hurried to the hatch and collapsed, his feet giving way, his mind blinded by the pain and the fear that Barney had used the blade. He sat up and looked at his feet. Both were still there. He looked up and dodged as the blade whizzed through the air.

  The axe sunk into the mesh, striking sparks, and bounced back over Barney's head. The only eye on his mask-like face glistened. He clenched his bloodied teeth and drew in air, lowering his swing, when fear and desperation flashed in his glare. Barney shuddered, burying the blade in the platform next to Frank's feet. Then he brought his knee up under Frank's chin, throwing him onto his back.

  "You've remembered!" Frank didn't care about the pain. Blood from his bitten tongue filled his mouth. Barney took another swing.

  "Remember Maggie!"

  Barney froze. He struck.

  * * *

  Dickens scrambled down the stairs into the utility room and hurled the girl in the far corner, out of the way. His right hand and fingers were broken so he had to use the left one. He shoved the gun in his belt and stepped up to the steel equipment cabinet with Memoria's phosphorescent logo glimmering on its side.

  Dickens brought the bracelet up to the lock, opened the cabinet doors and reached for the master switch.

  He cried out from a blow to the small of his back. After a moment's bewilderment, his reflexes kicked in. He ducked, turning, and thrust his left fist toward the opponent. The attacking girl ducked to one side, screamed in pain and attempted another blow.

  Against his will, he appreciated her stance. She'd apparently picked up a couple of simple moves from either Max or her father. He blocked her hand with his forearm, then missed her slight motion in the dark and suppressed a scream when her nails dug into his cheek.

  No more Mr. Nice Guy. Dickens kicked the girl back into the corner, then felt his burning cheek and winced. He licked his bloodied fingers and bared his teeth peering into the dark for her unmoving body. His hand reached for the gun and stopped. No good killing the hostage. He might still need her.

  He turned back to the cabinet and was just reaching for the switch when he heard the drone of an approaching helicopter.

  * * *

  At the last moment, the axe turned in Barney's hands, hitting Frank with the flat of the blade. He saw stars: one apparently bigger than the others, reached out its blinding beam to the tower, droning.

  He had to be still alive, otherwise he wouldn't feel the pain. Barney must have restrained himself, or even the flat blow should have smashed his skull.

  Strong hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him away from the platform. A broad bloodied face blocked out the light. Barney's lips shook as he raised his fist, his eye twitching toward the hatch.

  "Maggie's there," Frank croaked. "Your girl's there. Save her."

  The boxer opened his mouth. Then he shut his eye, shaking his head.

  "Do you remember her? Your teddy bear? She needs our help!"

  His face writhing, Barney unclenched his fist.

  "Go," he gasped and pushed Frank's shoulder. "Now!"

  Barney's voice hardened. "Take the axe!" He bent down to grab it, lost his footing and collapsed onto the platform, snorting. Frank picked up the axe and ran to the hatch.

  The opening was wide enough for him to jump down. Not thinking about the depth, Frank landed on the floor almost opposite Dickens. His hand on the master switch, the man turned his head.

  Space and time didn't allow for a good swing. Frank just stood up and lunged, the axe in his grasp.

  Timing was crucial. If Dickens stepped back, he would miss the blade. If he flipped the switch, he would lose his hand but turn on the transmitter.

  Self-preservation forced Dickens to snatch his hand back. The wide blade tore through the switchboard and smashed the circuit breaker. It crackled and hissed, sending blue and white sparks flying across the room. It turned as bright as day. The room filled with the helicopter's whirring descent. On the switchboard, lights started flashing. The stench of burned plastic filled nostrils.

  Frank pulled the axe out of the switchboard, but Dickens impeded his swing in mid-air. His fist dug into Frank's ribs, knocking the air out of him. Frank's fingers loosened, letting go of the axe.

  Dickens pulled out a gun. Frank sniffed, bending his head and shoulders, and rammed his opponent in the stomach until he pinned Dickens to the wall.

  Dickens pistol-whipped him on his back and head. Stars exploded in Frank's eyes. He collapsed into a dark void.

  * * *

  The cold air and whirring of the rotors filled the helicopter's cabin through the open door. The headphones didn't block the noise out, and Jessup had to shout commands to the pilot. The sniper moved closer to the opening and raised his rifle. Two special-force men on the other side lowered their lines, hooked themselves up and stood motionless on the chopper's wide chassis bar. Their squad leader stayed inside waiting for Jessup's command.

  The beam found the wide platform on the dark roof. On it, two men were fighting.

  Jessup craned his neck to look over the pilot's shoulder, ordering him to descend and hover over the platform. He had no idea who they were and why they fought, but he picked up the mike, about to issue a warning through the speakers when one of the fighters collapsed. The other picked up a large firefighters' axe, lunged for an open hatch in the middle of the platform and jumped inside.

  Jessup raised his hand. The squad leader touched the sniper's shoulder. Jessup didn't want to give the order to shoot until he had the whole picture. He didn't yet know which side they were on.

  "Closer!" he shouted to the pilot.

  The helicopter swayed, descending a few feet. The burly man on the platform turned his face, torn and bloodied, toward the beam. He knelt and raised his hands, shouting; Jessup couldn't discern the words above the roar. The man wavered and fell onto the platform.

  The next moment, a blond man scrambled out of the hatch and pulled out a girl. Grabbing her neck, he took cover under her, turned to the chopper and raised a gun.

  The squad leader removed his hand from the sniper's shoulder. The two men readied to descend onto the roof. The helicopter shook and swayed, preventing the sniper from taking aim for fear of hitting the girl.

  "Abort!" Jessup shouted.

  The strong hand returned to the sniper's shoulder.

  The blond man scurried to the edge of the platform when the other man emerged from the hatch. Now Jessup could see who he was. He'd seen him two days ago, in the interrogation room just before the attack on the police station. Yesterday afternoon he'd had a chance to intercept him by the camp perimeter. Finally, he'd caught up with Frank Shelby.

  Jessup could see he could barely walk, clutching at the firefighters' axe and trying to catch up with the blond man who couldn't hear his steps above the helicopter's roar.

  "Action stations!" Jessup waved to the fighters ready at their lines.

  The squad leader raised a clenched fist.

  The blond must have sensed the approaching threat. He started to turn, relaxing his grasp. The girl bit his arm. He cried out; she fought herself free and pushed him away.

  Frank Shelby took a swing-

  "Go, go, go!" Jessup shouted.

  The squad leader unclenched his fist. The soldiers slid down the lines.

  Frank lowered the axe. The man fell on his back. A barely audible gunshot resounded.

  The sniper's rifle snapped. Frank Shelby fell, too.

  "Hold your fire!" Jessup yelled. "Hold your fire!"

  The squad leader squeezed the sniper's shoulder.

  "Land," Jessup ordered the pilot and grabbed the radio calling Lieutenant Salem who was i
n charge of taking over the building.

  By the time the helicopter landed, one of the fighters stood over the burly man who lay face down on the concrete. The other was helping the girl. The squad leader had his rifle trained on Frank who sat squeezing his bleeding shoulder.

  His service revolver in his hand, Jessup ran to them, followed by the sniper. The blond man lay still. His hair bristled on the temples.

  Jessup remembered the masked attackers on 161st by the subway entrance. Judging by his height and build, the blond could have easily been in charge of the men who'd hunted Shelby. Once again his recognition skills had served Jessup well.

  "The girl and the veteran," Frank nodded at the burly man by the platform edge, "they helped me. We're not guilty. Claney and Dickens are the ones to blame..." he stopped and pointed at the blond man.

  "Search the roof," Jessup ordered. "Keep all exits under your control and contact our guys inside." He turned to Shelby. "I need to know about the transmitter."

  Frank shook his head.

  "Dickens couldn't turn the equipment on. I stopped him transmitting..." his gaze shifted to the girl who'd crossed the platform once the fighters had left it.

  She hauled the large man over onto his back, placed her hands on his disfigured face and spoke, but the rotating helicopter blades beat the air drowning out her words.

  "Please help," Shelby held out his hand.

  Jessup squeezed it, pulled it toward himself and caught a glimpse of a movement out of the corner of his eye.

  "Watch out!" Frank lunged forward.

  The blond man sat up raising a gun. His shirt was torn on his chest revealing a Kevlar vest split by the axe blow.

  A shot rang out.

  Shelby froze for a second. He looked back. Jessup lowered his gun. He stepped toward the man, who was now lying on his back, and kicked the gun aside.