by C.S. Stinton
* *
Ramirez had run security on public events of this size before. A lot of it, if she didn’t have a specific job, was to walk her assigned area and simply watch. It was impossible to say what one was looking for, other than the obvious clues of suspicious shapes under clothes, though threats did sometimes come from such incompetent sources. The rest was about observing a manner, considering a curious clothing or bag choice, but for the most part it was about knowing a problem when she saw it.
For now there were no problems. The square was heaving with people. Mayor Kelvin and his staff had arrived and were bustling about the museum hall to make ready, but she had checked each and every one of them as they came through the scanners and nothing suspicious had come up. George Kelvin had given her a polite smile and nod, all airs and graces when in public - or, if she was more generous, when she hadn’t woken him up at 0400 with an unreasonable demand - but had otherwise ignored her.
So she wandered and saw nothing, and reminded herself that this was how her job worked. She had to make the best bet she could based on the information she had, and she’d played her cards, meagre though they were, in the most sensible and strategic manner available.
Sunlight broke over the wire mesh and through the windows at the roof of the hall, all cold metal and trying to hark back to the bare-knuckle days of the early exploration of the Altair system. It wasn’t crowded enough to have her shoulder-to-shoulder as the staffers hurried about, but it was busy enough that she had to move to a corner to get privacy, and stay moving to keep an eye on as many people as possible.
Her pad beeped and she looked down at with hope. Tycho still hadn’t sent any software, but then, she’d seen no sign of the beacon yet. It was possible it wasn’t going to come into play.
Maybe it’s not a shooting. Maybe that’s for something else. Maybe Navarro ordering the lane cleared is a distraction, or -
She gritted her teeth and read the pad. Graham Locke and his staff had arrived at the side entrance and would be coming through the scanner soon, so she began moving through the crowds to see for herself. Her vantage point was next to a huge display which had been pushed to one side, upon which were several deactivated holographic displays of the first probes sent to the surface of Thor. She waited.
Locke’s security went first, and they volunteered their weapons before they pinged on the scanner. Though the track record of his staff made their being armed less than ideal, she couldn’t count this as suspicious. Then came his assistants, nothing but pads and earpieces showing up on the scans, Ms Singh carrying several pads in her pockets, but Ramirez gave them only a cursory look as she saw Locke himself step into the hall.
He wore a khaki suit and white shirt, all stylish summer resplendence, and she had to concede that he knew how to show himself in front of a crowd like this. He was presentable without fuss, respectable without being so formal as to erect a barrier between him and the common man. A leader could not simply look like one of the people, but he could not be alien to them either, could not be detached. All eyes fell on him, his arrival far more magnetic than George Kelvin’s without even trying, and Ramirez wondered if he could have sauntered in wearing sweats and still been the most important, interesting man in the room.
He handed his pad and earpiece to security, then stepped through the scanner into the thronging mass of the crowds. There was no beep from her pad, nothing automatically setting off the search for weaponry or active electronics, and with a sinking heart she looked to the display feed of what the scanner picked up.
And saw a familiar shape in Locke’s pocket. It was small and square, with a notch along the side, and her heart shot to her throat as she zoomed in. Without any active electronics it was nothing more than a hunk of metal, but all sorts of equipment could get through such a scanner by being switched off, and there was nothing suspicious about its shape, about a tiny box whose insides did nothing more than simply transmit.
Except that it was the exact size and shape of the 2288 Machenry targeting beacon. And it was in Graham Locke’s pocket.
Ramirez’s mind spun as she ran through the schedule of events ahead. Kelvin was going to be on stage first, but then Locke would join him. At the moment the men were on opposite sides of the hall, though she had seen them exchange polite nods, and with Kelvin already near the doors to the stage, surrounded by flapping staffers, she wasn’t sure they would talk face-to-face until they were in public for the whole world to see.
What’s he planning? Her brow furrowed as she watched Locke wind his way through the crowds, shaking hands, smiling. The targeting beacon, both Harrigan and Tycho had said, was sophisticated. If it worked as intended, a shot would hit within several inches of the beacon. Even if he was standing next to Kelvin and activated it, there was an awfully big risk that the shot wouldn’t be adjusted, and would hit him. But the idea that Locke himself was going to plant such a beacon on the Mayor was bewildering.
The setup of the venue had been done by Kelvin’s people. Locke’s staff were few in number and clumped around him. Would any of them get access to the Mayor, or to the podium, except for Locke himself? It was risky, but was he the only person who could reliably get the targeting beacon to its intended target?
Ramirez gritted her teeth and, against her better judgement, pressed a finger to her earpiece and muttered, ‘Tycho.’
When she got her partner’s voice through, it was a harsh whisper. ‘Here, Chief. Can’t talk much. Go.’
‘I need that scanning software, Tych.’ Ramirez moved through the crowd to keep pace with Locke, trying to not lose sight of him. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Scanning done. Interface needed. Nurses passing by door and looking at me funny. Gonna drug me in a minute.’
‘Damn it - I don’t need the interface.’
‘Can you read coding and global coordinates down to the nearest inch?’
Ramirez scowled as the crowd thickened between her and Locke. ‘Just a map. Get me a map.’ She edged sideways, trying to get a clear angle in vain, but she didn’t want to go elbowing through the masses and set him off that she was watching.
‘I can - hold on.’ Tycho’s voice cut off and she heard a rustling, then background murmuring. Someone else was in the room, and she could pick up the odd word of chastisement about rest needed and falsely sleepy assent from Tycho. Then a door shutting, and when Tycho spoke again she was clearer. ‘Okay, this is going to go interestingly. They’re gone but I don’t have very long before these painkillers kick in.’
‘Are you kidding me?’
‘It’s fine, Chief. I got an idea. Program will be with you in less than five minutes. Best I’m silent now.’
Ramirez cursed - then the crowds parted in front of her. She had been forced to shoulder her way through the fuss, even in her uniform, but Graham Locke had no problem getting people to move before him. ‘Commander Ramirez.’
She pasted a smile on her face, and tried to not swear as she heard the roar from the crowd. While she’d been paying attention to Locke, George Kelvin had taken the stage. She prayed she was right about the targeting beacon - and prayed that if she wasn’t, then Harrigan would do his part.
For the moment it was out of her hands.
‘Mister Locke. Good luck today.’
‘Thank you. I must say I’m surprised to see you here.’ His smile didn’t reach his eyes as he extended his hand. ‘I think you’ll find it quite something. It might even change your opinion of me.’
For a moment she considered grabbing him, yanking the beacon from his pocket, demanding what he was doing with military hardware. But if the serial numbers had been filed off she couldn’t link it to Ragnarok, and while it was odd it was inconclusive. It wasn’t the smoking gun she needed. She just hoped that proof didn’t actually come at the end of a smoking gun.
So instead she just shook his hand. ‘I look forward to it.’
‘Good. It’ll be a sight to see.’ His smile remained and he nodded. ‘
If you’ll excuse me, I’d best be on my way. I have all of a minute.’
Then he swept past, his security and the disapproving Ms Singh in his wake and, heart thudding in her chest, Ramirez pressed her finger to her ear. ‘Tych, I’m not kidding.’
Her partner’s voice was slurred when it came back. ‘Think I got it. Transmittin’ it now.’
‘Tych, are you high?’
‘Yep! Enjoy.’
Ramirez made her way through the crowd to the Mayor’s side of the stage, Locke taking the other end of the entrance. She could hear Kelvin’s voice booming over the speakers as he spoke of his vision for Hardveur, of what a dedicated public servant of the city, of Thor, of the people, that Graham Locke had been and continued to be.
Time was running out.
Her pad beeped, and her jaw dropped. ‘Tych, this is a restaurant finder.’
‘Technic’ly it’s a fast-food-finder. It’ll show you the nearest Doug’s Dippin’ Delights!’
Ramirez opened the program, and while she was treated to a map of the immediate area, zoomed in so the plaza and hall filled the screen, in the corner was the bright red triple-D of the fast food joint’s logo. ‘Don’t Stop Dippin’!’ her pad chimed cheerfully.
‘Oh my God,’ she breathed. ‘You’re way too high -’
‘No! Listen! Seriously! You need a UI to interpret the scannin’ code! I just used the UI on the DDD-finder an’ slapped it on top of the scanner! It works, it’s designed to pick up a signal an’ show you on the map where it is! When the beacon’s switched on, it’ll show it!’
‘But it’ll think the targeting beacon is a dip-shop.’ Ramirez couldn’t remember the last time her gut had gone so cold with blind panic.
‘Imagination, Chief -’ Then there was the noise of a door flying open, the surprised and indignant shout of a nurse, and the line went dead.
Her breathing was ragged as she pressed her earpiece again. ‘Harrigan, Ramirez. Tell me you’ve found the sniper.’
Harrigan’s voice was tense when it crackled through. ‘Wish I could help, but there’s a lot of sky out here. I’m looking!’
‘Look faster! Kelvin’s on the stage already!’ She killed the comm without waiting for a response.
It’s just me, my gun, and the DDD-finder.
I’m so fucked.
Ramirez clutched the pad and almost crashed into Cheng as she burst into the mass of Kelvin’s staffers at the side of the stage. They were separated from the crowd by tarp and barriers, but she could see the stage, see the speakers and screens up and around the Mayor, who stood up on the podium talking to the frenetic crowd still on tenterhooks. Behind him was a huge display screen showing a static picture of the logo of the Citizens for Liberty movement.
Cheng grabbed her shoulder to steady her. ‘You all right, Commander?’
‘I-’
‘-introduce my great friend, and this great public servant, Graham Locke!’
The roar of the crowd was deafening, and Ramirez looked to the stage to see Locke trotting up the steps from the other side to join Kelvin, waving a hand to the adoring masses. She didn’t think she’d felt so nauseated outside of airsickness when he put his arm around the other man.
She snatched the lapel of Cheng’s jacket. ‘You need to get him down from there,’ she hissed, and the only thing she could be grateful for was that her makeshift signal scanner hadn’t yet gone off. Assuming Tycho had programmed it properly while sedated.
Cheng scowled. ‘What’s going on?’
‘You have to!’
He looked at her eyes, looked back on the stage, and his frown deepened. ‘Mister Locke’s going to talk now. The Mayor’s - see, he’s surrendering the podium, he’ll be to one side -’
‘I need you to get him down. It’ll just take a minute.’ She had no intention of letting Kelvin back on stage, but Locke had to have slipped the targeting beacon on him at the greeting. Once she found it on Kelvin, it’d be game over.
Kelvin indeed stepped to one side to surrender the podium to Locke. The security chief lifted a finger to his earpiece and muttered and, as Locke launched into his enthused welcome to the crowd, Kelvin frowned over at them. Cheng shrugged, gestured to Ramirez, and she could see Kelvin forcing back his scowl as he slipped from the stage to join them.
The crowd didn’t care. Their eyes were on Locke.
‘What do you think you’re doing, Commander?’ Kelvin said. ‘This is an important -’
‘Mister Mayor, I need to check your pockets,’ Ramirez said, abandoning courtesy. ‘Lift your hands.’
Cheng’s face was like thunder. ‘What do you think you’re accusing him of -’
‘Someone has planted something on you, sir!’ She grabbed Kelvin’s arms to jerk them up. The staffers drew back with horror, and Cheng planted a hand on her shoulder.
‘Step away from the Mayor, right-’
‘I am a Confederate Marshal and you will get your hands off me or I will have you on charges of obstructing an investigation -’
For a moment she thought Cheng was going to pull her back, then Kelvin lifted his hands. ‘Please, Mister Cheng, let her do her work, if it satisfies the Commander.’
His voice dripped with condescension but she didn’t care. ‘Hold this,’ she snapped at Cheng, shoving her pad into his hands, and began patting Kelvin down, starting with his trouser pockets. Nothing. Inside pocket of his jacket. Nothing. Back pocket.
Nothing.
Kelvin forced a smile. ‘Satisfied, Commander?’
Ramirez exhaled, horrified. ‘I don’t…’
She’d been ignoring everything Locke was saying, but he was a superb public speaker, and something about the timbre and volume of his next sentence bore through her horror and tension with perfect clarity.
‘…I call an end to these protests, because we are going to change the government from the inside. Ladies and gentlemen, with great pleasure and the endorsement of George Kelvin, I hereby announce my candidacy for the Senate!’
The roar of the crowd was deafening, but Ramirez barely heard that. It was as if someone had dunked her in a bucket of ice water, and the only thing which broke through was her pad’s dormant screen flashing to life in Cheng’s hands and squawking, ‘Don’t Stop Dippin’!’
Cheng stared. ‘What the-’
She snatched the pad to look at the screen, at the map so zoomed in that the stage was huge. When the bright red ‘DDD’, the logo of Doug’s Dippin’ Delights flashed up, there was no mistaking that it was located directly on top of the podium.
Directly on top of Graham Locke.
Her jaw dropped. ‘…he’s not part of this, he’s the target -’
She was running before she knew what she was doing, shoving past a protesting Cheng and Kelvin, leaping up the steps to the stage in one go. Locke was still smiling and waving at the sheer exuberance of the crowd’s reaction, and his first sign something was wrong was when her shoulder thudded into his side to tackle him to the ground.
The second sign something was wrong came a heartbeat later, when a bullet tore through the display screen behind him.
15
The timer on the dashboard clicked over, and Harrigan sat up. Ten minutes. Time to move. There was no telling when a Ragnarok shooter would be in position and he didn’t want to spook anyone, but he couldn’t leave it too late. The audio feed piping through his car jabbered with the news of the event, though with nobody on stage yet it was nothing more than an excitable description of the crowd’s feelings. Harrigan ignored it.
He brought the car engine to life with its high-pitched whine, followed by the low hum of the repulsors, and slowly the vehicle tottered a foot above the floor. He hadn’t moved from the dark, narrow access tunnel, and so it was at a steady pace that he eased forward, the curved hood nudging against abandoned refuse bins and bags as it slid towards daylight.
It was almost blinding. For once the sun was shining down on Hardveur, and he cursed it because that was going to make
spotting a vehicle in the sky ten times harder. At such short notice there’d been no way for them to get their hands on any traffic scanners, not without the help of the HCPD, so he was going to have to use the old-fashioned Mark I Eyeball.
Sunlight reflected off the towers of Hardveur to shine down and dazzle him, and Harrigan looked away and towards First Landing Plaza. He could only spot it because he knew where to look, but all he could see, even if he lifted the spare pad of Tycho’s that Ramirez had given him and used its camera zoom, was the top of the wire mesh.
If I can’t see it, neither can they, he reasoned, and tugged the car’s controller down to pull the nose up.
There was a lot of sky to hunt, and not a lot of time.