by Guy Salvidge
“I should have been there.”
“So you could have been shot yourself? What good would it have done? I’m surprised Sinocorp handed you over this quickly, though. Must be a record for them.”
“They’re in damage control, I think,” she said.
He shook his head. “Too late for that. Nothing’s going to bring those three kids back to life.”
“It isn’t your fault, Eli.”
“No, but they’re going to make it my fault now, aren’t they? I’m an ideal scapegoat.”
“You didn’t throw those grenades.”
He smiled slyly. “No? I’ll let you in on a secret.”
“They’ll hear you,” Sylvia said. “They have eyes and ears in here.”
“I don’t care,” he said. “Let her hear what I have to say.”
“Let who hear?”
“You know who I mean.” He stared at her. “Yes you, Superintendent.”
“All right,” Sylvia said. “Tell me your secret.”
“She betrayed me just like she’ll betray you. Those grenades didn’t come from us. I saw it happen.”
“Who threw them then?”
“There was a crowd of us,” Eli said. “A hundred or so, the real diehards. But there were more police than protesters, plus the media. People milling around everywhere. We were right up against the gate. I only saw the second grenade being thrown, not the first, and not the ones that came after.”
“Did you see who threw it?”
He shrugged. “Guy about my age, dressed like us, standing with us. But I never saw him before and he wasn’t there afterwards. He wasn’t one of those who ended up being shot.”
“You’re sure he wasn’t a student?”
“One hundred percent sure. He must have slipped away through the police cordon.”
“You’re saying the police did this?”
“I am. Killed two birds with one stone. Now CIQ Sinocorp and Misanthropos are both in tatters. Who’s the winner here? Think about it.”
“People are dead because of this,” Sylvia said. “Are you sure it was the police?”
“Had to be. No one else could have made it through the cordon. Hell, we were searched by the police on our way to the gate yesterday morning. You think we would have been able to get grenades through?”
“Why would the police want to do that to CIQ Sinocorp?” she said, but she knew the answer already: politics. It was Lyncoln Rose, the puppeteer: it had always been her.
“Jeremy Peters is dead,” she added. “Threw himself off a building last night.”
Eli looked up at her. “Really? Poor bastard. He was a strong speaker. He really whipped us on Friday.”
“He certainly did.”
“But Lyncoln had the last laugh, didn’t she? I guess I should be pleased in a way. Sinocorp will never live this down. So much for their expansion.”
“Good riddance to them.”
“I agree, but not like this,” he said. “Three dead, Tamara shot in the leg, and now they want to pin it all on me. There’s only one way out of this. Want to know what it is?”
“Tell me.”
“There must be footage of the grenades being thrown. There were plenty of reporters hanging around, one of them must have filmed it. We need to be able to show that the guy who threw the grenades wasn’t one of us. He came out of the police cordon, I’m sure of it. Find that footage and we’re in with a chance. Now look: I can see how this is going to play. You and Rion, you’re off scot-free. They’ll probably want you to testify against me, so go ahead. You know I never meant for it to end like this. That bitch sold me down the river.”
“She’s listening. You know that,” Sylvia said.
“Good! I never should have trusted you, Lyncoln. You won, but look at all the corpses stacked up behind you. Fuck.” He smacked the desk with both hands.
“You mean you’ve spoken to her before?”
“Doesn’t matter now,” he said, looking away.
“It matters to me. I’m trying to understand.”
“She helped us get off the canvas,” Eli said. “Helped give us a boost.”
“How, Eli? How did she help?”
He looked at her through bloodshot eyes. “You don’t want to know, trust me.”
She leaned across the desk. “Tell me.”
He sighed. “Misanthropos is supposed to be about population control, isn’t it? Well you can’t have a movement like that unless someone is willing to jump first, can you? That was always the problem.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So David offed himself at a really useful time, didn’t he? Couldn’t have timed it better.”
“You’re saying he didn’t kill himself? How could you know that, Eli? Or are you making it up as you go?”
“It’s true, Sylvia. I’m sorry.”
“How do you know?”
He opened his mouth but the words did not come to him immediately. “I know because she told me. She arranged it. Just like she arranged those grenades. You can ask her yourself.” He crossed his arms. “Get me that footage of the grenade thrower and it’ll prove everything. Although I don’t know why I bother asking, if the footage even exists, then they’ll get a hold of it first. I shouldn’t have mentioned it to you, but what the hell. You’ve probably covered that base already, haven’t you, Lyncoln?”
“We’ll talk more later,” Sylvia said, rising.
“No, we won’t.”
“Goodbye, Eli.” She turned to go and the officers let her out. Then she was taken along the corridor to another interview room. Rion was waiting for her there, his right hand bandaged.
“How did it go?” he asked.
She sat down next to him. “He thinks the police staged the attack.”
“Fuck, really?”
“Really. And he says that Lyncoln Rose had David killed.”
Rion touched her arm. “I don’t believe that,” he said. “Do you?”
“I don’t know.”
A police officer appeared at the door. “This way, please,” he said. Sylvia and Rion followed him along the corridor and down a flight of steps to another door. The door was closed and the nameplate read SUPERINTENDENT. The police officer ushered them inside and they sat down before the Superintendent herself, stern and implacable. The screen on the desk showed the view from Sylvia’s perspective. “You’ve done an excellent job, both of you,” she said, switching off the screen. “All that’s left now is to discuss the terms of your release back into the community.” She shuffled some papers on her desk.
“Did you have David killed?” Sylvia asked.
“No. Those allegations are the ravings of a madman and nothing more. Eli’s claim that I somehow engineered or facilitated the grenade attack on Yellowcake Springs is pure fantasy. The Australian Federal Police does not involve itself in such desperate actions. These are solely the provenance of terrorist groups such as Misanthropos. Eli may not have thrown the grenades himself, but he pulled the pins on them, so to speak.”
“What about the news footage?”
“There is no news footage,” the Superintendent said. “There were only two camera crews in the vicinity and neither were filming at the time. We’ve checked.”
“Surely Sinocorp will have footage of the incident?” Sylvia asked.
“Undoubtedly, yes, and we shall seek access to it immediately, but this will take some negotiating.” The Superintendent stacked the papers on her desk. “Any further questions?”
“I have a question,” Rion said. “When do I get my six months of pay from the CPF?”
Lyncoln Rose smiled thinly. “Very promptly, I can assure you. In fact we will be paying you a significantly larger stipend than that offered by the Civilian Police Force. It will be more than enough for you to live on comfortably without the necessity of looking for work.”
“In exchange for?” Sylvia asked.
“In exchange for the services you have already provided to the AFP and the Aust
ralian people,” the Superintendent said.
“How long will this stipend last?” Rion asked.
“That is yet to be determined.”
“So that’s really us finished?” Sylvia asked. “I don’t believe it, there must be a catch.”
“No catch, except that we may, from time to time, call on one or both of you to provide depositions, interviews or other minor services to the AFP in relation to the substantive matter already concluded.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Sylvia said. “It sounds vague.”
“I’m sorry that I cannot be more specific at this time.”
“What about the SCAs?” Rion asked. “When will they be removed?”
“Your SCAs will not be removed at this juncture. They will remain until such a time that the threat of the re-emergence of Misanthropos or a similar organisation is deemed to have passed.”
“What?” Rion said. “So we’re still working for you, then. Indefinitely.”
“I wouldn’t call it work,” Lyncoln Rose said, “but if you want to think of it as working, fine. The salary package on offer to you is more than generous.”
“What if we don’t cooperate?” Sylvia asked. “What if we were to go to the media with Eli’s allegations?”
“Then you will face charges of conspiracy alongside him,” the Superintendent said. “You are faced with a simple choice: indefinite incarceration with no hope of release, or relative freedom and financial independence.”
“You’re paying us to keep quiet,” Rion said.
“I wouldn’t put it as crudely as that.”
“But I would,” he persisted. “You could have us killed, couldn’t you? It’d be cheaper.”
“You are Australian citizens.”
“So were those three students shot dead,” Sylvia pointed out.
“Correct, but they were shot by CIQ Sinocorp border guards and not the AFP,” Lyncoln Rose said. “You must put Eli’s spurious allegations aside if we are to proceed.”
“I need a place to live,” Rion said. “My apartment will have been rented out to someone else.”
“You will each be assigned one within walking distance of the CBD.”
“I’m taking the deal,” Rion said. He held out his hand, but the Superintendent clearly did not intend on shaking it. He shrugged. “Sylvia?” he said.
“I don’t know what to think when everybody lies to me all the time,” she said.
“You have been working for the AFP since the day of your release from Symonston Prison,” Lyncoln Rose said. “Without my intervention, the charges against you would never have been dropped.”
“So what you’re saying is that I didn’t have a choice,” Sylvia said.
“Correct.”
“And I don’t have a choice now. Not a meaningful one.”
“Correct.”
“So what are we talking about? We’re free to go?”
“Let me make one point crystal clear to you,” the Superintendent said. “When you walk out that door you will have your freedom, but this freedom can and will be revoked the moment you display an inclination to conspire against the AFP. This includes any time spent in Controlled Dreaming or Controlled Waking State, should the latter ever become more widely available. You will both be monitored carefully at all times.”
“We get it,” Rion said.
The Superintendent pushed a stack of papers across the desk toward him. “Sign on the third, sixth and final pages,” she said, handing him a ballpoint pen, a rarity in these times.
Sylvia was given her own copy of the contract and she thumbed through it. “I’d need a law degree to understand all this,” she said. “Are you going to provide us with a lawyer?”
“No.”
“Then this is probably illegal.”
“Do you have a lawyer to prove it?” the Superintendent asked. “I hear they’re expensive.”
Rion had already signed his paperwork and Sylvia glanced over at what he’d written on the back page: R SAUNDERS in large block letters. “We’re really doing this?” she asked him.
“I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I’m tired of pushing trolleys in a hospital and I don’t want to go back to the CPF either. Come on, let’s get out of here. We have three years’ worth of catching up to do.”
Sylvia signed without making much of an effort at reading the terms and conditions. She figured that Rion was probably right in that the AFP could bump them off if they really wanted to, so she might as well take what she could get now. She handed the contract back to the Superintendent.
“So we’re done,” Rion said.
Lyncoln Rose briefly paged through the contracts. Satisfied, she put them aside. “We’re done,” she said. “Now you’re going to walk out that door and an officer will escort you to your new apartments. Your first payment will be processed tomorrow morning, so in the interim you’ve each been credited two thousand dollars on your Hub-Nexus accounts. We’ve even had new cards printed for you and these are available at reception.”
Rion took Sylvia’s hand, surprising her. “Ready?” he said.
She thought about it. “Ready.”
They walked.
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