by Phillip Shaw
Tatum was not aiding him today. Her usual facial make-up faux pas did not amuse him as normal, her clumsiness when walking into the room and her machine gun like rattling off the day's itinerary all grated on him like Chinese water torture. Drip by drip she was pushing herself towards expendability. Blain sat staring at the unfolding press coverage on his network. Jenny Darcy had done an excellent job over in New York. She had presented the news of the day and was now going to interview this Jason Clyne character. He uttered the name of the leader. Is he the leader or a harbinger? In any case, Blain needed more information on this person. Massaro had been only too happy to arrange an interview not surprising considering he was one of the weakest adepts in the world. Blain had always bullied him in any discussions. This will be no different.
Tatum sat staring at him. ‘What piece do you want me to run with?'
‘Use your brains, what do you think your loyal viewers would appreciate most. The temple story has the potential to be a good travel spot but I don't see it as newsworthy. Obviously, the breaking news teams are dealing with the incident at the Dome. Perhaps you should defer to your colleague Darcy and see if she has any leads on this new foundation being set up.'
Arbitan smiled when he felt the thoughts of jealousy flow from her, he let them come, there was no need to bend them back into order, she might amuse him yet this day. The programme planned he sent her on her way watching as again she dropped all her papers on the floor. One day she may push him too far but there were other things on his mind. He walked to the video wall for his weekly check in with the Magisters. The screen image flickered into life and in front of him was the bespectacled bald man who up until a few days ago was his primary adversary.
‘Schultz, I assume your weekly conference with me will have more bearing than normal this week?'
‘Thomas, you predict my every move so well I wonder sometimes if you are powerful enough to even control me but enough with the small talk. We both know what the events this week signify. I'm sure your pet agent Miller has already been in touch with you about our meeting?'
Blain hesitated, the conferences followed a set path, some jovial sparring, an undercurrent of resentment on his part and a feeling of overblown superiority coming from the other end of the screen then onto the business that Schultz needed Blaincorp to do. That was Thomas' saving grace, he had carved himself out a niche in this world and he had the power and backing to use it for his own means. Today however Schultz was different; he had a purpose and was not going to hide behind his smug smile. Today he was getting to the point.
‘Thomas cast your mind back to when we first found you. We told you who you were in this world and told you what was going to happen. The signs your news networks have picked up are the fruition of centuries of work. We need to use these stories. We need to force out these two demigods out of hiding and into our control. I think you agree that the status quo of this world is worth preserving. I want you to put these stories out to the world and see the effects; I will have agents ready in all the countries to deal with the consequences. I'm sure you have seen the incident at the wrestling arena. I already have two agents in the area and I will be directing them to investigate what happened as soon as we have finished talking. I know you and I haven't always seen eye to eye but I have kept a close watch on what you have done for yourself since we put you in position. There are some amongst our order who would have you removed but I know the potential you have.'
Blain was defenceless, looking at the cold icy stare on the other end of the screen he felt the old fears coming back. He had them buried deep, deep down where he kept his guilt and deeper still where he kept his humanity. Blain had done many things over the years, some for the order but most of them for himself. He had resigned himself to taking these with him to the grave. In fact, he remembered the phrase his father used many times growing up. ‘I'll discuss it with the devil.' Blain's father was a simple man. Simple and deadly he was a debt collector by trade. Blain only learned this one night as his father came in late. Blain's mother had died of illness when he was too young to remember leaving him with only his father Tom. Tom senior had been a soldier when he was young but left with only a medal for service, no commendations and no honour, he had just been there and young Thomas didn't even make reference to it. Blain was reading by torchlight as he heard his father come in. Young Thomas didn't have much of a family life so his books were his teachers, his books were his role models and most of all his books were his family. Whether he was learning about solving crimes or committing them the thing he craved was a convincing villain. He read books where the villain was one-dimensional a personification of evil. These books did nothing for him, he couldn't see any reason for what was being done, why was the princess being kidnapped, why did the serial killer murder the victims and why did they reveal their plans when they had the hero at their mercy. The villains he desired were the ones that had purpose and reason. They maybe didn't see their goal as evil but they had no qualms about how they got there. He was reading one such book series when the door slammed downstairs. Tom usually came in so quietly but something was wrong this time.
Thomas crept down the stairs carefully, with every creak of the floorboards his heart rate raised another notch, a quick glance up at the grandfather clock showed the time as just past midnight. He moved further and saw the light on in the kitchen. The tap was running and a bottle of whiskey was sitting on the kitchen table. He could hear the heavy breaths of his father as he was bent over the sink. He said nothing and gathering some unknown bravery to go with his curiosity entered the kitchen. He was not prepared for the sight greeting him. His father turned sensing another presence in the room and just stood staring; his face had been battered almost beyond recognition. His hands had lacerations all up the knuckles and the remains of his leather gloves were in two halves having been cut off moments before. His father spat blood into the sink and stared at his son through swollen eyes. ‘Sit down; it's time you grew up.'
Thomas sat down and listened as his father poured himself a glass of whiskey and began to tell him the night's events. He had been sent only as a helper to collect a debt owed by a promoter of bare-knuckle boxing. He and his other members had entered the building and found it deserted. The promoter had expected them and he and his fighters were waiting. His father described in detail each punch, each kick and ultimately each bone he had broken to get to the promoter who owed the money. There had been two left by the time the promoter was found cowering in his back office. A telephone call had been put in and the creditors had demanded the payment. If the payment wasn't there they knew what to do. His partner listened to the pleas of the promoter and decided to take the pay-off he offered them, Tom did not and had to take out his partner leaving him with the promoter. Thomas sat retching and tears came down his face as his father the quiet provider recounted beating the promoter unconscious with one of his boxing trophies. He walked out that night a rich man for his actions or so he said. Thomas shocked just began crying in fear until his father slapped him across the face. He lifted another glass and poured his son a drink as well. The hot fiery liquid made him retch again but soon it calmed him and he looked his father in the eye. ‘How do you do it?' His father just laughed sending more blood from his lips, ‘Son, I'll discuss things like that with the devil.'
Thomas Blain didn't need to ask where the money came from for his books, one of his villains was providing it. He wasn't one-dimensional; he was a villain with a purpose. He did what he had to and he provided for his family. He did horrible things for a reason he felt just. Blain remembered looking at the headstone of his grave the day he was buried. He only felt admiration as member after shady member came up to show their condolences for the teenager he stared at each of them in turn, never wavering and never feeling. He felt their thoughts but he left them. He had no need to manipulate them they already feared him. Here was the son of Tom ‘Stone Hands' Blain and he didn't shed a tear.
Now Blain fe
lt that old fear being rekindled in him. Schultz had been one of those easily defined villains from his books. Someone he could hate and force all his efforts into opposing. The conversation that had just finished meant there may be more layers to him that Blain had wanted to see. He wondered what his father would do as he sat back down at the desk, he pulled open the drawer and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, summoning Tatum back into the office he poured himself a drink, the fiery liquid was more expensive now, but the emotions it dulled were the same. He wouldn't cry this time and he wouldn't need a slap across the face. He hoped his father had discussed it with whoever was beyond the grave because soon enough the name Blain would be something else than what his media empire was known by, it would be feared again. He was going to make him proud; no matter what he did he was going to reach his goal.
28. The Hive
The lobby of the building was a huge open-plan space. All over there were employees immaculately coiffured working with a purpose Kim Clements marvelled at the sight. ‘Like drones, all we need to do is find a way to get to the queen bee.' She remarked. Janice stayed behind her for once as she went up to the reception desk to flash her badge.
‘Detective Clements, Homicide, we need to speak to Umberto Massaro and Jason Clyne.'
Kim watched as the receptionist lifted her eyes to meet hers. The girl was stunningly beautiful. Not a rarity in Manhattan office buildings but there was something off. Kim attributed it to the mundane nature of the job but at the back of her mind, her hunches were ringing.
‘Of course, can you take this visitor pass and wait over there with your ‘'partner'', I will get some of our security to take you to the waiting area.'
Kim felt a bit easier at the emphasis on the word partner, she was used to people mocking Janice's muscular frame and this act of normality let her concentrate on the task ahead. For a start, she was going to have to rule Jason Clyne out of the running as soon as possible. The sight of the grief-stricken friend with his poignant words earlier had really hit a nerve with her and the driven young man should be allowed to do some good. Massaro, however, was a different case. He was exactly the kind of character that she had spent a lifetime busting. Janice had remarked on the way over that he had the look of a sex offender and Kim found it hard to disagree. Tanned, exposed chest and Italian suit bore the hallmarks of an aged gigolo. The problem was that this gigolo had the means and power to do a lot in this city.
As she walked over to the seat beside Janice with their visitor passes she began watching the media coverage on the large LCD screens piped into the lobby. Blaincorp had begun their wall to wall coverage of the death of Hutchens and now, were getting a collection of talking heads to share their thoughts on the young star. The traditional montage of all the greatest shots of his career from a difficult upbringing in an orphanage and onto world success had already started to grate on Kim, her years of experience with murder had made emotional appeals like this the ultimate trigger for her cynicism. The next interview was actually taking place outside the building, a pretty blonde reporter with an English accent was struggling to think of the correct questions to ask a group of fans who had gathered at the impromptu shrine outside the door. The usual questions professional journalists asked at times like this were drawing no responses from the girls outside who probably viewed Hutchens as a sex symbol more than an athlete. Kim sighed and shook her head, having played tennis in her youth she knew talent when she saw it and before he let the fame go to his head Hutchens was one of the best.
Two black clothed private security guards came over and gestured for them to follow them, walking deeper into the building it only became more impressive, desks were packed full of paperwork and staff buzzed around them frantically, at the head of each office they walked through there was an office with a supervisor. They sat at their empty desks calmly viewing their computer screens; the whole place seemed to Kim the perfect picture of an efficient modern office building and a tiny piece of her felt jealous at the seemingly purposeful and stress-free lives the supervisors led. The pattern was repeated throughout the ground floor until they reached the elevator, the guards ushered them in and then stood outside pressing the floor number. ‘Are you not coming up with us?' Kim asked. ‘No need, there are more of us on the next floor' grunted the guard. Perturbed by this Kim turned to Janice, ‘They didn't seem as friendly as the rest of the people in here.'
‘They are probably ex-military. Dishonourable discharge or left the service for more money, did you notice their matching tattoos, must have been for a regiment or a squad or something. I have never seen it before like a red triangle; I'll check it out when we get back to the precinct.'
Kim scolded herself internally for missing the markings, but then that's why Janice was her most trusted tool; she saw the things Kim dismissed. Lying to her partner she turned ‘Of course I saw them, I just wanted to see if you did as well.' She smiled at Janice to let her know she had won this round. The elevator was continuing its journey to the pinnacle of the building. Wherever they were going it was important, they hadn't been challenged for a warrant or anything else and from experience that meant that they were either going to be dealing with an honest idiot or a clever criminal.
The floor number came up and the doors opened, instead of being greeted by more security a simple office member took them through another identikit office to a room with double doors, inside the room was clinical, white décor and white seats were set upon a black marble floor which was polished up to an obsidian shine. The only hint of emotion was a fish tank on the wall that had been built by design. The fish were swimming around in groups, clearly expensive and clearly well maintained. Taking a seat they waited assured that someone would be in to answer their questions in a few moments. The coffee table in front of them had all the latest sports magazines featuring the athletes represented by Massaro and Janice dived into the latest wrestling magazine. Lifting the NASCAR edition Kim let her mind drift for what seemed the first time since yesterday morning. She congratulated herself in her thoughts for finally waking up from the trance she had been in since the relationship ended so publically and violently. Of course, she had been branded a hero in the media for stopping the serial killer in his tracks, they thankfully played down the fact he was her lover. Lover, something that is gone from me now, at my age they will be a partner now or a companion. She re-crossed her legs and was surprised at the feel of her bare legs against each other; a whole year of wearing clothes that suited her mood had made her forget what freshly shaved legs felt like. All these sensations were coming back to her now the cocoon was coming off and she was determined to make up for lost time in work and at home maybe a career change was what was needed something to get her back in the game. This case was a temporary shot in the arm but long term she needed to do something new before she was too old.
Arbitan studied the monitor. The two women were sitting in the waiting room looking through the magazines. They were a strange pair; one of them was a huge creature. Both were dressed as females but this one could have passed as a warrior from his last battle. The other was much more interesting, she was clearly in charge and Arbitan couldn't help being drawn to her. She was sitting leafing through a magazine but her eyes were darting all over the room, searching, taking in the details. So far she was the most alert person he had discovered. Finally, this age shows potential. As well as that she had an athletic physique, certainly she was in shape despite the tell-tale signs of age around her face. Age is only relevant if you're planning to live forever. A noise behind him distracted him away from the screen. It was Massaro again, he had only discovered the servant and already he was becoming an irritant. In time, he would be broken down to a more menial position. Others more worthy would be needed.
‘My Lord, I take it you like the camera in the fish tank? I had that room installed for meetings with the order. I have copies of the meetings if you wish to see them.'
With a sigh, Arbitan turned and gave him a direct stare. Lo
oking into those eyes he saw nothing of merit. Certainly the man had the talent, he had been chosen to be one of his soldiers but beyond that the man was a coward and possibly a deviant. The alarming pictures around the office of him with young female sports stars suggested he used the talent more than he should have. Nothing disgusted Arbitan more but at this stage, needs must. He had to protect himself from any threats and find out what his enemy was doing.
Arbitan cast his mind back to the last age. The world was simpler yes but in the small time, he had been here he had experienced the same problems. The fact that he had been reborn told him the world was in balance, now he had to carefully assemble his forces as before. When he had been here previously his coming had been prophecised, many suitable candidates were revered within their tribes until he awoke. Instantly he had an advantage over everyone else on the earth, he quickly had assembled the horde needed to exert his authority on the earth. The leaders of the warring tribes had been replaced with his generals. They had been focussed and they built him a conquerors force. Smiling he remembered standing on the hill at the battleground. His army was perfectly aligned and he could see the forces of the enemy, the ‘denoucers' as they became known had started as small groups in the villages who ran away when the new leaders were placed. Soon they were more of a threat. Again and again, leaders had been killed, most of them missing their eyes. The first of them he captured was a surprise to him. He remembered the abomination being brought before him bound. The ferocity of the struggle had not been seen before. One of his generals had tried to see into the man's mind but said it was like darkness, there was nothing there only the immovable desire to destroy them. Arbitan had killed that one himself, without a moment's hesitation, the body had been burned. Over the journey to the battlefield, the enemy had shadowed them, more and more of his force had been killed until he stood opposite their leader. Reborn just as he had been for the sixth time, to do battle again for the structure of this land. Order had always triumphed over chaos and in Arbitan's mind, this time would be no different