by Mick Farren
Kline
The TV in the C86 computer section was tuned to the pre-censor satellite feed for the arrival of Proverb in the square out front. Cynthia had quickly discovered that a posting to C86 was supposed to be something of a privilege. All the women there were exceedingly pretty and very free in their interpretations of the standard uniform. They also did very little except work on their nails and talk on the phone. C86 was a data access pool for a group of senior deacons, particularly senior deacons who liked to stop by, chat with pretty gills, and invite them to dinner. It was considered diplomatic to accept at least some of the invitations. Cynthia had decided to play that part by ear.
There was a ripple of interest as the motorcade made its way slowly through the crowd in front of the building. One of her colleagues, a petite blonde called Toni, with soap-opera hair and perfect makeup, looked up from her bootleg copy of Elle.
"They're really making a production out of all this."
Her friend Laura was well informed but tended to chew gun. She was reputed to be the mistress of Senior Deacon Spencer. She snapped her gum and looked up at the TV screen. "Proverb's got to work it for all he's worth. He's got his ass in a vise. It's only the president that's keeping him out of Joshua."
Cynthia was aware that Harry Carlisle was down in the crowd somewhere. He had called her a number of times and twice stopped by her apartment late at night. She knew that she was running an unreasonable risk by involving herself with someone, particularly someone with such a dubious political reputation, but she just could not bring herself to turn him away.
Proverb was getting out of the car. The camera was jostled by a uniformed cop, and the feed cut to a long shot from a helicopter. It came back to show a close-up of Proverb preparing to mount the steps to the podium that had been set up. Suddenly there was some sort of commotion and the sound of shots on the audio. The women's attention was riveted to the screen.
"My God, have they shot him?"
Carlisle
As the man lunged, there was a slow-motion moment of chaos. Confused hands reached out for him. The two bodyguards were the fastest to react. Rashid Murjeen dived to the floor, taking Proverb down with him. There were three shots. The crowd was screaming. The attacker was instantly buried under a pack of bodies. Everyone's gun was out, and an explosion of panicked firing threatened.
Carlisle was yelling as loud as he could, trying to cut through the confusion of voices. "Stay cool! Hold your fire! Hold your fire!"
Cops were already clearing the area. Carlisle pulled out his lieutenant's shield and pushed his way through. Someone was shouting for paramedics.
"There's a man down here!"
At first he thought the victim was Proverb. But, though blood covered the preacher's white suit, Proverb was being helped to his feet by Joe Don Cutler. Rashid Murjeen was stretched out on the sidewalk. A uniform was bending over him, gloves off, feeling for his pulse.
"He's dead," the man announced.
Carlisle looked quickly around. Two uniforms and two plain-clothes men had the gunman pinned to the ground; a cameraman was down on his knees shooting into the killer's face. A half-dozen more officers stood around him with their guns out. Carlisle hurried over to the group.
"Don't hurt him! We want him alive!" he ordered.
"Do we move him?"
"Take him to one of our holding cells. Do everything you can to keep the deacons away from him."
The assassin was picked up and taken into the building at a run.
Carlisle shouted to Reeves. "Go in with them and do your best to head off the deacons."
He turned his attention to Proverb. With Cutler standing protectively over him, the preacher was kneeling on the sidewalk in an attitude of prayer. The cameras were working overtime. Carlisle could not believe that the man could be that cool. He held out his badge.
"Lieutenant Harry Carlisle, Reverend Proverb. I think we should get you inside."
"I think it's more important that I talk to the people and calm their fears. There must not be another riot."
Carlisle had to admit that Proverb was right. He just could not believe that the man could be so composed so soon after an assassination attempt and with one of his bodyguards dead on the ground. He glanced at Cutler.
"So, shall we get him onto the podium?"
Cutler looked worried. "Are you sure you want to do this, chief? There might be other shooters out there."
Proverb nodded. "We have to do it. There must be no more trouble."
"If you're certain."
Carlisle rounded up a small squad of PD detectives and started for the stage. They formed a worried, watchful knot around Proverb as he stepped up to the microphone. There were shouts from the crowd as they saw the blood on his clothes. He quickly held up a hand.
"There's no need to panic. I'm okay. There was an attempt on my life but it wasn't successful. The man has been arrested. The police have him."
Carlisle had to admit that even without the special effects, the preacher had immediate control of the crowd. He talked to them, and they listened. It was a simple but powerful rapport.
"I guess I should be thanking the good Lord for my deliverance from the assassin's bullet, but my heart is heavy. Rashid Murjeen, my good friend and loyal employee, is dead. He was killed by the bullet that was meant for me."
A hush spread through the crowd. They seemed unsure about how to react. Proverb was safe, but there was still death in the air.
"These are terrible times, my friends. Terrible times. My heart is full, and I can hardly talk."
Carlisle observed that Proverb had no visible difficulty in talking. The cops around him had started to relax a little now that no second gunman had appeared. Carlisle wondered how long the man intended to speak. He would be a lot happier when the whole thing was over.
"Remember one thing, though. No matter how dark the clouds may seem, do not lose heart. The Lord is with us. He has not forsaken us. The forces of evil sorely try us, but we must have courage and we must have faith. We know that we will triumph in the end and come to our promised reward."
There were shouts of 'amen' from the crowd. Proverb had certainly calmed them down. It was little wonder that the deacons and the hierarchy were frightened of him. He seemed to be able to do anything with a mass of people, no matter what the circumstances.
Proverb pointed to the CCC building behind him. "I have to enter this place and talk with the people inside." He made it sound as if he were about to brave the portals of hell. "Before I go, however, let us share a moment of silent prayer. Let us pray for the soul of Rashid Murjeen."
Proverb clasped his hands and bowed his head. The crowd followed suit. Some of the cops did the same, while others maintained their watchful vigil. After about a minute, Proverb raised his head and blessed the crowd. Carlisle could imagine the TV images: Proverb in his bloodstained suit surrounded by praying cops in full armor. There was even enough of a breeze to ruffle his hair. The footage was going to be classic.
"May the Lord be with you and keep you from harm."
Proverb turned to Joe Don Cutler, instantly businesslike. "Shall we get moving?"
Cutler nodded, and they started toward the steps. Carlisle was part of the immediate escort that followed them down. At the foot of the steps, Rashid Murjeen's body was being loaded into the morgue wagon. Proverb glanced back at Carlisle.
"Do we have a name on the gunman?"
"We don't, but they should have run something on him inside by now."
"Do the deacons have him?"
Carlisle shook his head. "I certainly hope not. Officially, it's still a police department case, and I gave orders that the deacons should not be allowed to question him. The deacons, unfortunately, have ways of overriding PD orders."
Proverb looked grim. "I want to know all about the man as soon as possible."
"Where will you be?"
Proverb gave him a hard look. "That remains to be seen."
Carli
sle realized that Proverb was frightened. Although perfectly understandable, it came as a complete surprise. Up to that point, the man had seemed so totally in control.
They entered the building. The big hall was a scene of tension and confusion. The steel shutters were down on all but one pair of doors, and the covers were off the concealed gun emplacements from which robot ultralight machine guns could sweep the entire area. Squads of guards, both police and deacon, looked as if they were expecting the mob to storm the citadel at any moment. Carlisle had not noticed them around when the shooting had gone down. Steel boots clattered on the marble floor and echoed around the high white dome of the ceiling that was supposed to symbolize judicial purity. Other officers simply milled about.
A loud argument was taking place in front of the main bank of elevators. Reeves and a solid block of stone-faced uniforms were refusing to let a gang of deacons, led by a senior deacon called Spencer, into the elevator that went directly to the basement holding cells. Carlisle was glad to see that his boys were holding their own.
As soon as Spencer spotted Proverb, he pulled his team away from the potential Mexican standoff with Reeves and his uniforms and hurried to intercept. He waved excitedly to the men around him, pointing at Proverb. "Arrest that man! Arrest him!"
Carlisle and Cutler moved as one. Both had their hands on their guns.
"Nobody arrests anybody!" Carlisle dragged out the old.357 and waved it at the nearest deacon. "This man is under my protection, and I'll shoot anyone who lays a hand on him."
That produced a much-needed pause. Spencer was glaring at him with the outrage of a shark that had just been deprived of lunch.
"Have you gone insane, Carlisle?"
"Maybe."
"I order you to turn that man over to me and then instruct your men to let me interview the assassin you have in custody."
Carlisle gave the senior deacon a long hard look and slowly shook his head. Reeves and his men were there providing backup. Carlisle had the edge if any of the deacons wanted to go the distance.
"I was given the responsibility of keeping this man alive, and until I'm told otherwise by someone a good deal more convincing than you, I intend to go on doing exactly that. As for the assassin, he's the suspect in my investigation, and nobody gets him until I'm through. There's going to be no coverup on this business. That's the official stance. Unofficially, I don't trust you bastards farther than I can spit."
"Very well put, Lieutenant, although I don't think it'll make you many friends."
Carlisle knew that voice. He turned. Deacon Matthew Dreisler, with his inevitable entourage, had made another of his entrances. Carlisle's eyes were cold. "You're not having him, either."
Dreisler laughed. "You're good, Carlisle. You're really good. You're like something out of the twentieth century."
"You're not getting him."
Dreisler lowered his dark glasses and peered at Carlisle over the black rims. "I suggest you ask the Reverend Proverb about that."
Carlisle looked at Proverb. "What's he talking about?"
Proverb hesitated before he answered."I think I should probably go with Deacon Dreisler."
Carlisle's jaw dropped. "With him? Do you know who he is? He's the top deacon headhunted."
"I think, in this situation, Deacon Dreisler could provide me with a certain… how shall I put it… a neutral corner?"
Carlisle smelled a rat. "What's going on here?"
Dreisler quickly glanced at Spencer. "I don't think we need detain you any further, Deacon Spencer."
Spencer was not ready to be summarily dismissed just like that. He was so angry that he seemed to have forgotten with whom he was dealing. "If you think I'm letting Carlisle – "
"I'll deal with Lieutenant Carlisle." Dreisler's voice was as smooth as silk.
Again Spencer missed the point. "He threatened me with a gun, damn it."
"I said that I'd deal with Lieutenant Carlisle."
The hint of steel in Dreisler's voice was not wasted on Spencer. He stiffened and his voice became clipped and curt. "I'll take my men back to the twenty-third floor."
Dreisler smiled. "That's a good idea. I'll stop by your office later and we'll talk."
Spencer looked as if that was the last thing he wanted. He contented himself with barking at his men as they passed Reeves and his squad on their way to the elevators. Once they were gone, Dreisler turned his attention to Carlisle.
"What are we going to do with you, Harry? You seem to be a born troublemaker."
"I try to avoid it."
"Some of my brother officers were ready to nail you a few days ago."
"Fortunately they didn't."
"They'll try again."
"I'll face that when the time comes."
"You shouldn't fight with me, Harry. I could be a valuable ally."
Carlisle's face was blank. He was growing more and more certain that Dreisler was up to something exceedingly devious. He had had that feeling when they had met in the house on Fifteenth Street, and now it was stronger than ever. For some bizarre and probably unwholesome reason, Dreisler seemed to be trying to befriend him.
"I'll remember that," he told the deacon.
It was Carlisle's turn to be treated to the Dreisler smile. "Please do that."
With that, Dreisler seemed to have finished with Carlisle. He directed a half bow to Proverb. "Perhaps we should be going."
Proverb offered his hand to Carlisle. His grip was firm and assured. The professional TV smile came on.
"I really am grateful for all the care you've taken of me, Lieutenant Carlisle, but I do think it would solve a lot of problems if I went with Deacon Dreisler."
Carlisle could not figure what the two of them were up to, and he was deeply suspicious. "What is this? Protective custody?"
"I think I'll merely be Deacon Dreisler's guest."
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"
"Lieutenant, I know what I'm doing."
Carlisle sighed. "I'll still need to talk to you about the murder of Rashid Murjeen. "
"That can be arranged through my office."
Carlisle faced Dreisler. "And do you want the hit man as your guest, as well?"
Dreisler laughed. "No, I'd rather you conducted the interrogation. My people can get a little impatient. Torture gets confessions; I think you might get the truth."
Carlisle stood and watched them go. Was there really an alliance between Proverb and Dreisler? It hardly seemed possible. Was Dreisler really so sure of his power that he would embrace a man that most of the other deacons would be happy to hang?
Reeves stepped up beside him. "What was that all about?"
Carlisle shook his head. "I'm damned if I know."
"So what do you want me to do?"
It was time to get on with business.
"Stick with me. We'll go and talk to our assassin."
Kline
What the hell was going on down there? After the shooting, the unedited TV pictures became a confused jumble of fleeting images. There were the panicking spectators, the running police, the big Muslim bodyguard stretched out on the sidewalk, a mass of men wrestling someone to the ground, and Arlen Proverb being helped to his feet with blood all over his clothes. The camera work was jerky, unsteady, and fragmented as the crews, completely taken by surprise, desperately tried to focus on what was really happening. Suddenly, for almost a minute, the screen went dead, as if the satellite feed had been killed. During that time all the women in C86 talked at once. It seemed that everyone knew someone who was on duty down there. How many shots had there been? Was it only the bodyguard that had been hit? Was Harry all right?
Then the picture came back. Aden Proverb was speaking from the podium, still in his bloody white suit, calming the crowd. Cynthia spotted Harry standing right behind him. At least Harry was not hurt. Proverb seemed to have a calming effect even on the women in C86. They watched the screen, looking for any last snippet of information.
"Seems like only the black was killed."
"There were a lot of shots."
"Surely he'd say if anyone else was hit."
"I don't trust that Proverb."
There was a full close-up of Harry as the party was coming down from the podium. Despite telling herself that it was insane for a woman in her situation to act girlish about a man, Cynthia felt a distinct thrill seeing him on the screen.
"They're coming back into the building."
Some of the women left to see what was going on. Cynthia sat tight. She would wait for ten minutes and then try to get Harry on the phone. Then Senior Deacon Spencer stormed into the section. He seemed furious. He whispered angrily to Laura. In the middle of the conversation, he looked up and spotted Cynthia. He glared at her.
"Are you Kline?"
"Yes, sir. I'm Kline."
"The one who shot those rioters awhile back and got on television?"
"That's right, sir."
"You've been seeing that bastard Carlisle, right?"
Cynthia did not like this at all. "I dated him a couple of times. It was nothing serious."
"If you see him again, tell him something from me, will you?"
"If I see him, sir."
"Tell him he's dead meat. I mean it. Tell him he's history."
"Just tell him."
After he left, Cynthia sat looking at the phone. This was starting to get dangerous. She had to distance herself from Harry Carlisle. Finally she picked up the phone and entered Harry's code. First it rang his office. There was no answer. It beeped and went on auto-search. She hung up. If he was in the building, his tracy would tell him to call her.
It took seven minutes for the phone to ring. She answered it with a neutral, official voice. "CA Kline."