by T. K. Toppin
Special VIPs and special case individuals—as Josie had once been—came through an alternative entrance located on the other side of the mountain. It was an aircraft-only dock linking directly to the Primary Sub-Level, its holding areas, and special lounges. That was John’s next agenda. Regardless of how tightly watched and secure it was, it was an access point and needed locking down.
But first, he needed to see Simon.
Simon was neck-deep in a murder investigation.
Professor Kassou had been found dead in a solid-waste recycling holding vat, his body having jammed the sorting tray since it was too bulky to process. If the murderer had been smart, he would’ve chopped up the unfortunate professor into smaller pieces. His half-mangled body had been retrieved, and investigators were at hand to determine cause of death.
Simon was pretty sure that whoever had killed the professor had been in a hurry and needed an immediate disposal method to hide the body. He suggested it probably wasn’t a planned murder, but one done in haste. Whatever the case, John knew they were getting close, and making the members of The Path very nervous. And if Max Wellesley was the cause of this all, John dearly wanted to smash his face in until it met with the back of his skull. For the moment, he couldn’t decide which reason caused him the most anger: the fact that Max had dared to enter his Citadel and wreak havoc, or that he wished Josie harm.
John found Simon in a small waiting area outside the morgue facilities. Simon was focused on entering information into his personal unit while talking to someone on the screen. His face was set in an angular contortion of grimness. He saw John, nodded, and signed off.
“John. Murder for sure, broken neck. Clean twist. No muss no fuss. Almost execution style—the killer knew what they were doing. But something else,” Simon paused for effect. “There’s been a disturbance, main courtyard, not thirty minutes ago. Two people have been assassinated. There were also explosives nearby. They’ve been diffused.”
John’s mood darkened and was ready to kill someone himself. “Who?”
“One’s Frey, the other unknown. Might be his body-assistant.”
Linton Frey, Minister of Internal Affairs, a thirty-five-year veteran of the Lancaster regime, a man John had admired and respected for his sharp intelligence, keen sense for detail, and unswerving loyalty. Regardless of who ruled, so long as it was a Lancaster, Linton Frey had been a faithful servant. He’d been the one most vocal in his insistence to stay behind, and the one who also insisted he would personally comb the Citadel, regardless of his safety, with his special task force and seek out any suspicious behavior. No doubt, he’d found something. Frey had a new body-assistant he was breaking in, a young man just out of the Academy. Now they were dead.
“How?” John squeezed his eyes shut in fury. He would grieve for Frey and his team later.
“I’ve got the preliminary details already. The unidentified was hit first—pulse gun—clean through his head from behind. He’s no face left; we’ll have to use his DNA for positive identification. Frey, according to witnesses, fought back. He sent some flash-explosives at the two assassins and fired on them. Hit one and injured him, but the other brought him down from the side. Steel-tipped bullets—shield-piercing. They really mean business. There are also some reports that a third person went in pursuit of the two assassins. Again, unidentified. There’s not much surveillance-wise. Pockets…”
“All three?”
Simon nodded. “Reckon the third was one of Wellesley’s?”
“Might be.” John slammed the side of his fist against the wall. A clerk down the hall jumped in fright, making a small squeak, but didn’t make eye contact. “Are we still not able to track them?”
“If we knew how or what we were tracking, it’d be easier. But with him dead,” Simon jerked his head to the morgue doors, “and nothing of any use in his residence, then yes. They don’t even register on heat sensors. It’s like they’ve faces, but no bodies, or bodies with no faces. I don’t understand it.”
“So we’re fucked.”
Simon jerked his head to John, an eyebrow arched high in surprise. “Pretty much,” he said slowly.
As they waited for the arrival of the bodies of Frey and his companions, they received word that an entire section of the community sporting facilities on West sector was under attack, destroyed by bombs and armed men.
And people were dying.
Chapter 49
I’d gone through hundreds of faces and names. At least twenty came close to resembling Max, but if he wore a disguise or had altered his face in any way, he could be anyone.
John managed to access Max’s old student ID from Britain for the computer to run a retinal and facial match. Since Max was still underage at the time the student ID was taken, no DNA was available for any proper confirmation, should we get a hit.
After finally locating a scrap of paper, which proved extremely difficult, let alone ferreting out a pen, I wrote down the names of the twenty I selected and put them aside to study in detail later. It took a while, but I figured out how to instruct the computer to run a similar scan on females with the same profiles. You never know, right? I doubted Max would disguise himself as a woman, but it was worth a check. That also came up empty.
Unconvinced, I ran the males again, this time slowing down the rate at which the images flitted across the screen. Looking over the twenty names I’d written down, I selected them again, studying their faces with care. My list narrowed down to eight. Five of them were students and had a close enough resemblance to Max, differing only in eye color, hair, height, and bone structure. The retinal scans didn’t match or were inconclusive as some were slightly blurred. The remaining three were day visitors and a day student, all of them having entered the Citadel repeatedly from mid-September. The first two were very close in likeness but wrong in height, and the scans weren’t a match. The last was the closest of them all, but at the moment the surveillance camera took the shot, the person appeared to have blinked slightly, causing the eyes alone to blur and appear as slits. How convenient. The computer noted that retinal imaging was “incomplete—pending future checkpoint tag.” I also noted that he was listed as a day student and issued with a special six-month visa. These were given to students who lived outside of Switzerland but could either afford living in residential areas nearby or split their time working as well as studying.
I tried and failed, since I didn’t know how, to call up any additional images of the person. I suspected maybe my search parameters had been restricted and probably needed John or Simon to provide me with a special passcode or something to dig further. Regardless, this person’s special pass only allowed him access to the university sectors and adjoining community areas. His hair was long and jet-black, and he was pale like a vampire. His build appeared very close to Max’s, even the set of his jaw and the way he held his head, slightly askance, with that “I am of superior intelligence” air about him.
A shiver ran down my spine. Could it be? I noted his name—Terrance Everest—and circled it twice with the lone antique fountain pen I’d found.
So engrossed in what I was doing, it took a while before I noticed the occupants of the outer offices scurrying around in animated activity. My stomach pitched. Something was wrong. People appeared to be speaking frantically, pointing at their screens, pressing hands to mouths or clutching their heads, glued to their personal units; in general, panicked. A few of Simon’s grim-faced Elites hustled people around, barking brief directives, but they too had their eyes glued to their personal unit screens.
Stuffing the piece of paper with the name in my pocket, I ran to the glass doors, opened them, and was hit full in the face with chaos. People yelling orders ran from one console to the next, getting more orders and instructions. One screen before me showed a scene of a building engulfed in orange and yellow flames, and thick, choking smoke, with people running terrified from it. Some jerked and stumbled as if hit by something hard, then struggled to rise. Some just
fell, and were either trampled by others who ran blindly, or lay still. Like watching a silent movie, I didn’t need any sound to know what they were frightened of. The expressions on their faces told me everything, they were screaming, terrified for their lives. And those who fell, they were dead—killed by those chasing them and carrying weapons.
With no time for thought, I ran and didn’t stop until I found Aline. After I’d told her what I’d just witnessed, I headed straight for the elevators going topside. I had no clue what I was doing. But all I knew was that I needed to be up there.
* * *
I was angry.
Angry and tired of being afraid all the time. I wanted it to stop. And I felt responsible, because somehow, I’d inadvertently caused this whole madness. If it weren’t for me and Max, none of this would be happening. I wanted to fix it—I had to.
I also wanted John. Wanted him to know there was nothing he could do to stop me from being there with him, helping. I knew nothing of warfare, of killing, or of fighting with the chaos of people dying around you. But I knew about surviving—I sure as hell knew about it! And I hadn’t survived this long, found a place to call home, and a man I loved more than I did myself, to have them all destroyed by some love-scorned little boy. I’d never killed anyone, but the way I felt now, I was ready to do just about anything.
I refused to hide and cower!
When I stepped off the elevator and was confronted with a scene of chaos, screams, and the air charged with terror, I wasn’t too sure of my earlier convictions. And the annoying recorded voice of a woman telling everyone to “please remain calm and proceed to the nearest evacuation point in your sector” didn’t help matters either. Nor did the sporadic pops and bangs of gunfire and explosions. My knees went gelatinous.
The elevator I’d exited was located just off from the main elevator clusters in the South sector’s community area, a private cab and reserved for special passcode holders, so not as busy. The three main elevators, however, swarmed with people. Armed guards in charcoal gray uniforms, white trim and matching gloves tried their best to marshal for calm and order. While everyone seemed to know exactly what to do, it didn’t stop the terror, the need for self-preservation. Individuals and couples, families, children, and pets, heaved together like a collected wave. I had no idea where all these people had come from. They pressed close, holding hands for comfort and safety.
I walked among them in a sort of daze, being pushed and jostled, tugged and pulled. Some even tried to grab me, smother me in their protective embraces and drag me with them to their evac points.
I wriggled free and carried on. Where to now?
I needed to get to the outer sections, beyond the community courtyards and office buildings. It was easier to go on foot to John’s offices, seeing how pointless it was to use the elevators. Other than being too congested, they were all going the other way. I took a walkway that led to the community gardens.
A sudden spray of gunfire made me duck low. There were shouts and screams, and people fled in every direction. Guards shouted orders between more gunfire, more screaming. I looked left. An armed mob, wearing helmets and something close to riot gear, was approaching between two buildings. Some fired into the air, dispersing people, while others just shot at anything that moved. People dropped like sacks. The Citadel guards returned a volley of gunfire from my right. I was stuck in the middle.
With no choice but to retreat, I turned and ran, the sounds of the battle behind spurring me on. My blind run sent me helter-skelter into a throng of people running toward me. I shouted for them to turn around, but no one heard. It was useless. I elbowed my way through before they got smart and decided to listen after all—and crushed me in the swell of their retreat. Once free of the crowd, I ran down a walkway that connected to another small community area on a lower level. From there, I knew I would eventually get to the presidential offices.
In a small alcove, I pressed my back against the wall, dug into my pocket, and retrieved the personal unit John had given me. I’d seen how they were used often enough, but I didn’t even know how to call John. Brilliant! Cursing, I pushed off the wall and, while walking, pressed a few random buttons, voiced a few commands, and waited. Nothing happened. In frustration, I yelled, “Just call John!” and finished with some choice expletives. Two seconds later, John’s image flitted onto the screen. He looked grim and pale. And pissed off.
“I’ve been trying to reach you,” he hissed, giving me that dark, menacing look. “Didn’t you hear it buzz? Where are you?”
“I’m topside. And I’m not going back down.” I matched his expression. I hadn’t heard it buzz, not even vibrate like the cell phones of old. Did I have the volume down? I’d have to check. “I’ve found him, or at least, I’m pretty sure it’s him.”
“Where,” John growled; he even bared teeth, “are you?”
I knew I was going to have a hell of a fight with him the moment he nabbed me, which I reckoned would be pretty soon.
My shoulders slumped. “South community courtyard, I think. Shall I wait for you here, or will you send some guards to manhandle me back down? They might be a bit busy at the moment. I just left them shooting back at some baddies. Some are dead too.”
“Stay there, and for bloody sake, stay hidden!” The unit trilled out a peep and his image froze. I stared a moment longer, shook the thing vigorously, stared at it some more, then dropped it back into my pocket with a curse. Hoo boy was I going to get it, but I really didn’t care.
The sensible part of my brain kept telling me what a dumb move I was making. A dumb and stupid move, since I had no idea what I was doing, where I was going, or what I was going to do next. My actions would just end up causing more grief than good; this was why civilians weren’t allowed in warzones. Poor John was probably having histrionics right about now. The other part of my brain, however, insisted that if I didn’t do something, then all I had would’ve been for nothing. I needed to find Max. I had to stop him.
Another burst of random shots had me ducking instinctively. People nearby screamed. They ran faster too, dropping their possessions, no longer caring for material things. The shots continued, followed by shouts and scuffling noises. I looked around frantically, and spotted a small water fountain in an arched alcove, covered with brambles of ferns and other bits of foliage, and tucked away at one side of the courtyard. I stole around it and hid from the general chaos, and the security guards. From my vantage point, I could watch what happened around me, and see when John turned up.
I waited, rocking on the balls of my feet for about ten long minutes, listening to the ebb and flow of chaos and panic, and hoping no stray weapons fire found me. Then something grabbed me. I yelped in surprised. A hand clamped across my mouth, silencing me.
“Are you that stupid?” a man behind me hissed.
I wrenched the hand away from my mouth and spun around, pulse gun in hand, humming and indicating it was ready to fire.
Lorcan!
“Apparently, I am,” I hissed back.
“Put that down.” He pushed my hand away with force. “Bloody hell, woman. What are you doing up here? Can’t you see there’s a siege going on?”
“And your son’s behind it!”
“What?” Lorcan’s ruddy face screwed up with confusion. He shook his head. “Look, come with me. I’ll take you back to the elevators.”
“Didn’t you hear me? It’s Max! He’s the one behind this. He is Uron Koh.”
“Shut your nonsense, girl.” Lorcan laughed. Actually laughed.
Incensed he didn’t believe me; I cursed and tried to explain. We argued back and forth until Lorcan wrapped a hand around my throat. Before I had a chance to react, he squeezed and shook me, enough to make me gag. With dawning horror, I realized he might kill me.
“Enough!” Lorcan’s tone was harsh. His face twisted savagely, and his grip around my neck tightened. “Will you shut up with this nonsense? Max is in Japan. Do you hear me? He’s got a new li
fe there. He’s safe. They can’t touch him. Now shut up with it, I said!”
With nothing else to force him to let go but the pulse gun in my hand, I shoved it directly under his chin and glowered at him through the black spots peppering my vision. He let go slowly, arms raised in surrender, and had the good grace to look resigned.
I sucked in gulps of air and coughed. “If you will just listen to me, Lorcan. He calls himself Terrance Everest now. He’s a student here. So whoever you saw the other night coming through the main entrance, it couldn’t have been him—Uron Koh. He’s been here for the last four months!” I realized my gun was still pointed at Lorcan. I lowered it a fraction, but the look he gave me told me I should’ve kept it aimed and ready. Taking a quick breath, I explained again as best and as fast as I could, hidden among the ferns and leaves of the corner fountain, with the sounds of hordes of people moving and scampering about all around us.
I watched as a sequence of emotions crossed Lorcan’s face. Doubt, incredulity, anger, suspicion, offence, then doubt again.
“I don’t believe a word you’re saying.” He shook his head. He sounded hurt. Occasionally he looked over my shoulder, monitoring the scene behind me.
I did the same.
“What are they doing to you here? They’ve brainwashed you. Do you hear what you’re saying?” He took my shoulder and pleaded with me, face close to mine, his voice tender and cracked with emotion. Some of the old feelings I once had for him ambushed me. I smelled a trace of his favored cologne, and my mind furred. “I leave you alone with these people, and look what’s…wait.” Lorcan jerked to a stop, horror clouded his face. “Wait a minute…just wait.”
I blinked away my confused emotions and took a step back. “What?”