‘I don’t have time for this shit. We all need guns right now. The pigs have started their attack out there.’
‘No they haven’t. Those shots you heard were meant for me and my friend here. There are mercenaries in the park who want us dead.’
‘Mercenaries?’ Beard Man looks back and forth between us. ‘Why?’
I slowly raise my hand to the gun held against my head and gently push it away, holding the man’s gaze. He lowers the gun and lets me speak.
‘Because I’ve made discoveries that can bring down some of the very people you’re protesting against. I’m a loose end that they want to tie up pretty bad, because I can’t hurt them if I’m killed or captured.’
‘What did you uncover?’ Beard Man snaps.
‘It’s a long story,’ I say, holding up my knapsack for him to see. ‘But I have evidence of it in here.’
‘What kind of evidence?’
‘The kind that can light the fuse to one hell of a powder keg. Knowledge they will kill anyone to get their hands on.’
‘And all you want from me is a gun?’ He scratches his head. ‘That’s it?’
‘I just need a piece.’
Beard Man looks me in the eye, trying to determine if I’m a man of my word or absolutely full of it. He must see something reassuring, because he takes my hand and places his Desert Eagle in my palm. From the gym bag he pulls out a Glock and gives it to Javier, who slides back the action and clicks off the safety. Beard Man looks pitifully at the two guns he’s donated, and then looks at me with some confusion.
‘I’m surprised you don’t ask me for more help,’ he says, looking around at his armed comrades. ‘Do you know who we are? Do you know what it is that we do?’
‘I have a vague idea.’
‘Look, whatever stories you may have heard about the Occupy Movement or Integris from the media aren’t even close to being the truth.’
‘I realize that.’
Beard man grabs me by the elbow. ‘Do you even know who I am?’
Honestly, the guy’s a mystery to me. And I’d like to keep it that way. This is a whole other world I can’t afford to wade into right now, and picking sides seems like other people’s problems. Saving my own ass is my priority. Sticking my neck out any more will certainly get it broken. For a moment I consider giving him the evidence, donating it to the cause, letting him run with it. Then I remember what happened with Phineas and Craig, not to mention the fact that this man just held a gun to my head and the faction he’s aligned with is pretty much regarded as a domestic terrorist organization.
‘No, I don’t know who you are,’ I reply, stowing the gun inside my jacket. ‘And I don’t much care. There’s no reason to endanger anyone more than I already have.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘I can take care of myself.’
Beard Man nods respectfully, though he is clearly disappointed. The fact is I don’t trust him or Integris any more than I trust the men hunting me at the moment. He steps back just as a beautiful young blonde sidles up to him and curls one hand around his bicep. In her other hand is a gun. Even though she leans into him affectionately, her eyes are fierce, newly protective. It takes me a moment to place her. Annabel Colette, one of the kidnapped Manhattan women whose disappearance I wasn’t responsible for, is actually standing here before me, alive and well. The police were right. She’s a victim of Integris, not a victim of mine. Except she doesn’t look like a victim at all.
‘Hey, wait a minute,’ I say, nodding toward her. ‘Isn’t she one of those kidnapped women?’
‘She is here by choice now,’ Beard Man says, kissing Annabel on the forehead. ‘She has seen the light, she understands the truth.’
Stockholm syndrome, I think, glad she didn’t fall prey to me. Lucky girl.
There is more to it than that though. I can see it in their eyes when they look at each other, behind the anger and the principle. Somehow they’ve fallen in love, committed themselves to one another as well as the cause. Till death do us part seems likely for these two with those guns in their hands. Beard Man points a finger toward the entrance of the tent, telling us it’s time for us to be on our way. As Javier and I leave he continues to hand guns out to the gathered protesters. I wonder just how many of them are willing to die for their beliefs.
Outside, I don my glasses as we merge with the crowds of the Great Lawn and walk among agitated citizens, listening to their concerned chatter. Tensions are high. Worries are growing. The lawn seems to be more illuminated than I remember. Several portable police floodlights have been activated around the field perimeter as additional officers arrive on the scene in response to the reported gunshots. Javier and I make our way across the baseball fields, constantly scanning the crowds for danger, keeping to areas still bathed in darkness.
Near the eastern edge of the Great Lawn we stop. With my night-vision I spy Renard behind the police line, conferring with a group of newly arrived men dressed in plainclothes. More of Winslade’s security team has been called in, most of them guards from his building. They check images on their Liaisons, undoubtedly of me, as Renard briefs them. Soon they split up, dissolving into the crowds to aid in the search.
Thankfully, the operatives move in the direction away from us. I keep my eyes on Renard, who begins walking toward the NYPD’s two stationary EMUs parked just outside the perimeter, less than fifty yards from us. With the police distracted, he sneaks up behind one of the drones and pulls something from his pocket. At this distance I can tell it is one of Winslade’s wireless transmitter devices. Renard reaches up and connects it to the back of the drone’s head. Within seconds the machine comes to life, straightening its posture and extending its neck. I cringe as it tests out its appendages and takes two pensive steps. Seemingly satisfied, it starts to stalk the crowds from the shadows, reflective lenses scanning back and forth over the protesters. Without a doubt I know. Winslade has personally joined in the hunt for me.
The EMU moves south. It isn’t long before both protesters and police start to notice the eight-foot mech creeping around in the dark. People warn each other of the drone’s approach, giving it a wide berth, everyone unsure of what’s going on. Eventually a police lieutenant approaches it waving a hand frantically, trying to get its attention while talking to someone on his radio. The EMU ignores him, continuing its search as if he isn’t even there.
Javier and I start to move in the opposite direction when a heavy hand grips my shoulder and spins me around. I come face to face with one of Renard’s men. The barrel of his Rapier pushes hard into my gut.
‘You’re coming with me –’
Javier doesn’t hesitate. He swings and strikes the enforcer on the back of the head with the butt of his Glock. The gun goes off accidentally with the impact, shot cracking through the night, muzzle flash giving away our position. As the enforcer sinks to his knees the people around us either run or hit the ground screaming. Police officers, private mercenaries, protesters, they all turn in our direction.
‘Into the crowd,’ I tell Javier. ‘Now.’
We run and catch up with those fleeing, finding cover in their ranks. Nearby, another of Renard’s men draws his Rapier and fires at us, the rounds blowing through a woman in front of me, almost cutting her in half. I turn and take aim, pull the trigger twice and down him with the Desert Eagle. When I turn back I see a cop ahead just as he opens up on us with an assault rifle. Javier dodges and returns fire, catching the cop in the shoulder with a round that spins him to the ground. The Great Lawn suddenly erupts in gunfire as armed protesters pour out of the big orange tent, guns blazing, targeting the surrounding police force. Cops fire back, gun barrels spitting fire, unloading magazines indiscriminately into the crowds. People start dropping everywhere, some writhing in pain, others stilled.
Alerted by the commotion, the EMU turns and gets me in its sights. It tries to fight through the protesters and police, spraying tear gas to disperse them, white clouds rolling over t
he riotous scene. I watch in horror as one man falls in its path and is trampled, the robot’s weight snapping his spine like a twig. Central Park descends into absolute chaos.
Javier and I try to escape to the north, sprinting with everything we’ve got. By the time we reach the basketball and volleyball courts I can hear the thudding footsteps of the EMU gaining on us. I look over my shoulder and see it crashing through the hordes of people, blasting them with its water cannon, smashing them aside with its limbs, sending bodies flying. By now even the police have realized the drone has gone rogue. Cops and armed protesters alike open fire on the urbanized war machine. Multiple rounds ricochet off its metal body, completely ineffective. It keeps coming, growing larger every time I risk a glance back. As we reach the tree line the EMU is upon us, towering over our heads, raising its appendages. There is no escape.
‘Rhodes –’
Javier manages to shoot me a terrified glance a second before the right side of his face caves in from a crushing blow. He drops to the grass beside me, dead before he hits the ground.
‘You fucking bastard!’ I scream, bracing myself for a similar fate.
The EMU’s claw grabs me and pins me to a tree, cracking a couple ribs in the process. My night-vision glasses are knocked away and lost. The drone leans forward, its head coming close to my face, reflective lenses searching my uncovered eyes. I can almost see Winslade in there, staring back at me through the technology he’s created. I get the overwhelming feeling that he is pleased to have caught me alive. The drone fails to notice as I slowly lift the Desert Eagle up to its head.
‘You don’t own me,’ I whisper.
I pull the trigger repeatedly, emptying the rest of the clip into its face. Sparks fly as one of the lenses shatters. The EMU recoils, dropping me as it staggers backward. I watch it crash half-blind into a park bench and topple over it. Without wasting another second, I get to my feet and run north through the woods in the dark. It isn’t long before I hear the EMU wrecking its way through the trees and bushes behind me.
The 86th Street Transverse that cuts through Central Park suddenly appears ahead of me. I run straight into the road without thinking, only to be blinded by the headlights of a truck bearing down on me. The screech of brakes fills the air. I dive forward just as the EMU steps into traffic after me. The truck slams into the drone, sending it hurtling through the air. It crashes to the sidewalk and lies there twitching as the truck skids to a halt.
I look up from where I lie and see that the vehicle is an NYPD Lenco BearCat. A heavily armed SWAT team pours out the back and approaches me, assault rifles pointed at my head. I raise my hands to show I’m unarmed. Before I can say anything an officer steps forward with a Taser and fires. Every nerve in my body catches fire before I’m incapacitated.
33
‘I need to make a goddamn statement already,’ I say again. ‘Are either of you idiots even listening to me?’
The arresting officer and the detective trade unimpressed looks before turning their attention back to the paperwork in their hands. They’ve held me in an interrogation room at the Central Park Precinct for almost two hours. Cops have been coming and going constantly, taking calls and making calls. They keep asking me questions I don’t have answers to. Questions about the Occupy Movement. Questions about Integris. Questions about the bearded man and the kidnapped girl and the guns smuggled into the park. I’ve begged them to listen to more important things I have to say, but no one seems to care. If what’s coming out of my mouth isn’t in relation to what’s going down in Central Park right now, they don’t want to hear it.
It’s madness in NYC tonight. News of the Battle of the Great Lawn is taking over every website, TV and radio channel. I can hear it every time the interrogation room door opens. It is already being called the worst national tragedy of the century so far. The death toll is still being determined. Mass arrests are being made and will continue throughout the night. The Central Park Precinct has been turned into a giant forward operating base, its sole mission to tackle and finish OCP for good. The detective pulls up a chair and sits across the table from me.
‘Who did you say you worked for again, Mr Rhodes?’
‘Solace Strategies,’ I reply. ‘I’m a Husk.’
‘Right.’ The detective rolls his eyes. ‘You’re some kind of hooker.’
‘You haven’t really listened to a word I’ve said, have you?’
‘Well, what I did hear was some pretty incredible stuff, hard to believe.’
‘I’m not fucking crazy.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘I’m not on drugs either.’
The detective shrugs. ‘Sure.’
I sigh, cracking my knuckles in frustration. ‘Did you review the footage from the camera that was in my knapsack?’
The detective says nothing. We simply stare at each other across the table, his expression informing me he hasn’t bothered to look at it yet. The arresting officer, bored with the situation, finishes filling out his paperwork and leaves the room.
‘Do you think I’m lying?’ I ask the detective.
‘Not necessarily.’
‘Then why won’t you hear the rest of what I have to say? This could be huge.’
‘We’re already dealing with huge,’ the detective replies. ‘All hell has broken loose. Our focus right now is the park and the park only. Fact is we don’t have the manpower to deal with anything outside of that.’
‘Jesus, I’m trying to report a goddamn crime here. Do I have to remind you of your duty to –’
The detective slams his fist down on the table, making me jump. I see it now, the circumference of his tired eyes growing bloodshot, the marks where he’s been chewing his bottom lip. He’s through playing good cop.
‘May I remind you that you’re under arrest, Mr Rhodes. You’re not here to give statements about shit I don’t give a flying fuck about.’
‘Fine,’ I say, folding my arms and leaning back in my chair. ‘Lock me in a cell then until you’re ready to hear me out.’
The detective’s laugh is cold. ‘You sure that’s what you want? Because we’ve got some vicious characters in holding tonight. They’ll tear a pretty boy like you up in a matter of minutes.’
I’m about to tell him to go fuck himself when the arresting officer slips back into the room and pulls the detective aside. Both of them cast scowls at me as they converse in whispers that become more and more aggressive in tone. The officer finally raises his voice enough for me to make out the last of the exchange.
‘There’s nothing we can do. We have to cut him loose.’
The officer leaves again, slamming the door behind him. The detective comes back to the table, but does not sit down.
‘You’re free to go.’
‘What?’
‘You made bail.’
‘How can that be? I didn’t lawyer up. I haven’t even used my one phone call yet.’
‘Well, someone came through for you. We can’t hold you any longer.’
‘Who paid my bail?’
‘Some friend of yours.’ The detective sneers. ‘They’re collecting your stuff right now. They’ll be here shortly to escort you out.’
The detective leaves the room. For a few minutes I’m alone, wondering who is coming to get me. It’s the only peace and quiet I’ve had in days. I slouch in my chair, massaging my sore muscles, examining my cuts and scrapes. My cracked ribs haven’t received medical attention yet. Breathing is a chore. The van crash has undoubtedly given me whiplash. I try my best to relax. My eyelids get heavy, exhaustion finally catching up to me. I let my head loll, close my eyes for a few seconds, start to drift off to sleep.
The interrogation room door opens and closes, I hear footsteps approach. God, I can’t wait to see a friendly face. When I raise my head and open my eyes, the man is standing on the opposite side of the table with my knapsack slung over his shoulder. He looks intently at me with a single baby blue eye. The bandages are gone,
preliminary plastic surgery has been performed on the burns to his face. My saviour is the same man who said he owed me one, although he’s the last person I expected to see.
My saviour is Clive.
34
I tie the Eldredge knot perfectly the first time and adjust it around my neck in front of the mirror. The new suit is made to measure. The dress shoes are soft and comfortable and made from endangered alligator. The smell of my favourite cologne pricks my nostrils and makes me giddy. I feel euphoric, despite everything that happened in Central Park last night. Sore muscles and cracked ribs actually make me feel alive. I walk to the fireplace, watch the flames dance in the hearth. The heat feels good on my exposed skin.
In the corner of the study is my old silver-skinned server system, the now permanently deactivated robot crumpled to the floor beside it. I walk over and give the server a pat, still feeling some affection for the person I’ve committed indefinitely to it. I always was very fond of him. Giving him my old home was the least I could do. Renard knocks on the door and enters.
‘Your limo has arrived and is waiting downstairs, Mr Winslade.’
‘Very good,’ I say. ‘We will leave momentarily.’
Renard exits and I turn back to the server with a smile as I hold my Liaison up to my lips.
‘It’s been fun, my boy. I want you to know that.’
A program I’ve installed allows me to communicate with my boy in there, but I mute him to make it a one-sided conversation. I don’t care to hear anything he has to say, though I do wonder what he thinks of his new accommodations. It will take some getting used to, no doubt, but I’m sure he’ll adjust in time. To be fair, I’ve given him the option to terminate everything if he proves unhappy with his new situation.
Last night Ms Baxter rented out a Husk named Clive to me, an apparent close friend of Mr Rhodes. Posing as this friend, I was able to earn my boy’s trust and lure him out of police custody into the hands of Renard. First thing this morning I had his consciousness digitized and downloaded off of his brain to make room for my permanent relocation.
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