by V J Kavanagh
‘Is it convenient?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Is Steve Arrowsbury there?’
‘No, he has left this morning. He goes to Vinchester.’
‘Did he go to the plant?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Gerhard?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did they take something from the plant?’
‘Yes, a white cube.’
‘Thank you, Maria, and do—’
‘Wait, please sir. Steve Arrowsbury has contacted us; he has said that we must go, hide. He said trouble comes soon.’
Francois smiled. ‘Not trouble for you, Maria. I will send a message to Gerhard, all is well.’
Her dull eyes sparkled, ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Thank you, Maria, and do not forget; you must never speak of our conversations, not even with Gerhard. It is for his protection.’ Francois had decided to repeat this every time in case alcohol patched her memory as it had her face.
‘I understand, sir. Goodbye.’
Francois had an informer for each of his Marshals; the consequence of betrayal demanded it. Maria was one of the easier ‘espions de la maison’ to control. SIS had visited her mind and he had exploited the psychological chaos left behind.
Jannae’s death would be regrettable. She had gained Steve’s trust, deflected suspicion from the Resistance onto SIS, and now had possession of an SIS HPU. Unfortunately, trust can become mutual.
He dialled his MPS selector. ‘Hello, Dee. Come to the office please.’
Dee must have been close. He arrived a minute later and slumped down to Francois’s right.
‘Finished your secret comms?’
Francois’s face capitulated. ‘I am sorry I was brusque. A conversation with a factory, consignments are late.’
Dee drummed the table edge with his titan hands, ‘No worries, gave me a chance to poke around. What’s in the underground garage?’
‘My private collection, it is—’ He tapped the vibrating MCD and angled it towards Dee. ‘Hello, Steve.’
‘Hello, Francois. Dee.’
‘Hey, Stevie, been falling off your barstool again?’
Above Steve’s weary eyes, a plaster seeped brown. His cracked lips attempted a smile. ‘Something like that. Can we arrange a meeting for tomorrow?’
Francois ignored Dee’s stare. ‘Where are you?’
‘I’m on the boat. I’ll send the co-ords for the pick-up. Is ten okay?’
‘Of course. We will see you tomorrow. Au revoir.’
‘Thanks, à demain.’
Francois would have to ensure Steve had no desire to return to his boat, by the élimination of the reason he did.
Dee leant forward, his graphite leather jacket creaking over his boulder like back. ‘He’s been up to something.’
‘You have no loyalty to your comrades?’
‘He could bring trouble here.’
Francois let a thin smile cross his face. ‘Like your sister.’ He picked up the MCD and stood. ‘If you desire it, you and your family may leave.’
18:26 TUE 31:10:2119
Intra Zone, Seine-et-Marne, France, Sector 2
Kacee’s dreamy gaze rested on the sugar-white statuette, one of at least ten marble nudes that encircled the sauna. She felt like a queen in a stone hive. Champagne walls, decorated with murals of gold vines coiled around her. A luxurious white towel cushioned her from the curvaceous circular seat, its golden mosaic tiles glinting beneath a diamante ring of recessed spotlights.
None of her previous assignments compared to this. Whatever Francois was hiding, it wasn’t his wealth.
From the cream marble floor, grew a matching table. It supported a glass platter of pink rose petals, their perfume woven into the intoxicating steam. Kacee closed her eyes; it had been hot and humid that day as well. She’d been wearing a pale blue trouser suit.
* * * *
Kacee’s sandals sank into her parents’ freshly mown grass, its sweet aroma suffusing the humidity. A broiling sun beat down from a clear blue sky, flushing her skin and whitening the balls of snow coloured roses dotting the pristine lawn. She stopped and inhaled deeply, her mom’s passion for roses scented the air. Mom would never smell roses again; neither would her dad.
She raised a hand, her shaded eyes focused on the distant pecan trees. She had one more errand, one last chance of salvaging a happy memory.
The sun had mellowed by the time Kacee arrived at the estate manager’s dirty white house. It languished at the end of a rutted track and had a colonnade porch that stretched across the front.
She knocked the torn screen door three times and waited. No answer. Her head swivelled, her contemplation scraping over gnarled clapboards and peeling paint. History had a cruel habit of shackling itself to the present.
Kacee found her in the back yard.
Rusting machinery littered coarse dry grass. To the right lay a dusty clearing. The mangy Labrador slumped on the sun-baked mud, a heavy chain around its neck led to a decrepit wooden kennel with a rusted corrugated roof. She got within two metres before the dog lifted its head, bared its rotting brown teeth, and growled.
Kacee edged closer. ‘Belle, it’s me, Kacee.’ When she’d left home for college, her parents had given Belle to their estate manager. They’d said out of compassion for a lonely man, Kacee thought it more likely out of spite for an errant child.
Belle barked once and then whimpered, her crooked tail beating the arid dust. As Kacee picked her way through the poop, Belle struggled to her feet and limped forward.
Tears scalded Kacee’s flushed face, landing as spots of blood on the red dust. ‘What has he done to you?’ She removed the heavy chain and nuzzled wet cheeks into Belle’s matted golden-brown hair. Through her sobs, she heard the rattled breathing and irregular heartbeat. Then she felt the broken ribs.
She wrapped her arms around Belle’s neck and waited. The heartbeat slowed, but the irregular rhythm and pneumonic breathing remained. With eyes squeezed shut, she scissored her arms in an invisible motion, Belle’s neck dislocated instantaneously.
Kacee lowered the limp body to the ground, ‘Sleep Belle, sleep.’ Happy memories drifted away, sinking into a tempestuous sea of hatred.
A man’s gruff voice bellowed. ‘Hey, whatta you doing with my dog?’
Kacee smoothed her only true friend one last time, stood up, and turned to face the voice.
Jackson Miller, the estate manager, glowered in the shade of the rear porch. A thin bony man with rolled up sleeves and a permanent frown that creased his leather face.
She brushed her hands and sniffed. ‘Just saying hello.’
Miller stepped down and sauntered towards her. ‘Sorry, Miss Kacee, didn’t recognise you.’
He looked past her. ‘That dog sleeping again? No offence, but I ain’t ever met a dog that lazy.’
She flashed a smile. ‘None taken. Got a soda in the cooler?’
Miller’s scuffed boots spun around in the dry dirt, ‘Sure do, you back visit—’
The hardened fifth metacarpus of Kacee’s right hand connected with C4 and C5 in Miller’s cervical vertebrae. She knew from previous experience what happened next. The interposed spinal disc ruptured, C4 and C5 shattered, and their dislocated fragments severed the spinal cord. Miller’s legs buckled and he folded into an untidy heap.
An hour later, Kacee stood head bowed under the parasol of a pecan tree. At her feet lay a patted mound of freshly dug earth, a single snow-white rose rested on the rich brown soil. Belle had liked it here, especially in fall, foraging for forbidden treats.
* * * *
Rolling tears flowed into beads of perspiration. Kacee’s stare sprang from the petals to the ornate cream door. ‘Yes?’
‘Madame, it is nineteen hours.’
Tension slid off her shoulders, ‘Thanks, Martine. I’ll be up soon.’
* * * *
Dinner at Francoi
s’s was never less than a banquet. Kacee found the lifestyle bewitching, an escape from reality. Which she now realised was why she liked it so much.
They retired to the red room and settled in front of the mammoth stone fireplace. Logs creaked in fiery waves, washing over her with glowing satisfaction.
Her head lolled right. ‘Have you heard from Colette, how’s her mom?’
‘It is not good news. I do not think we will see Colette again.’
‘That’s a shame. I liked her.’
Francois’s hand touched her arm. ‘Steve arrives tomorrow.’
‘Uh uh.’ Dark eyes roamed her face, but he would find only what she wanted him to find.
‘I would like him to stay here, is that acceptable to you?’
‘Sure.’ Her neutral tone hid a twinge of anxiety. She hoped Steve wasn’t a willing player in Francois’s subterfuge.
‘Excellent.’
‘What’s he coming here for?’
‘It is work.’ Francois eyebrows sprang up. ‘Ah! I am reminded. I have a little task for you.’
‘I can’t cook.’
He reacted with a smile. ‘I would never ask that of you.’
She accepted the proffered MCD. An attractive woman in her late twenties stared back through hazel eyes. Sleek auburn hair in a short geometric cut outlined elfin features and complemented a soft peach complexion.
Kacee zoomed out. Judging by the height of the canal bridge parapet, the woman was no more than 160 centimetres tall, and definitely a Drone. Her lime puffer jacket had been out of fashion for at least three years.
‘Who is she?’
‘Resistance.’
A blurred figure stood next to the woman, much taller and definitely masculine. ‘And the man?’
‘His allegiance is not a concern.’
‘What’s the task?’
Francois leaned towards her. The warm orange glow sparkled in cool brown eyes. ‘No secrets, remember. I am an Advocate; I know you have been given a special licence by PSYOPS to terminate.’
Yes, you.
His revelation didn’t concern her. Her handler had told her that if someone dug into her file certain secrets would escape. A layer of gold to mask the diamonds.
‘Is this certified?’
‘Of course.’
Francois reached across and tapped an icon. The SIS symbol hung over the top of the document, a black clawed hand gripping a silver Earth. Everyone had had their own ideas about its symbolism. Now they knew.
‘She’s a nurse?’
‘Yes, the Resistance have infiltrated everywhere.’
‘Why me? Why not you?’
As expected, Francois had the answer. ‘She is in a relationship with a member of Continuity; it would be difficult for a man to gain her trust.’
‘So I’m supposed to question her first?’ Kacee glanced down. ‘This order’s for a complete memory wipe.’
She wondered if she should contact her handler. No, they’d told her to follow SIS orders, there had to be reason for that.
‘Any information of the Resistance will be useful, especially about their plans to attack Provenance.’
Kacee didn’t look up. During Francois’s evaluation, she’d detected a secret buried deep beneath layers of half-truths. Perhaps he talked in his sleep; she’d find out soon enough.
09:58 WED 01:11:2119
Intra Zone, Wiltshire, England, Sector 2
Steve squinted and turned his head away from the downdraft. The mulberry and gold jet-hover flattened the meadow’s tall dry grass and settled in a swirl of throbbing dust. From behind the bulbous canopy, Francois and Dee smiled.
An hour later, as they descended through an azure sky, the palatial Chateau Castiglione came into view.
Dee turned in his seat. ‘Whadda ya think?’
Steve continued to stare down at the gleaming quadrilateral, ‘I thought all the aristocracy had their heads chopped off.’
Francois banked the jet-hover into a sharp turn. ‘They did.’
After a slow pass around, they landed on a paved road leading to the esplanade. While Francois remained occupied in the cockpit, Steve strolled with Dee towards the chateau, ‘How’s the family?’
‘They’re all fine, they’re over there.’
Steve followed Dee’s finger to the grandiose Orangery, the cream stone of its single storey reflecting the chateau’s architectural style. A line of privet trees partially obscured the garden; trimmed into balls, they resembled a row of giant evergreen lollipops.
‘Isn’t there enough room in the chateau?’
Dee shrugged. ‘I ain’t bothered, man, as long as the family’s together.’
As they climbed the steps, Francois bounded up next to Steve. ‘Do you like it?’ His smile exuded the confidence of someone who’d always trodden the royal road.
‘Very impressive.’
‘We will not be disturbed here.’
Francois hurried off across the fine gravelled esplanade towards the main entrance.
Dee tugged on Steve’s arm, ‘Kacee’s here.’
Steve reacted with an involuntary sigh; he didn’t need any distractions.
Dee chuckled. ‘Don’t look so worried. I think Francois and her have been getting to know each other.’
They passed through the columnar porch into the imposing foyer. Francois stood waiting, and with the exuberance of an opening-night impresario, his hand swept the capacious grandeur, ‘Welcome to my home.’
‘Thank you.’ Steve glanced around. The neoclassical architecture was obvious, the men lurking in the shadows less so.
Francois led them halfway along a statue-lined corridor to a ceremonious pair of oyster coloured doors with intricately carved patterns overlaid with gold.
The opulence of the office matched its size. An imperial mahogany table formed the centrepiece, its two sides supporting ten chairs apiece, plus one at each end. Their gilt frames and royal-blue upholstery blending with the similarly coloured wall coverings. The sparkling crystal hanging from the ecclesiastical brass chandelier reflected in the tabletop’s polished depths. At the far end of the room, a gilded mirror, festooned with gold laurel, filled the space between the ceiling and the mantelpiece of a white marble fireplace. Steve sniffed; a faint tang, like the damp morning embers of a bonfire.
Francois extended an open hand. ‘Please.’
Steve eased out a chair over the diamond parquet floor and watched Dee close the door and take a seat next to Francois. Smart move. Perhaps he knows Francois’s SIS.
Francois rested his clasped hands on the polished wood and his earnest gaze on Steve. ‘We know that it is not your fault Bo died. I will ensure that you return to special operations.’
‘I’m not sure that’s possible. Command sent an Advocate to terminate me.’
‘It was a mistake, the order has been cancelled.’ Francois glanced at Dee, ‘Whatever happens we must be careful, the Resistance grow stronger every day. We must protect Continuity.’
Dee nodded. ‘Too right.’
Steve retrieved the white cube he’d taken from Lacusta and placed it in the centre of the table. ‘The Council are building these into Prefects.’
Dee picked it up. ‘What’s the light for?’
Steve shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but why put a CPU that large in a Prefect?’
Francois’s interest remained fixed on the cube, ‘Maybe it is a new model.’
Steve held up his MCD. ‘Do you have a viewer?’
‘Of course.’ Francois pointed his MCD at the mirror. ‘You can upload now.’
The lights dimmed and an image shimmered into focus. A square-shouldered protector suit stood in a transformer vault.
The silent recording lasted thirty-five minutes.
As the ambient light normalised, Dee leant back and whistled. ‘You’re one lucky guy. Who’s the other suit?’
‘A friend.’
F
rancois tapped his MCD. A male voice answered. ‘Oui, Monsieur?’
‘Café.’
‘Oui, Monsieur.’
Francois stared at the cube. ‘If Jannae is correct, what must we do?’
Dee raised his palms. ‘Whoa. This doesn’t prove she’s right. Prefects get upgraded.’
Steve’s eyes honed in on Dee’s. ‘Why make them autonomous?’
‘You don’t know it was autonomous. You busted into a cat one plant, the Controller reacted how they should.’
Steve sighed and turned to Francois, ‘Why weren’t Advocates consulted?’
Before Francois could answer, the door emitted two dull taps. ‘Entrée.’
The dark suited man placed the silver tray on the half-moon side table, nodded and left.
Francois waited for the door to close. ‘I will contact a friend in the Council. He will tell me the truth.’
‘Not if he’s been compromised.’
Dee shook his head. ‘Always the pessimist.’
‘It can be useful.’
‘Well it ain’t done you much good so far has it?’
You are annoying, Dee, but I think he’s fallen for it.
Francois stood, walked over to the side table, and poured the coffee, ‘No, Steve is right. It is important that we know our enemies.’
He has.
Steve sipped his coffee. Francois had made a grave error of judgement. Dee’s principal loyalty was to his family, then CONSEC.
* * * *
‘Who is it?’
‘Kacee.’
Steve opened the double-height door and after exchanging smiles, gestured in the direction of the window and three ostentatious bedroom chairs. ‘Please, come in.’
The air stirred, long blonde hair flowed around her neck, and over the shoulders of the short russet dress. Steve followed the sweet vanilla scent towards the window. Kacee chose the sunlit chair.
He sat opposite. ‘How have you been?’
Her long bronzed legs crossed. Black stilettos coordinated with the row of square buttons on her low neckline.
‘I’m fine, but you look tired.’ She drew a finger across her eyebrow. ‘How’d you get that?’