So, if it wasn’t someone here to take something, it had to be somebody looking to leave something. Once he’d worked that part out, the rest was obvious.
“The Tribunal,” he said. “We’ve been bugged.”
“The bastards!” Artur whispered. He shook a tiny fist at the office in general and raised his voice to a shout. “Hear that? Ye’re a shower o’ bastards, the lot o’ ye.”
Dan crossed to the filing cabinet and wrestled with the bottom drawer. It screeched as he heaved it open, revealing a knot of cables and an assortment of home-made looking gadgets. He rummaged around among the devices until he’d found the one he was looking for, then spent several increasingly frustrating minutes trying to untangle the fonking thing from the web of wires and charging cables.
He practically sobbed with relief when he finally got the thing free. It didn’t look like anything especially noteworthy, and was essentially just a chunk of metal the size of a cigar case with two semi-flexible wires protruding from the top and a single dial on the front.
“What’s that for?” Ollie asked.
“Is it for rammin’ up the arses of those eavesdroppin’ Tribunal shoitebags?” Artur asked, raising his voice to a holler. “Because if so I’ll gladly be the one to do the shoving.”
“Not exactly,” said Dan. He turned the dial and the wires became rigid. They both trembled at slightly different speeds, then something on the outer door let out a warble of feedback. Dan traced the sound to a circular sticker just a fraction of an inch in diameter. It was hard to spot from even a couple of feet away, and had it not been for the feedback increasing in pitch when Dan brought the scanner device closer, he’d likely never have found it at all.
Sliding a cracked fingernail behind the sticker, he teased it from the glass. Light glinted off the miniature lens as he peered down at it, briefly wondering if someone was watching from the other end. With a shrug, he squeezed the camera until the feedback stopped.
“What is that?” Ollie asked.
“A camera. They were watching us.”
“But you’ve got rid of it?”
“I got rid of one,” said Dan, adjusting the scanner’s dial. Another wail emerged from inside the inner office. “Let’s see just how inquisitive these shizznods are.”
Ten minutes of searching later, Dan had found seven of the tiny cameras, and destroyed six of them. He had swept the whole place, even checking the stairs leading up to the office in case any of the spycams had been set up there. They seemed to all have been inside the office, though, and he was confident he’d found them all.
Dan sat at the table, balancing the final surviving camera on the tip of his finger. He held it up, the shiny black lens pointing towards him.
“We both know how much these things cost,” he said, eyeballing the unseen person who was either watching this live, or would watch the recording later. “And we both know it’s almost impossible to get authorization to use the fonking things. So, either you think I’m about to mastermind some global catastrophe, or you haven’t gone through the proper channels, and are spying on me illegally.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Now, I know that word doesn’t really mean anything to you – it’s not like anyone’s going to arrest the Tribunal now, is it? – but if I report this, if I go through the proper channels, then you’ll either be buried in paperwork for the rest of your life, or rank-stripped and kicked out of the service.”
Dan brought the camera closer until he could see a tiny version of himself reflected in the lens. “How do you think ex-Tribunal grunts do out there in the real world? Not well. If you want to avoid finding out for yourself, stay out of my office, and keep out of my business.”
He placed the camera down on the table, lens pointing to the ceiling. “Thus endeth the lesson,” he said, then he brought a fist sharply down on the thing, obliterating it.
Artur, who had been standing on the table making a succession of increasingly obscene gestures in the camera’s direction, applauded loudly. “Marvelous speech, Deadman. Right on the feckin’ money. Sure, I’d probably have sworn at them a bit more, maybe cast aspersions on their parentage or what have ye, but that’s a matter of personal taste and no criticism of yer performance.”
Ollie emerged from the inner office, where she’d been instructed to wait while Dan disposed of the cameras. She bit her lip nervously. “Is that them all?” she asked. “Are we safe now?”
“Ah, ye were always safe, peaches,” said Artur. “Sure, who in their right mind would try to mess with three hardy bastards like us? They’d have to be out of their feckin’ mind.”
The office door opened. Dan stood and drew his gun in one fluid motion, the lights around Mindy’s chamber illuminating as his finger found the trigger.
A middle-aged mailman with a face that somehow managed to seem bigger than the rest of his head screamed and thrust his arms in the air. “Aeerk! N-no! Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!”
Dan lowered the gun.
“Smooth,” said Artur.
“Sorry. Thought you were someone else,” Dan offered as way of explanation.
The mailman nodded and smiled gratefully, trying to make every line of his body suggest that no harm had been done. Dan was still holding the gun, and though he’d quickly lowered it, he could almost certainly raise it again just as swiftly.
Bowing and scraping his way into the room like a toadying subject before a cruel king, the mailman slipped a rectangular envelope onto the table. He then beat a hasty retreat, openly weeping tears of relief as he backtracked out of the office and closed the door behind him.
“Thanks,” said Dan, but the mailman’s footsteps were already two stories down, and getting further all the time.
Putting Mindy back in her holster, Dan picked up the envelope and tore it open. A handwritten note slid out, followed by a headshot of a late middle-aged man. The photograph was in color, but may as well not have been, what with the man’s charcoal skin, snow white hair, and eyes the color of icicles.
The note was from Kooriashian, and was short and to the point. It read: ‘Photograph, as requested. Transfer has been initiated. Speedy result appreciated. K.’
A label had been affixed to the back of the photograph with some additional details about Kooriashian’s husband. Name. Age. Planet of origin. That sort of thing. Nothing that would make tracking him down any easier.
“Transfer has been initiated,” said Artur. He had clambered up onto Dan’s shoulder to read the note. “Meaning what, exactly? We’re rich?”
“Meaning we – I – have been partially paid for a job,” Dan said. “And no, before you ask, we can’t go and spend it on booze. I’ve got to find this guy.”
“Ah, putting our detective pants on, are we?” Artur snorted. “This I want to see. Just how d’ye propose to find that one guy in a city of a billion people? Hmm? Put up posters, maybe? Ask around the place? Beat the shoite out of some lowlife somewhere until he tells ye what ye want to know?”
“I don’t know,” Dan muttered.
Artur cupped a hand to his ear. “Say what now? I didn’t quite hear that.”
“I said I don’t know, OK?” Dan said.
“We could all go out looking,” Ollie suggested.
“Alternatively, we could tell yer woman that ye tried yer best, what with yer woefully limited abilities and everything, and then we could all head out to the pub and have ourselves a feckin’ marvelous time,” Artur suggested. “I know which one I’d prefer. Also, peaches, no offence, but that suggestion ye just made? It’s a load of old shoite. Sure, how many sets of eyes d’ye think we have between us, exactly? Because I make three, and I’m pretty sure that’s not enough to search through the whole city.”
He clapped his hands, winked, and pointed to the door. “So… pub?”
“Maybe later,” Dan said. “We can head to Bluey’s. I’ve still got a tab there.”
Artur tutted, but didn’t complain. ‘Later’ was better than ‘never
’. “Right. Fair enough, so. What’s the plan in the meantime? Are we just going to stick it out around here doing feck all, or what? Not that I’ve anything against that sort of thing, ye understand? It’d just be nice to know what the plans are.”
Dan pressed a fingertip against the squashed spycam on the table, picked it up, then squinted as he studied the tiny fractures on its lens. “We’re going to see about borrowing us some extra eyeballs.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Ye sure about this, Deadman?” asked Artur, his voice making it very clear he had grave reservations about the current situation. “Sure, I can’t help but feel it’s a bit… mad, ye know? We’re headin’ straight into enemy territory here. Strolling right up the drokkan’s jacksie, as they say.”
“What’s a drokkan’s jacksie?” Ollie asked.
“It’s a very inhospitable place that ye don’t want to ever find yourself, peaches,” Dan told her. “That’s all ye need to know.”
They were standing just inside the mouth of an alleyway, partially hidden by a rusting dumpster. The area around the Tribunal Watchtower had been pedestrianized a few years back, after a spate of kamikaze attacks against the place with a range of motorized vehicles. Nowadays, the rows of concrete barricades and metal spikes meant nothing short of a tank could drive within ten feet of the walls. Several automatic cannons up on the tower’s roof protected the airspace around it, and launching an attack or trying to break into the place was generally considered a bad idea.
Fortunately, Dan had no need to break in. One of the side doors opened just as he’d been expecting, and a figure in Tribunal riot gear emerged. After glancing around to make sure no-one else was watching, the guy beckoned for Dan to come inside.
“You two wait here,” Dan told them. “I won’t be long.”
“Ye what?” Artur spat. “Wait here? Just hang about here by the bins, will we? Ye dragged us all the way out here so we could just mill around with all the rubbish?”
“I’ll be five minutes,” Dan said. He looked back at Ollie as he walked away. “Don’t let him go anywhere,” he instructed. “And don’t you go anywhere, either.”
“What about if—?”
“Go. Nowhere,” Dan ordered, and then he hurried across the sidewalk, nodded once to the Tribunal grunt, and they both vanished inside the Watchtower.
Ollie shivered as she watched the door close. The streets on the way here had been packed with pedestrians, but the closer they got to the Tribunal building, the thinner the crowds had become. Now, only a handful of people were crossing the plaza, and even those seemed to be hurrying to vacate the area.
“He told me this place was dangerous,” she said, leaning back to look up at the tower. It stood taller than any of the other buildings nearby, with a curve of endless glass taking up the top several stories. “He told me I should never come here.”
“Yeah, well, it might not seem like it sometimes, but he knows what he’s doing,” Artur said, trying to sound reassuring. He sucked on his beard and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I hope ye do, Deadman. I really hope ye do.”
* * *
Dan followed Noops through the building in silence until they reached some sort of monitoring station up on the fourth floor. Noops’s rank allowed him access to priority elevators and stairwells with just a scan of his fingertips, so they’d avoided any awkward encounters with the Watchtower’s three hundred other staff members, and had made it up here unnoticed.
There were dozens of monitoring stations located throughout the station. Most were fairly expansive, with multiple staff members working from several stations to snoop on the citizens of Down Here, usually without their knowledge or consent.
The room Noops had brought Dan to was a private booth, usually reserved for the most discrete spying missions. If the Tribunal was trying to get dirt on any of its own officers, a crusading politician, or a visiting royal dignity, then this was where they did it from – away from prying eyes and, more importantly, free from the need to complete any of the proper paperwork.
Banks of screens lined one of the walls, each screen showing a different color image. Some of the screens displayed fairly standard-looking security footage. City streets. Car parks. An underground station. That sort of thing.
Some of the other feed showed less obvious places. A hotel bedroom. Someone’s kitchen. There were even a couple of bathrooms on there. All the rooms except the bedroom were currently empty, and the most interesting thing happening on that screen was someone sleeping. A waveform peaking at the bottom of the display suggested they were snoring.
Another wall was almost completely taken up by a single square screen showing a map of Down Here. Several hundred yellow dots were spread across the city, with five or six red ones mixed in amongst them. Most of the dots were stationary, although a few were moving at various speeds.
A curved desk took up most of the middle of the room, reflections dancing across its polished glass surface. Dan tapped it, and watched as the desktop illuminated with dozens of individual displays and readouts.
“New model?” he asked.
“What? Oh. Yeah. Not rolled out fully yet, but….”
Noops shook his head, visibly annoyed. “What are you doing here, Slam? What’s so important that it couldn’t wait?”
“This,” Dan said, reaching into his coat. Noops tensed, his hand grabbing for the gun at his hip, the visor of his helmet swinging down and locking over his face. “Hey. Easy!” Dan said, slowly taking the picture of Kooriashian’s husband from his pocket. “Just a photograph.”
Noops remained on high alert for a few seconds, then his visor retracted to reveal a slightly embarrassed smile. “Sorry. Habit.”
Dan nodded. “You think I’m going to shoot you because you bugged my office, Noops?” he asked. “Come on. What do you take me for?”
“Bugged your office? I don’t know anything about that,” said Noops, holding Dan’s gaze without even a flicker of a flinch. “But give me the details and I’ll see what I can find out.”
He was lying. Dan had worked with the guy for years. He knew when he was lying. Hell, Dan had practically been the one to teach him how to.
“It’s fine. No harm done,” Dan said. “But I need a favor.”
Noops raised his eyebrows. “A favor?”
“A couple of favors, actually.”
“I can’t… I mean, I know we go back and everything, and I feel for your current situation, I really do, but this is the Tribunal, Slam.”
“Dan.”
“Fine. Dan. This is the Tribunal. It doesn’t do favors.”
“I’m not asking the Tribunal,” Dan said. “I’m asking my partner.”
Noops looked down at the offered photograph. He sighed, saying nothing for a long time. “I assume you want me to run a search?”
“I do,” Dan confirmed. “He’s—”
“Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know,” Noops said. He snatched the picture from Dan’s hand, placed it face down on the desk, then squiggled with a fingertip on a featureless area beside it. He pointed to the map screen, and the words, ‘Search in Progress…’ appeared in the bottom right corner.
“It’ll take a few minutes,” Noops said.
Dan nodded admiringly. “Faster than it used to be.”
“Most of the time,” Noops confirmed. “What else?”
“Huh?”
“You said you had a couple of favors to ask. What else?”
“Oh. Yeah. First thing’s first,” Dan said. “I checked out the address you gave me. Nothing for you to worry about.”
Noops shifted on his feet, a little startled. “Worry about? I wasn’t worried about it, I just thought—”
“You just thought someone else might be moving in on your turf,” Dan said. He pointed upwards, indicating some higher authority somewhere up above. “Polani’s still got you running that sector for him, right? You thought maybe it was some sort of gang thing. You were worried Shornack or Paradise
West or someone new was trying to muscle in and take it from you.”
Noops tried to laugh it off, but said nothing.
“You couldn’t tell Polani, because if someone had moved in on your turf he’d see it as weakness, and we both know what he thinks of that. You couldn’t trust anyone else on the force, because you don’t know for sure who’s straight and who reports directly to him.”
Dan crossed his arms and leaned against the edge of the desk. “That about right?”
Noops had stopped laughing. He glanced around the room, as if making sure that none of the people being watched were somehow watching back.
“You’re sure?”
Dan kept perfectly still. Almost supernaturally still, in fact, all things considered. He had suspected, of course. You didn’t spend ten hours a day with someone and not figure out at least some of their secrets.
No-one on the Tribunal was an angel, Dan knew that. He’d been as bad as the rest. Worse than most, sometimes. But there was being a bad cop, and there was being a bad guy who dressed as one, and he’d always hovered just on the right side of that line. As soon as you started reporting to Polani, that line had been crossed. Then probably double-crossed, framed for the murder, and clubbed to death with a baton.
Dan had wanted to be wrong. More than anything, he’d wanted to be wrong.
“I’m sure. I think it was some sort of cult thing. You get these clowns who think they can summon up devils or whatnot. One of them did it.”
Noops let out a breath he’d been holding in for too many hours now. “Oh, thank fonk,” he said. “Wow. Haha! Hoo. That is… That is good news. Great news. Thank you. Seriously. I mean it.”
“You could’ve just asked,” Dan said. “You don’t need to keep secrets from me, Noops. We’re partners, right? We were like brothers, you and me.”
Noops shrugged and pulled a face that said, of course. On screen behind him, the map zoomed in to show a four-sector square as it narrowed the search.
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