PHOENIX: Spooks

by Howard, Paul

  There was no pain at all; just the blue, oozy parts of his body coming back together and resuming their original form. He had almost completed the process when the sea began to fill the cockpit in a powerful rush. Wet darkness surrounded him, and a new sensation of fear took over as the water covered his head and filled the compartment completely.

  Holding his breath desperately, a panic began to overcome his emotions. The cockpit door, now half closed in the pressure, froze completely. He pushed against it using all of his strength with desperation. As he pushed, and gave it more effort, he became aware that there was no burning sensation in his lungs at all. He relaxed and the seawater flooded into his chest. There was no pain or sensation of drowning.

  He smiled and would have laughed out loud if he had air in his lungs to push it out. “I’m a spook!” he thought to himself, “I don’t need to breathe anymore. I’m not alive anymore!”

  He relaxed and patiently pushed the door open when the water pressure equalized. It took him several minutes of bumping around in the dark hold to find the outer door, which had a dim red light above it. The ship was now filled and fully submerged. As he groped for the handle there was a loud bang that threw him to the deck of the ship. He slammed, face-down, to the metal plating, and realized that the shuttle had just hit the bottom.

  After several moments he got back up and managed to find the door control. After several unsuccessful attempts, it opened with a bubbling noise to the depths of the ocean. It was completely dark outside the ship, and when he took a step he tumbled out and fell twelve feet to the sea floor.

  Landing in silt and mud, he got up slowly and took a few steps. Having no sense of direction except up, he decided to swim to the surface. Pushing off with his feet he paddled up, and as he did a soft red glow became brighter and brighter overhead.

  In less than a minute his head came out of the water, in a reflex action, he exhaled the liquid from his chest.

  The sun was just rising as he looked in all directions for boats or ships. The surface was clear and he realized where he was; off the coast at San Pedro. To his right he could see the ruins of the Vincent Thomas Bridge, a leviathan of abandoned rust and cable rising out of the ocean. To his left were the tops of the giant derelict cranes protruding from the water. Next to them the rusting hulk of the once mighty USS Ronald Reagan lay on its side; a testament to the lost greatness of American Empire.

  The great leviathans from a bygone age loomed against the dawning light. John Morrison spent his first moments back on Earth swimming to the shore over remains of the old Port of Los Angeles.

  He sensed a fizzing sensation on his skin just as Lisa predicted, like the foaming of peroxide on a wound. It was blue and tickled, but it caused no pain. He made haste to reach the shore in the growing light before the beaches came to life or the authorities could reach him.

  Remarkably, no aircraft or boats appeared during the twenty minutes it took him to reach the shore. With the help of the tide, and lot of luck, he realized that he was going to make it.

  Finally climbing on to the rocky shore at Wilmington Beach he looked down at the rags that used to be his pants. They would attract attention anywhere he went. It was still barely dawn and the area had not yet begun to stir.

  Although the beaches of the past were all submerged and the water was too acidic for swimming, the Pacific shores still drew Southern Californians to them like a magnet. Humans could not resist the intoxicating lure of the sea.

  Shops and little stores clung to the shores just as they always had, and the Wilmington Ports O’ Call was one of the most colorful in the state. He moved along the storefronts looking for an outlet that had what he needed. After two blocks he came on a little shop with displays of beach attire and souvenirs.

  Picking up a trash receptacle, he banged on the plate-glass. It didn’t give way at first, but after three more attempts, the window broke and he rushed inside. In the growing light he found some shorts, a bright Hawaiian shirt, and some vinyl beach walkers. He put them on quickly, and was leaving as he spotted a display of hats near the front counter.

  As he was trying them on he noticed a peculiar fiberglass covered plank with a fin on display above the counter. It was brightly painted and he couldn’t figure what it was.

  After finding a hat that fit he helped himself to a pair of sunglasses as well. They not only hid his eyes but made him look like a tourist. After finding what he needed, he left the store and moved up the street away from the shore. When he got two blocks away he could see a rush of police vehicles moving toward the area that he had just come from.

  He hiked another several blocks and could hear the traffic on the 110 freeway, which was just coming to life. He looked back down toward the shore where police were converging in numbers.

  “They were too slow.” he thought to himself and smiled.

  Then he remembered the strange board in the shop and realized what it was: people used to ride those things on the waves back in the old days, when sand covered the beaches and the ocean didn’t burn. He had seen videos of them when he was a kid.

  It was the first time he had ever seen a surfboard in person.

  Chapter Ten: Settling Accounts

  When Morrison hit the abort switch the descending shuttle fired its emergency retros and tumbled wildly to the south. The Law Enforcement teams watched this on their scanners helplessly as it shot below their tracking and went off of the scopes. Following through best as they could, the consensus among them was that the odds favored a splashdown off of Long Beach.

  Committing all the resources they could mobilize, police and federal authorities poured into Long Beach City and pressed for the abandoned harbor. Only as reports started coming in from Palos Verdes and Wilmington did they put together the pieces that made them realize their error. By the time they converged on the shore their quarry had eluded them.

  After John Morrison had slipped past his would-be captors, he made his way onto the free rails and moved into the heart of town where he had business. It was early evening by the time he reached his destination.

  The motel was clean but cheap, the perfect place to park his accomplices.

  In room number 106 the tension had been growing all day long. Mike had started drinking by the afternoon. Instead of the liquor relaxing him, it seemed to have the opposite effect. By evening he was a bundle of nerves; pacing back and forth with the news video on constantly. The story repeated again:

  “The Coast Guard has announced that they now fear they will find no survivors from the mysterious aircraft that crashed into the Pacific Ocean less than half a mile off of Palos Verdes this morning.” the report began, “The Spokesperson said that they will continue the search until tomorrow. Eyewitnesses to the crash said that the unidentified ship plunged into the sea at supersonic speed just before 6 AM…”

  Steve switched off the remote without ever getting up from the table. He was passing the time with a game of Solitaire. Mike was beginning to irritate him.

  “Will you sit the fuck down?” he snapped. “You’re starting to get on my nerves.”

  “How can you sit there?” Mike asked. “He should be here by now with our money. Where the hell is he?”

  “He’ll come,” Steve said, “Relax.” Mike took another pull off of the bottle and continued to pace.

  “Yeah, sure,” he said, “As if you know. You just put a red Jack on a red Queen.” Steve looked at the cards and snapped back at him impatiently.

  “Do you mind letting me play my own game?”

  “Just trying to help,” Mike retorted, “You can’t do that. It’s cheating.”

  “So?” Steve asked. Mike shook his head and took another drink as he began to pace again.

  “You better slow down on that shit...” Steve added. Mike wheeled around and glared at him.

  “I don’t need to be fucking nagged!” he roared.

  “Suit yourself,” Steve replied, “But don’t expect me to haul you around if you ge
t too jacked up to handle your end...”

  The conversation was abruptly interrupted by a knock at the door.

  They both looked at the door suspiciously and pulled out their guns in unison. Steve looked Mike in the eyes and whispered: “Go ahead.” Mike walked quietly to the door and pressed himself against the wall. He cried out.

  “Who is it?”

  There was no answer. Steve stood up as Mike reached slowly for the handle. He turned it and stepped back to let the door swing open. The hallway was empty. They looked at each with confused expressions on their faces

  “You boys seem a little nervous this evening.” came the voice from behind them.

  The two men turned with their weapons ready to fire. Morrison stood in the corner with his arms folded calmly. They relaxed when they saw that it is him, but they were still very confused.

  “How the hell did you do that?” Steve asked. Morrison just grinned at them and made no reply.

  “You were supposed to be here hours ago!” Mike bellowed. “Where the fuck have you been?” Morrison smiled and gestured to his outfit, he was still wearing shorts and the loud shirt.

  “At the bottom of the ocean,” he replied, “It’s not too bad except for the mud. Kind of fun, really...” Steve glared at him impatiently and closed the door.

  “Can the wit!” he demanded. “Did you bring our money?”

  Morrison strolled over to the couch and sat, ignoring the tone of Steve’s question. They never took their eyes off of him as he reached into his shirt and threw a large paper wrapped bundle on the table. Mike’s eyes bulged with greed and he moved to pick it up. As soon as he touched it Morrison placed his foot upon his hand very hard, pinning it to the table.

  “There is one small problem, though,” Morrison cooed, “My expenses ran a little higher than I originally projected.”

  Steve eyed him angrily as Mike managed to free his hand. Steve pushed Morrison’s foot to the floor as he spoke.

  “That’s your problem. We’ve got trouble enough of our own...”

  Morrison picked up the bottle of scotch and sniffed its contents. Steve snatched the bundle and started to open it. There was nothing there but tissue paper.

  “What are trying to pull, Morrison?” he asked. The ecto crossed his hands behind his head and sat back calmly, still holding the bottle in one hand.

  “Nothing really,” he said softly, “Only...your job is done now and that makes you both...shall we say: ‘expendable’.”

  In an instant, he swung the bottle around, shattering it in Steve’s face. He fell to the floor clutching his face in agony. Mike jumped back and pulled out his gun.

  “You son of a bitch…” Mike snapped. Morrison got up slowly and smiled.

  “Such talk about my mother!” he said calmly. “Now, I’m afraid we can’t be friends anymore.” Mike cocked his gun to shoot. Morrison began to laugh at him.

  “I just smacked into a bulkhead this morning at 750 miles an hour and walked on the bottom of the ocean!” he mused. “What do you think you’re going to do with that pop-gun? Go ahead and try it, by all means!”

  Steve had passed out. Mike looked around confused. Morrison grinned and winked at him. It infuriated Mike, but he understood his situation at last. He charged for the door but Morrison grabbed him and began to choke him with his forearms. The former trustee tried to clutch at him with his free hand but couldn’t reach around. He jerked and the gun went off. Morrison tightened his grip even more and Mike convulsively dropped it to the floor. The ecto amused himself by talking to the gasping man.

  “You know, my mother wasn’t a bitch at all!” he began. “She was extremely nice to me. She gave me enemas every morning until I was fifteen. Now, my father thought she was a cunt, but I never liked him. That’s why I cut off his head.” He looked at Mike’s face, which had turned deep red. His muscles were in spasm.

  “I don’t think you’re listening to me!” Morrison continued. “Trouble breathing? Don’t worry, I can fix that.”

  He strangled him for another thirty seconds until his body went completely limp. Once sure Mike was dead, he let him drop to the floor. He looked at the body lying there in front of him and smiled.

  “Welcome to the Other Side.”

  He turned to Steve lying unconscious a few feet away and sighed.

  “And now, for your little friend!”

  Chapter Eleven: Cat and Mouse

  The following morning found the squad room a zoo as usual. Sam moved through it and helped himself to a powdered donut with a cup of coffee, hardly paying heed to the unsuccessful attempts by squad room officers to quiet down a Neo Christian who was offering a very loud Armageddon Sermon. He adjusted his already rumpled suit and moved down the hall to Homicide, where he spotted White looking very tired at a computer desk with a pile of files.

  He was wearing the same suit as he was the night before.

  “Jesus Christ Lenny!” he began. “You haven’t been here all night?”

  White rubbed his eyes and took the coffee cup out of Sam’s hand. He took a sip and tossed a file at Sam, who barely caught it and sat down. It was a new file that was still in the early reporting stages. Sam opened it to find the photos of Mike and Steve just as Morrison had left them twelve hours earlier.

  “It’s been a busy night,” White said, “Morrison didn’t waste any time.” Sam groaned as he realized what he was looking at.

  “It happened at a motel over on Beverly,” White continued, “They’re still working on the forensics but we’ve got enough already. Romer and Wurshaw; dead as a doornail. ” Sam read the report.

  “Strangulation,” Sam commented, “You’d think he would have at least stopped for a drink or something before starting up again.”

  “Spooks don’t drink, Sam.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Sam said, closing the file in exasperation. White crossed his hands and leaned on the desk. The fatigue showed in his face, but Jacobson could hear the wheels turning in his old partner’s head. Sam spoke at length, “You got a bad feeling. I know. So, you want to tell me about it?”

  “I’m just trying to put the pieces together up to this point,” White answered slowly, “I’ve been looking into a few things. Holt’s body was handled by a mortuary in The Valley. On Friday morning they reported a fire, but there was no fire. That must’ve been when they switched the bodies.

  “The next question is how Morrison managed to get a spook-job at Phoenix.”

  “What do they say about that?” Sam asked.

  “They say it was sabotage,” White answered, “Somebody tampered with their systems.” This intrigued Sam. He took a bite out of his donut and thought about what White had just said.

  “Then this morning, Woods reported what he found in San Quentin. He said that the two trustees in question had been warned several times about being too chummy with some of the condemned men.”

  “Including Morrison?” Sam asked.

  “Especially Morrison,” White replied, “There’s something else; Lisa Warren.”

  He pushed a key on the computer and Lisa’s image came up on the screen, along with her file. Sam smiled; she was a very attractive woman.

  “Morrison’s sister,” he commented, “I remember her. Not too shabby...”

  White interrupted him and began to explain more of Wood’s findings. “The visitor’s log of the prison shows that she made an exceptional number of visits to Morrison during the last three months before his execution. Every day during the last four weeks. But the last two days, and the day of the execution: nothing. Want to guess where she was?”

  “Phoenix?” Sam quipped. White smiled.

  “You just won a copy of the Home Game!” White mused. “She’s the executive assistant to some big CEO named Martin, who just happened to go on a VIP tour up there two days before Morrison’s Big Show. Naturally, she went along.”

  “Naturally.” Sam replied sarcastically. He was beginning to see where White was going with all of this. He po
pped the last of the donut into his mouth and took another sip of coffee. White took the cup from him and finished it off.

  “We were so busy with Morrison that we never really looked into her as much as we should have,” White said, “I had a look at her background. By the age of seven she was hacking into the mainframes of toy companies, electric gamers. She even got one of the major candy companies to send her a year’s supply of chocolate bars before they caught on.

  “Got a scholarship to UCLA in Computer Science and graduated at the top of her class. A really meteoric rise in the corporate world. She’s a genius, Sam.”

  “Can we prove she tampered with Phoenix?” Sam asked.

  “We can’t prove anything on her,” White replied, “She’s either the most innocent girl in the world…”

  “Or the slipperiest.” Sam added. White nodded his head in agreement. Sam looked at the file and scowled. “Why didn’t you wake me up on this motel killing?”

  “I didn’t need you,” White said, “It was plain from the start. So, what do you think?” Sam stood up and flipped the files with his hand.

  “I think you need a shower and a change,” Sam suggested, “You can’t go see someone like Lisa Warren looking like that.” White smiled and got up from his seat. Sam followed him out.

  After going to White’s apartment for a quick shower and shave, the two detectives were back in the Solar, stuck in traffic. There was very little conversation, but Sam felt troubled. He just couldn’t get why White hadn’t called him in on the motel murders. Partners worked together, and it was good police procedure to collaborate on crime scene investigations in a case like this.

  He just couldn’t fathom why White’s was acting so strangely.