Executioner's Lament

by Justin Rishel

  “Warren?”

  “Yes, boss,” Warren Samuels replied without turning around.

  “Time to get started.”

  * * *

  Jacira exited her car, which sped off into the river of automated traffic to park itself somewhere nearby. She looked up at the massive building and did her best not to look impressed.

  Her philosophy was simple: always appear as though you are supposed to be wherever you are and people will usually assume as much.

  She followed the instructions her employer had given her, bypassing security to an elevator off the lobby. She almost missed it; the doors were made up to blend in with the granite and glass walls.

  Just as she stepped in front of it, the doors whispered open. A large man with black hair and three chins stood inside. He wore a black uniform. No badges or labels. This guy was muscle. He glared at her. She stepped in.

  After a short, quick ride the doors opened onto a plain, gray walled hallway with dingy ceiling tiles overhead. She stepped out and looked around. The hallway had a door at each end.

  “Go right,” grunted the man behind her. She turned to look at him and he jerked a thumb to his right, then pressed a button inside the elevator closing the doors.

  She walked to the door at the end of the hall on the right and opened it. She stepped out onto the roof of the one-hundred-fifteen-story building. Wind and sun assaulted her in equal measure. The former pushing the door with such force that it almost sent her tumbling backward back into the stale hallway.

  Muscling the door open, she stepped out onto the roof. Gravel crunched under her black boots. She shielded her eyes from the blinding sun and scanned her surroundings.

  She had come out from one corner of the building’s roof. Other than the hallway behind her which protruded from the roof like an out of place block, the roof of Ventana Tower was completely flat.

  On the far side, fifty feet from her, a winged aircraft sat atop a helipad platform several feet above the gravelly surface. The aircraft resembled a long white cigar with sharp ends and a flat bottom. Two long fins jutted out from its tail at ninety degrees from each other and short thin wings held large rotors inside metal rings. The rotors buffeted the ground as they idled.

  She recognized the craft as one popular among the wealthy elites, but she couldn’t put her finger on the make or model.

  Through the craft’s windows she saw several people already seated inside behind what appeared to be a pilot. A door stood open near the tail; steps trailed down to the helipad.

  Taking the open door as an invitation, she jogged to the aircraft and bounded up the steps. When her head breached the door, she froze.

  Seated in plush white leather seats facing her on either side of the central aisle were two people. They were both dressed in black fatigues with black gloves covering their hands. Their eyes were as cold as Jacira felt.

  These were the people her employer told her about. These were the people like her.

  With an air of caution, she stepped into the aisle and took a seat across from a woman about her age. Long red curls fell across her shoulders contrasted against the pale white of her skin. The curls caught the sunlight. She would have been considered beautiful were she not so obviously full of venom.

  The woman looked vaguely familiar, unlike the large, barrel-chested black man across the aisle; him Jacira knew well. His black curls were thicker now, a little grayer, and his face fuller, but there was no mistaking Balthazar.

  He was a man she’d known in her former life. They had traveled like paths, but Jacira hadn’t realized to what degree they were similar until now.

  He gave her a sideways glance, then turned his gaze forward again. A flicker of a grin crossed his face.

  When it came to killers, her employer obviously had a type.

  The cockpit door slid open and a man’s head emerged. He sat in the pilot’s seat; the rest of the cockpit was empty.

  Upon seeing his face, Jacira’s insides jolted. She knew this man, knew him well. Everyone in the city knew him. He was the wealthiest person in the city, one of the wealthiest people in the world. His company had changed the lives of millions, for better or worse.

  His most important claim to fame, of course, was Zentransa, the sleep-eliminating pill.

  “We’ll be there in ten minutes,” he said. The voice matched the one she’d heard on the phone so many times.

  He slid the cockpit door shut and the aircraft lifted off. With James Sarazin at the controls.

  22

  Descent

  Inside the gleaming white train, Martin Aubrey stared out across the sea of green tree tops wondering what waited for them at the end of the line.

  The man from the phone, the Tapper, had kept his first promise—a pass to board the train was waiting for them when they arrived. Whether he kept the rest of his promises remained to be seen.

  They brought everything they could carry in the event they’d need to share evidence or search the mountains of documents and data they already had. Ted continued working back at the hotel, wirelessly connected to the tablet in her bag. They prepaid for the entire week at the hotel so no matter where they ended up, Ted could keep working.

  “You sure that thing will work inside the Keep,” Aubrey asked when they left the hotel. If Ted cracked another batch of messages, he wanted to be alerted right away.

  “Pretty sure,” she’d said. “If anything, I can stick a repeater near a window. Then, I’d get a signal anywhere within a few thousand feet.”

  On the train, she monitored Ted’s progress on the rest of the messages, checking and rechecking her tablet. Aubrey looked at her every time she did, hoping there was news, but every time she’d simply shake her head and slide her tablet back into her bag.

  He felt sure that the next batch would contain all the remaining messages.

  “What do you think they have?” she said ten minutes into the train ride.

  “I don’t know.” Aubrey sighed. “If they have information at all.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw her shocked look. She leaned in close. “Martin, if you think we’re walking into a trap, you need to tell me.”

  “I don’t know what we’re walking into.” He turned toward her and suddenly felt like bringing her was a mistake. “Somebody at that prison wanted those scientists dead. Then, the guy that killed them dies. And all of a sudden, we get an invitation out there to have a chat? I don’t know what it is, but I do know we should meet him.”

  Her eyes grew wider. “Martin, I told you I’m not a field person. There is a reason, a very good one—I sit behind a screen all day. I’m not good with people and I’m certainly not good in tense situations with people.”

  He placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “I’ll be there, don’t worry. And I don’t know what’s going to happen, just be ready for anything.”

  She glanced at his hand and turned away.

  “What’s the plan anyway?” she said, not facing him.

  “Plan?” He shrugged. “Well, we hear what they have to say. And if we feel like it, we tell them what we know.” Aubrey leaned in toward Malina. “If this guy is legit, then he’s been digging into this thing from his side. I have no idea what kind of investigation he’s conducted, but it could be the answers we need. It could help us crack this thing wide open.”

  * * *

  Malina’s eyes traced up the dark monolith towering over them as the train entered the brightly lit archway in the prison’s side. It was like a gaping wound in an otherwise perfectly symmetrical and featureless edifice.

  “Is it just like you left it?” she asked.

  Aubrey grunted. “Something like that. I don’t think this place changes very much.”

  Aubrey told her about his interview with Alkorn and his team soon after they’d met, and it was one of the major reasons she agreed to help him.

  Malina searched their surroundings. Receiving platforms, separated by block walls, passed on their left a
s the train entered the prison’s hull and began to slow. The last, and largest, platform came into view, nearly empty. She assumed this was where workers embarked and disembarked everyday.

  The train halted with a soft bump, the doors slid open, and passengers shuffled from their seats to the doors. Aubrey got Malina’s attention and jerked his head toward the platform. For a moment, she didn’t move; sitting with her hands gripping the seat in front of her. She’d convinced herself that coming to the Keep was a good idea, but now that she was here…

  Aubrey stood in the aisle waiting, a hand out. She took one deep breath, then two, grabbed her bag, stood, and together they disembarked the train.

  Several shut doors stood on the back wall a hundred feet away. The rest of the passengers were milling toward the one open door on the far left.

  “I just realized I have no idea where to go from here,” Aubrey said.

  The two of them stood in silence, then as one, they noticed a pair of forms standing against the wall far away on their right. The two Tappers wore long, form fitting black cloaks. Cassocks, she remembered they were called.

  “I guess that’s the welcoming committee,” she said.

  “Come on, let’s go.” Aubrey started toward the Tappers and Malina followed.

  * * *

  The shadowy figures did not move or speak as Aubrey and Malina approached. Ten feet from them, Aubrey stopped.

  There was no mistaking the man in front of him. He was in the courtroom six years ago, frightening all in attendance. His hair had grown a good deal grayer since then, but it was him—Aubrey had no doubt. The woman next to him shocked Aubrey. He had never considered the that there might be female Tappers, but here stood one. There must be more.

  She was young, no more than twenty-four or twenty-five. In any other circumstances, she would be considered quite beautiful with her platinum hair and soft features. Her youth fascinated him. How early did these people start their training? How young did they begin killing?

  “My name is Rudolfo.” The male Tapper spoke. His voice matched the one Aubrey heard on the phone an hour before. “I am a Member of the Order of the Coppice and this is my Apprentice, Francesca. It was I who called you.”

  Aubrey nodded. “I didn’t realize there would be two of you.” When neither Rudolfo nor Francesca offered an apology or explanation, Aubrey continued. “Yeah, well, this is Malina Maddox.” He gestured toward his partner. “She’s been helping me with the investigation.”

  “An unsanctioned investigation.” Rudolfo’s face held no expression. Much like the exterior of the Keep, it gave no impression as to what exactly happened inside, only that you’d be advised to stay away.

  Aubrey gave Malina a sideways glance. It was a statement of fact, less an admonishment or an accusation. It had the tone of something close to respect but well short of admiration.

  “I imagine it’s about as sanctioned as your investigation.”

  Rudolfo’s face remained unchanged, but he nodded. As if the short exchange between the two men were some sort of binding treaty, Rudolfo turned and beckoned the others to follow.

  He led them through a gray door and down a long hallway where the sounds of mechanical equipment thrummed behind double doors and the cold, crisp air smelled of sterilizing ions.

  “How often are outsiders allowed in here?” Aubrey asked after several quiet minutes.

  “Almost never.” Rudolfo spoke loud enough for the others to hear but did not turn toward them when he spoke.

  Aubrey knew what that meant. They weren’t allowed to be here. Either a very special exception was made for them or nobody knew. He guessed nobody knew. This Tapper risked a hell of a lot to bring them here, which meant he either really cared about his investigation or he wanted Aubrey there for other reasons.

  Rudolfo walked fast, even for Aubrey’s six-foot frame. Glancing over his shoulder, Aubrey saw Malina nearly jogging to keep up, her sneakers slapping the painted concrete floor.

  At a set of elevator doors, Rudolfo stopped. He reached for a button on the wall, when Aubrey grabbed his forearm. With a look of confusion, the first human expression Aubrey had seen the man make, Rudolfo glared at him.

  “Where are we going?” Aubrey asked.

  “Somewhere we can talk.”

  “Where?” Aubrey let go of the man’s arm but continued staring back at him.

  “To my ward. We will have privacy there.”

  “Your ward? Won’t there be inmates there?”

  The Tapper tilted his head. “Yes, of course there will be inmates there. This is a prison, Mr. Aubrey.”

  In a way, Aubrey appreciated the sarcastic tone from Rudolfo. It meant the man was human, he was flawed.

  “Well, what about us?” Aubrey gestured covertly toward Malina, who seemed not to notice. She was still catching her breath from the long, fast walk.

  Rudolfo straightened. “You will have us.” He placed a hand on his own chest. “It will be more than enough protection, you’ll find. And there will be guards posted along the ward.” Rudolfo punched the button next to the steel doors and a second later they opened.

  With a look toward Malina, Aubrey stepped inside. Malina and the two Tappers followed.

  * * *

  Francesca boarded the elevator last. She had said nothing upon meeting the two visitors and now looking at their reflections in the polished metal doors, she tried to imagine what they must be thinking.

  The woman with Martin Aubrey seemed confident and probably a formidable opponent when cornered. Behind the purposely disheveled hair and careless attire, she exuded a dogged determination.

  Martin Aubrey carried himself like a cop through and through, whether he officially wore a badge or not. She knew he pursued this investigation without pay and without orders. Aaron Lewis had made that clear. Brother Rudolfo would have never had the notion to bring him here were he not certain the man was just as committed to finding the truth as he.

  The elevator halted with a bump. Francesca led the way off and into the outer passageway.

  “This is the outermost passageway,” she said. She glanced at her Mentor. Rudolfo’s expression told her she had his blessing to keep speaking. “There are four passageways forming concentric rings around this floor of the facility. There are four hallways, or corridors that divide the floor into symmetric quarters. Each floor is divided into two wards.”

  The group approached a corridor and the woman, Malina, gasped.

  “What is that?” she asked, pointing down the corridor toward the central column of open air.

  “That is the Great Atrium,” Francesca explained. “It runs the entire height of the prison from just above the train platform to the glass ceiling over the top floor.”

  As they stood gawking at the massive, open air tube in the center of the complex, a group of four inmates turned a corner from an interior passageway. One caught sight of Malina and Aubrey and turned toward them, his eyes fixed on Malina. He was pale and thin, not more than five-foot-six. He walked toward Malina and called back to his friends.

  “Hey, boys! We got visitors. Let’s show them around.” He smoothed the front of his white prison uniform and rubbed his shaved head as if smoothing back a rich mane of hair.

  The others turned to follow their mate and began quietly cat-calling toward Malina, who was visibly uneasy. She backed away toward Aubrey, who then stepped forward between her and the inmates.

  Ten feet away the inmates suddenly froze, all signs of bravado melting away like wax in a hot fire. They bent their heads, some using their hands to shield their eyes, muttered apologies, and slinked away in the opposite direction.

  Malina and Aubrey looked at Francesca. The inmates hadn’t noticed her and Rudolfo until just that moment.

  “See,” Francesca said, “you have us.”

  Aubrey nodded and looked at Malina, still shaken. “Come on,” he said to Malina, then motioned to Francesca that they could move on.

  She led them further do
wn the long passageway.

  Outside the observation room, Francesca and Rudolfo stopped. She extended a hand, inviting them to enter.

  Inside, she watched Malina go right to the monitors on the long table. Aubrey pointed to a chair with a questioning look toward her and Rudolfo.

  “Please,” Rudolfo said and Aubrey sat.

  Malina turned back to the group and the four of them sat around the wooden table. Atop the table sat Wilcott’s journal.

  “So,” Aubrey said, crossing his arms, “what have you got for us?”

  * * *

  Stepping out of the aircraft onto the roof of the Coppice was a surreal experience for Jacira. Her former life had been spent, in large part, inside this damnable place. She spent years trying to leave, now her new life brought her back.

  She owed a great deal to her time here. Her skills were varied and honed here. The ease with which she removed the breath from a person’s body had been refined here.

  Nevertheless, she didn’t feel right being back here.

  The others exited the craft behind her. Looking back at them, she couldn’t see any of her own misgivings in their faces. Surely, they felt it too, she thought. They must. This place had been hell for all of them.

  She shouldered her bag and followed James Sarazin to a nearby hatch in the roof. She had no idea the hatch existed or the helipad for that matter. Both may have been installed after her time, but then again, there would have been no reason for her to know they existed.

  The helipad was off to one side of the circular roof, well clear of the glass ceiling. The aircraft idled down to a dull howl before falling silent.

  Through the open hatch, thirty feet in front of them, a head emerged. The man had silver hair and pudgy cheeks; his light eyes squinted against the harsh sunlight before fixing first on Sarazin, then on Jacira and the two others.

  Cold recognition peeled away the man’s soft expression. His face froze between bewilderment and rage. With a stern look at Sarazin, the man disappeared down the hatchway.

  After descending from the roof, the group found themselves in a room filled with mechanical equipment—air handlers, electrical boxes, cables traveling down through the floor.