Thermals

by Evan Currie

  The man swallowed, gulping nervously.

  “We are too close now,” Abdallah said seriously, “in a few days Interpol, or at least Australian, Police and Military involvement will be inevitable…But we need those few days Mr. Graves. You will not cost us that time, am I quite understood?”

  The small man nodded eagerly, “Of course. I promise.”

  “See that you keep that promise.” The imposing dark man said grimly, his white teeth flashing against his dark lips. “Or I will keep the one I made concerning you and your family.”

  Mr. Graves fell back, still nodding furiously. “Of course, I understand…”

  Abdallah watched him go, then turned to his large friend. “What do you think, Jacob?”

  “He’s a weak link, Amir.” The man intoned. “We should eliminate him from the equation.”

  Abdallah nodded, his lips pulling back. “I suppose that you are probably right, Jacob…However I would hate to have a missing person or, worse yet, a body turning up accidently, alert Agent Gunnar to something he shouldn’t.”

  “Mmmmmm…” Jacob said, almost growling. “There would be no body.”

  Abdallah laughed softly, “Oh Jacob, there’s always a body. No, let Mr. Graves live for the moment. We’ll use him in the first phase of the operation anyway. No sense in wasting the warm body.”

  “As you say, Amir.” Jacob said in his gravelly voice. “And the Interpol agent?”

  “As I said, have him followed…but not closely.” Abdallah Amir said firmly. “Do it carefully, Jacob.”

  “Always.”

  Abdallah smiled, nodding. “I know. That’s why I let you live, Jacob. You may not always succeed, but you never fail through stupidity.”

  Jacob just nodded at that, not commenting.

  “Oh, and have a look through the arrivals registered in the hotels, why don’t you? There may be others that haven’t announced their arrival with the local police.”

  “I will have Karim check, Amir.”

  “Fine, fine,” Abdallah turned back to the computer terminal he was looking at, then spoke idly as he worked, “Has Emil returned yet?”

  “Yes Amir, we recovered him eighty miles into the desert.” Jacob replied, “His flight time was forty minutes, plus four to climb and eight to descend.”

  Forty minutes, Abdallah made some quick calculations. That meant that Emil had been traveling two hundred miles per hour, which wasn’t bad for an unpowered flight. Still, it wasn’t what Abdallah had been expecting.

  “His instrument package has been recovered as well?”

  “Most assuredly.”

  “Excellent. Bring it in before you go.” Abdallah Amir ordered before turning back to his work.

  He would examine the data and learn why there was a discrepancy between his numbers and the actual test. Perhaps it was correctable, perhaps not. Either way, he had to know.

  Chapter 2

  The Pleasant Chimes Fountain was certainly deserving of any reputation it held with honeymooning couples, Anselm decided as he stood in front of site and looked around.

  The decorative fountain was probably only a couple feet deep at its deepest point, but the water shimmered with reflected and refracted light from above and below, glazed mirrors planted in the base of the fountain reflected a multicolor spectacle to anyone looking down into the water, and also served to hide the true depth from the casual glance.

  Water spouts sent jets of water dancing through the air on some pre-programmed dance, twirling and dancing around each other as they flew through the air, only to vanish into the surface of the pool without so much as a ripple as they vanished into hidden pipes placed carefully through the water.

  It was, perhaps, not the most spectacular fountain he’d seen, but the surroundings made it stand out just the same. Glass stretched in all directions as far as he could see above, and the plants that grew in the massive greenhouse facility were of practically every color in the rainbow, plus a few extra for good measure.

  Anselm walked around the fountain, flicking out the semi-circular screen of his portable computer, and called up the image that had brought him to this place. The honeymoon shot of Inspector Somer showed off the small blond’s attributes nicely, her sheer dress clung to her frame as she posed in front of the tower, smiling playfully at her husband. The gleam in her eyes brought an emotion to the image that was either the work of a good photographer in capturing it, or a lucky one. Either way, however, it was the man in the background that he was looking at and Anselm continued to move around the fountain until he found the right angle. When he did he paused and took note of the distance, then slapped his portable closed and walked around to the place he calculated Abdallah would have been in when the picture was taken. There was nothing much near that spot, unfortunately, certainly nothing which might indicate why the terrorist had paused there. Anselm turned around slowly until he was looking right at the photographer, Somer’s husband, in his mind’s eye. Then he looked past the mental image of Mr. Somer, and right at the embarkation point for the Project Mag-Lev.

  “He was waiting for someone.” Anselm whispered, running his finger along the side of his nose. “A friend? Or a co-conspirator?”

  “I thought I’d find you here.”

  Anselm snapped his head again, his hand dipping slightly toward the small of his back on reflex. He froze out the instinct, though, when he recognized the speaker and forced a smile, “Inspector, checking up on me already?”

  Inspector Gwendolyn Dougal smirked slightly, her short red hair sticking to light sheen of sweat on her forehead as she cocked her head at him, “Do you need checking up on, Agent Gunnar?”

  Anselm smiled a little more genuinely and shrugged, “What brings you out here, Inspector?”

  “Gwen.” She told him firmly.

  “Anselm then,” He returned.

  She chuckled, but nodded. “I thought you might be out here when I found you weren’t in your hotel room.”

  “Any reason you’re tracking me down?”

  She nodded and flipped a sheaf of photographic paper from under her arm, handing it over to him. Anselm accepted it and frowned down at it. It was an image of a car driving the streets of the city outside, and he recognized the face in the passenger side.

  “Where’d you get this?” He asked sharply, surprised to find himself looking at Abdallah Amir.

  Gwen cocked a hand on one hip and pursed her lips at his tone, “We may not have a huge department here, but we do have access to the central police network and database.”

  Anselm nodded, understanding.

  The Police Network was an online collection of programs that could be accessed from any police station in the world, at least in theory. Among the list of programs was, of course, the same facial topography scanner that had brought Anselm to Tower City in the first place. Obviously the Shanties, as Gwen had called the city, had traffic cameras installed. All she had to do was open up the traffic database to the Central Network, and tell the program to scan for Mr. Amir. The software would do the rest.

  “Could you identify the car?”

  “Of course.” Gwen smiled, “If you like I can take you out to talk to the owner right now.”

  Anselm glanced down at the picture again, wondering if it was a good idea. It would likely tip Abdallah to his presence if the owner of the car was in any way close with the terrorist.

  “If it eases your mind, I have this car on a traffic violation.” Gwen spoke up. “She was doing a hundred and thirty kilometers over the limit.”

  Anselm blinked.

  A hundred and thirty over the posted limit wasn’t unheard of, but it wasn’t common anywhere else that he knew of either.

  Gwen just chuckled at the look on his face, “The posted limits aren’t really in keeping with the reality of the few vehicles that are run privately around here. A lot of them are cheaper electrics, of course, but generally around here if you can afford a car, you can afford a good one.”

&nb
sp; “You don’t enforce the speed limits strictly?” Anselm asked, mostly because of the inspector’s own driving.

  She shrugged, “It depends. We enforce for reckless behavior more than speed, and don’t bother at all outside of city limits of course. Even in the city limits, people generally use the public transport, so the roads are usually pretty clear.”

  “Of course.” Anselm replied dryly, holding up the photo in question, “So dropping in on the young lady won’t be out of character?”

  She shrugged, and then shook her head. “Not really. We spot check a lot of speeders just to deliver warnings that they are, in fact, being watched. It keeps them at least slightly honest.”

  Anselm chuckled, nodding. “Alright. Let’s go.”

  “This way,” She gestured to the Mag-Lev embarkation point. “I’ve got the car parked about eight kilometers from here. We should be there in…Oh, a couple minutes or so.”

  *****

  Kamir Sophen, a young man barely out of his teens, was pouring over one of his two great loves when the call came from Mr. Jacob.

  “Y…yes Sir?” Kamir swallowed, a little nervously.

  “I have a job for you.” Jacob told him.

  “Yes Sir.”

  “Look through the registers of the Shanty hotels,” Jacob told him, “See if you can find the names of any Interpol officers.”

  “Interpol?” The young man asked with a curl of his lip, “Do you think they’re on to us?”

  “They are, but I doubt they know what they’re on to just yet. Some interest from the law enforcement community was inevitable, of course.”

  Kamir snorted lightly, nodding. “Fat lot of good it will good it will do them.”

  “Do not become arrogant, Kamir.” Jacob growled, “Arrogance leads to a great fall…And given your…extra-curricular activities, I do not believe that you need any added risk of falling. Do you?”

  Kamir shook his head quickly, “No, Jacob.”

  “Good. Do this job, do it quickly.” Jacob ordered, shutting the connection without saying anything more.

  Kamir shuddered slightly. There were few things that scared him in the world. He had swam the great barrier reef with the sharks, ran with the bulls in Spain, and even soared so high over the top of the very tower that ruled the sky here at the project, that he had needed a vacuum suit. Mr. Jacob, however, scared him.

  Kamir flipped his computer over to another program and quickly entered into the hotel database system, gaining access was child’s play compared to some of the work he’d done for Jacob and Amir and he was happily downloading lists of names, a moment later.

  Penetrating the Interpol employee database was more complicated, or would be if it hadn’t already been done some time ago. As it was he simply accessed the old file from his local drives and started a comparison running. Getting the initial hit didn’t take long at all.

  “Somer…”

  Kamir’s eyes narrowed, he knew a Somer. Now where did he hear that name before?

  Of course!

  His eyes flared, the poser on the field. He’d been closer than Jacob thought if he was investigating the Thermies. Too close, in fact. If he happened to see and understand the instruments some of the ‘thrill seekers’ were wearing…

  Well, there were ways to handle that.

  Kamir smiled, the man wanted a ride after all. And they could always use another sample gathering run. If something happened in the meantime? Well, things happened when you were flying ten kilometers in the sky with nothing but a para-pack between you and a long fall.

  *****

  “Nice place.” Anselm said quietly as he looked up at the white home that was set into the side of the gently rolling hill.

  “Not too many built like this around here.” Gwen replied, “It’s not as eco-friendly as the less fancy styles you’ll find common around here. Air conditioning is a real pain in one of those.”

  Anselm nodded thoughtfully as he raised the gull wing doors of the Eliica, considering the palatial home that was sitting up above them on the gentle slope. Anywhere else in the world it would be considered a resplendent home because of its looks, opulent and rich, because it was simply, a large home. Here, however, large homes were the standard and he was under the distinct impression that this home was rich because its owners could afford to flaunt the local energy concerns and pay whatever it cost to run despite its lesser design traits.

  People were funny things.

  “Let me do the talking,” Gwen told him as they walked up, “You don’t know the locals.”

  Anselm just nodded, following her up the path that was laid with stone that Anselm thought had to have been imported. When they reached the door Gwen found the buzzer and rang it once, letting it buzz for several seconds before stopping. They settled back and waited until footsteps from inside could be heard approaching, and when the door opened Anselm recognized the young woman as the driver of the car in the photo.

  “Debra Jones?” Gwen asked crisply.

  “Yes?” The young brunette looked between the two people at her door, confused. “Who are you?”

  “Inspector Dougal, Police.” Gwendolyn replied, flipping out her badge. “This is Inspector Gunnar.”

  “Ok…” The woman said, still confused. “Did something happen?”

  “That depends on how you look at it, Miss Jones.” Gwen said, handing her a copy of the photo she’d recovered from the traffic database. “Is this you driving?”

  She looked at the photo, and then grimaced. “Yeah. That’s me.”

  “Were you aware of the speed limit in that area, Ma’am?” Gwen asked sternly.

  Her eyes widened, protest instantly flying to her lips, “Oh hey, come on…everyone does it!”

  “Ma’am, this isn’t about everyone.” Gwen told her, “I’m going to have to write you up.”

  The young woman looked ill, “My dad is going to kill me! He lives in Sydney, and it’s not the same thing out there. Come on, please cut me some slack…I’ll take it easy from now on, I swear!”

  Gwen eyed the young woman for a moment, actually tempted to go ahead and write the ticket despite the fact that the woman was playing right into her hands. She hated whiners. “Ma’am, I can maybe let you off with a warning. It’s still going on the books though, so if we catch you again…”

  “Thank you!” The young woman gushed instantly, her expression pitifully grateful.

  Anselm managed to keep a straight face as Gwen played the woman, setting her up so that she’d give up the information they’d really come from and, if all went well, wouldn’t even realize she had.

  “I need to know a few things for my report.” Gwen sighed, pulling out her portable and flipping it open.

  “Anything.” The young woman hugged herself, looking between Gwen and the imposing silence Anselm projected.

  “First, how long have you been driving?”

  “Four years.”

  “And who was with you at the time of this picture?”

  “What? Does that matter?” The brunette looked worried again.

  “I’m afraid it does.”

  “Look…my Dad’s not going to see this, right?”

  Gwen shook her head, “Not unless you’re caught breaking the law again.”

  Debra grimaced, but nodded. “That’s Raoul Seerman…he’s hooked in with, you know, the thermies.”

  Anselm listened as Gwen walked the girl through the rest of the questions, burying the last one in a group of others they hoped, but only paid peripheral attention to the answers. He was already into the Interpol database and doing a search for Raoul Seerman. Gwen wrapped up the interview with a warning for the girl, which she would listen to, if Anselm was any judge of character. The poor girl was shaking by the time they turned to walk away.

  “She’s scared to death of her daddy finding out.” Gwen shook her head as they headed back to the car.

  Anselm shrugged, “That’s how some people are. Notice how she didn’t want h
er dad to learn she was out with ‘Raoul’?”

  Gwen crooked her lips, nodding. “Yeah. Bad boy complex.”

  “If only she knew how bad.”

  *****

  On the small airfield Kamir smiled, spreading his arms as he greeted Ron Somer with a warm call. “Ron, my friend! How’s it going!?”

  Ron Somer turned, smiling as he saw Kamir approaching with arms wide. He reciprocated, and the two men clasped briefly, patting each other on the back, “Hey man, what’s up?”

  “I got good news, man. I can get you a flight, if you’re still interested?”

  “Really? Hell yes!” Ron grinned.

  “Really.” Kamir told the eager young man, clapping him on the back again. “Today’s your lucky day man.”

  Ron Somer grinned enthusiastically in response.

  He couldn’t agree more.

  *****

  “Tell me about these ‘Thermies’” Anselm asked as Gwen drove them back toward the city.

  His portable, even with its connection to Interpol’s central database, didn’t have anything on Raoul Seerman, which was explained by the fact that he didn’t exist. Raoul didn’t show up in any of the criminal databases that Gwen had access to from her car, either, so they were going to go to her office to access some of the other databases that were available only through special request.

  “They’re thrill seekers,” Gwen shrugged, “Always doing something stupid. I ran one of them down a couple weeks ago for violating the airspace of the strip while a plane was coming in. He’d been challenged by a friend to play chicken with a plane. He won. Damned near caused an accident out on the strip.”

  Anselm grimaced, shaking his head. “It’s funny, I never seem to run out of human insanity to observe in this line of work.”

  “Join the club,” Gwen laughed, whipping the Eliica around some animal or something that had crawled into the road. “Around here it’s always something. The fringe Eco-Activist types are often into extreme sports and all sort of weird stuff.”

  Anselm raised an eyebrow, and looked over at her. “Oh?”

  “Hell yeah, I’ve had to go out on calls dealing with everything from drag racing stolen Eliica cars around town, to this one guy who decided he was going to free climb the tower.”