Thermals

by Evan Currie

  “Thank you for the warning. Any idea when they bumbled into this?”

  “Don’t know for sure if they have yet, it’s just possible,” the Director told him. “Hard to hide anything from the Americans, you know. Their signal intercepts are second to none.”

  Anselm nodded, understanding quiet well. Between Echelon and newer methods of signal intercepts the American intelligence people were able to effectively listen in on pretty much anyone on the planet. That very efficiency often created more problems than it solved, of course, since they were so busy tracking and clearing harmless conversations that they routinely missed out on more sinister ones that good human intelligence would probably have reported.

  Still, the CIA was well known, or at least well suspected, of listening in on Interpol internal communications, so Anselm supposed that it was inevitable they find out about Abdallah.

  “Any sign that they’ve send someone?”

  “That’s why I mentioned it,” she told him. “Our people in Sydney believe that there might be some increased activity in the Embassy. The only thing of note that we’re aware of in Australia at the moment, is Mr. Amir.”

  “Alright,” Anselm nodded. “I’ll keep my eyes open.”

  “If the agent makes himself known to you, offer a joint operation,” she advised. “I want Mr. Amir out of circulation, and I don’t really care if the Americans do it, or we do. Not that much at any rate.”

  Anselm smiled, “the Americans do have a slightly more pointed interest in Abdallah, don’t they?”

  “After the event in DC?” The Director laughed, “I should so say. At any rate, Agent Gunnar, find me the evidence I need to get the Australian government to sign off on a joint operation.”

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thank you, Madam Director,” Anselm said just as the screen faded out to the milky white color it had when not under power.

  He sighed and closed his portable, turning his head to watch the greenhouse rip past.

  Just what he didn’t need, another complication.

  *****

  “Are they gone?”

  “Not yet, Amir,” Jacob said as he entered. “Though the Interpol man has left.”

  “How long until the police clear the scene?” Abdallah asked idly as he adjusted a line of code in the robotic control system he was using.

  “Several hours at least. They’ve sent people up the maintenance trams to look for Kamir’s air-foil,” Jacob replied.

  “Will they find it?”

  “Possibly,” Jacob shrugged. “It will do them no good, however. It was Kamir’s own foil, we took it from his place at the airstrip. He packed it himself, and I made certain that my men handled it with gloves on.”

  Abdallah nodded, “good.”

  “I met the Interpol man,” Jacob said with a hint of a smile. “A rather dull man.”

  Abdallah snorted softly, “Careful Jacob. Never begin to underestimate the enemy, it is the first step to eventual defeat. A police man does not need to be visibly impressive to be competent, and I doubt if he were interested in impressing you anyway.”

  Jacob shrugged, but didn’t respond.

  “Three days,” Abdallah sighed. “Three days, then we may begin. Why must this happen now? Why now, when I am so close.”

  “A final test from God, Amir.”

  “Yes,” Abdallah said slowly, his eyes dark. “Yes, that must be it.”

  When neither spoke for a few more moments, Abdallah decided that Jacob had finished his report.

  “Leave me, Jacob. Let me know when the police are gone…I want to run a test.”

  “Of course, Amir.”

  *****

  Gwendolyn Dougal poured over the scene images as they were displayed in three dimensions, feeling a lot less green now that the pictures were safely contained in her terminal display. The information wasn’t really all that useful though, she decided. There was nothing there to indicate that the event was caused by malicious intent.

  However that didn’t mean anything either.

  She couldn’t imagine how a scene of a murder using the tower in the fashion would look any different than the scene of an accident, or stupidity, as the case may be. Kamir went up, Kamir got diced, and Kamir fell a hundred meters to the ground. Whether he did so of his own accord or not wasn’t attributable to the evidence as she saw it.

  They’d bagged everything according to procedure, but now the problem was figuring out what any of it meant. Tower City simply didn’t have a dedicated team of forensics people, let alone the lab space they would require to do their jobs. They were already preparing most of the material for shipment to Sydney, where it would be gone over by the local PD, but until it made it through the queue of an already busy department, there would be nothing.

  That would likely be a couple weeks, Gwen suspected, as Sydney had its own crimes and those would certainly be taking priority.

  She sighed, clearing her desk with a push of her hands, and leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes.

  “Troubles?”

  Gwen opened one eye, swiveling her chair just far enough over to see Anselm step into the room with two large mugs of coffee.

  “Thought you might need one of these,” he said, setting it down. “Didn’t know what you liked so it’s black, but the cream and sugar are in the bag.”

  “Thanks,” she said, taking the reusable cloth bag from him and pulling out two sugars and a creamer packet.

  As she was diluting her coffee, Gwen looked up at Anselm questioningly. “How did your report go?”

  Anselm shrugged, “You know the brass. Get it done yesterday and all that.”

  She nodded, smiling, “That bad?”

  He sighed, twisting his lips.

  She froze, eying him closely. “What is it?”

  Anselm let out a breath, gently shaking his head. “We may have a complication.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s possible that the CIA may have become, or be in the process of becoming, involved,” Anselm told her. “The Interpol people in Sydney noted some unusual activity around the American Embassy there.”

  She eyed him oddly, “does Interpol often spy on American Embassies?”

  “Only when we’re working a case we know they’d butt in on, given half a chance,” Anselm smiled slightly.

  She chuckled at that, then sobered, “so how bad a complication is this likely to be?”

  “Not as bad as all that, probably,” Anselm smiled. “Contrary to Hollywood I don’t expect that the Americans will send someone in driving a tricked out muscle car with guns hidden under the hood and missiles launching from the tail pipes. They are just slightly more subtle than that, thankfully.”

  “Oh good,” Gwen grinned, “Then I won’t have to arrest him for violating our clean air laws.”

  Anselm chuckled, nodding. “There is that.”

  “Seriously now,” she said, still laughing slightly.

  Anselm shrugged, “it depends on who they send, but I expect that we might run into an American poking his nose into places he has no apparent business in.”

  “And how is that supposed to help me tell the CIA agent apart from the American tourists?” Gwen asked dryly.

  “Hmm? Oh, the CIA agent will be the one that’s polite about it.”

  *****

  “The police have left, Amir.”

  Abdallah looked up and frowned, “That was quick.”

  “The tower is still taped off,” Jacob shrugged, “but that is a mere formality. The scene has been scanned quite thoroughly, and I have little doubt that they are done.”

  “Alright,” Abdalla Amir said, nodding. “We’ll perform our test tonight…”

  Abdallah paused, grimacing briefly.

  “Amir? Are you alright?”

  “What? Oh, I’m fine. Fine,” Abdallah said, waving his hand, “Just realizing that if we’d kept Mr. Kamir alive slightly longer, I could have run a complete d
ry run.”

  Jacob stared for a moment, but finally just shrugged.

  “Hindsight, Mr. Jacob. Hindsight,” Abdallah sighed. “Always hindsight.”

  “Of course, Amir. Shall I inform anyone of the test?”

  “No, we’ll handle this ourselves, I believe.” Abdallah said, “Place the sensor package at the top of the tower this afternoon.”

  “As you say, Amir.”

  *****

  “This is the evidence shipment?”

  Gwen nodded, “All bagged and tagged as they used to say.”

  Anselm nodded, looking at the stack of plastic boxes that were stacked and locked together like Lego blocks, forming a cube approximately four feet on a side. The entire thing had been wrapped in tape on which a lot number had been scrawled. An electric lift was waiting patiently to pick it up and deliver it to the road train that would carry it to Sydney.

  “How long before it gets to Sydney?” Anselm asked.

  “A few hours. Depends on conditions. No more than ten, I’d say.”

  The Interpol agent nodded, frowning, “How soon will we have the results?”

  “Not for a while, I’m afraid.” She said grimly, “The Sydney forensics people are normally backlogged with their own cases.”

  “Isn’t that always the way.” Anselm shook his head, waving the lift driver to halt as he transcribed the lot number into his portably.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’ll call my boss and see if I can’t get the priority jumped up,” he explained. “We need this processed quickly.”

  “If you can do it,” she waved her hand at the cube.

  He smiled, “Interpol has some pull…precious little it seems by times, but we do have some.”

  When he’d finished they waved the lift operator in and watched as the pallet was loaded onto the second trailer in the road train. As the truck pulled out, Gwen shook her head and turned to Anselm.

  “I hate to admit it, but I don’t know where to go from here.” She said tiredly, “What’s happened the last couple days…It’s beyond my experience.”

  “You’ve done fine,” he told her, “and your instincts are working quite well.”

  She looked at him curiously. “What?”

  He chuckled ruefully, “I’m afraid that I’m at a loss myself. I know that Abdallah is here, Gwen…I can feel that…but I’m no closer to finding him then I was when I arrived.”

  She snorted in amusement, “Glad I’m not the only one flying blind here.”

  Anselm smiled and clapped her lightly on the shoulder, "Welcome to Counter Terrorism work, Gwen. We almost never know where we’re going, because the bad guys are all nuts and don’t bother to watch where they are going."

  “Oh joy,” she replied dryly as they walked out of the loading dock and back into the station. “I suddenly have this lovely feeling of dread balled up in the pit of my stomach.”

  Anselm chuckled, “That’s just hunger. You want lunch?”

  Gwen shot him a dirty look, then sighed, “There’s a good place about a quarter turn around the city.”

  “Sounds good,” Anselm said more cheerfully than he was, “I’ll buy. You get it the next time.”

  *****

  Adrienne Somer shifted slightly in her sleep, the chair she was sitting in being no prize for comfort. She’d been offered a bed, and had used it the night before, but had gotten little enough sleep anyway and she wanted to be closer to Ronald if…when he woke up.

  She didn’t hear the light buzz of her portable when it sounded because the noise was cut off too quickly when a hand blindly came down on it, wrapping around the intuitive grip and keyed the answer button.

  The device flipped open, snapping into place as it was designed to do, and a weak voice rasped. “Hello?”

  “Inspector Somer?”

  “No. She’s asleep.” The pained voice replied softly, “I don’t want to wake her.”

  “Ronald?”

  “That’s me,” Ronald Somer tried to smile, but would up grimacing.

  The morphine he was currently on had him in and out of consciousness more often than he’d like, but it held most of the pain securely in the background of his mind.

  “Good lord…I wasn’t told that you were awake.”

  “Who is this?”

  The woman on the screen blinking, noting the pads still covering the man’s eyes. “Oh my, I’m sorry, Mr. Somer. My name is Alice Jordan, I’m…”

  “Adrienne’s boss,” he smiled again, this time managing it relatively well.

  “Please, Mr. Somer, just rest. I’ll call a little while later to speak with Inspector Somer.”

  Ron started to nod, but was interrupted by a quiet and tired voice.

  “Ron? Who are you talking too?”

  He smiled unconsciously at the sleepy quality of his wife’s voice, “it’s your boss, hon.”

  That snapped her awake quickly, causing Adrienne too look around in distress for a moment as she remembered where she was and what had happened, then in shock at him as she realized that he was awake.

  “Ron! You’re awake…”

  “Yes, well, I think that’s obvious,” he said, his voice still slurring slightly from the drugs. “You better take this, Hon.”

  He gestured blindly with the portable until she took it.

  Adrienne patted down her hair self-consciously, turning the device around. “Oh! Director Jordan…I was just…”

  “It’s alright, Inspector. I’m quite aware of how it is when someone you love is in the hospital. I was just calling because Agent Gunnar delivered his full report some time earlier when we spoke, and I just had time to read the details. I’m very sorry for what happened to your husband.”

  Adrienne swallowed and nodded, “Thank you, Director…”

  “Interpol will be arranging to have you both flown out to Sydney as soon as it’s advisable to move him,” the Director told her. “We feel that it’s advisable to remove him from the area, just in case it wasn’t an isolated event.”

  Adrienne nodded, “the local police have provided deputies to guard the room, but they really don’t have many resources.”

  “I see,” the Director frowned. “Well then that may well provide us with a solution to one of our dilemmas…”

  “Pardon?”

  “Don’t worry about it, Adrienne,” the Director said reassuringly, using her first name for the first time. “I’ll take care of things from this end. Just look after that boy…it looks like he’s been used rather roughly, I’d say.”

  Adrienne giggled slightly, a sign of her own fatigue, and nodded as she stole a look to where Ron was laying back again. “It has been quite a honeymoon, Ma’am.”

  “Quite,” the Director said dryly, smiling again. “Rest easy, Adrienne. I’ll speak with you later.”

  Thank you, Ma’am," Adrienne Somer said, closing the connection.

  She looked over to where her husband was laying, wondering if he’d drifted off again.

  “Is she gone?” Ron asked, his lips tightening into a slight smile.

  Adrienne smiled, ducking her head in relief. “I’ve been so worried.”

  “I know,” he said. “I’ve been listening to you breathe.”

  “Under other circumstances that would either be romantic or creepy,” she informed her husband, “for now, though, I’ll accept it at face value.”

  “Good,” he chuckled, then groaned slightly.

  “Ron! Are you…”

  “I’m okay…I’m okay,” he lifted a hand, presumably to assure her that he was, in fact, okay, but made the mistake of trying to lift the one in the large cast and it banged down on the edge of the bed when it slipped off its brace.

  Adrienne caught it up again, holding it as Ron groaned another time, then gingerly slid it back into the brace. “Carefully… carefully.”

  Ronald Somer nodded, “Yeah…I guess I’ll have to take that advice from now on.”

  *****

  Th
ey were about halfway through their meal when Anselm’s portable went off, and he had to catch it in mid buzz.

  “You know it’s normally polite to shut one of those off when you eat,” Gwen said dryly.

  “Is yours off?” Anselm responded pointedly.

  Gwen had the decency to look chagrined, and he just smiled as he checked the number.

  “Don’t throw stones if you’re living in a glass house,” he advised her, “even if it is a twenty-five thousand acre glass house…I have to take this, I’ll be right back.”

  She nodded, watching as he walked a distance away and flipped open his portable. She continued eating while Anselm talked, almost finishing up her lunch before he returned and slid back into his seat.

  “Important?”

  “Could be,” He nodded, taking up his fork and knife again and slicing into his steak. “The Director has decided to send a security team down here to watch Ronald Somer’s room…give your deputies a break.”

  She nodded, it made sense. “That’s good to know, the Chief will be glad he doesn’t have to sign off on that much overtime.”

  Anselm smiled, “yeah. The Director’s good people.”

  Chapter 5

  The rented Honda CRV-EV bounced and jostled as it drove along the old secondary road that followed alongside the new highway that had been constructed, to service the Tower Project and its burgeoning city, only ten years earlier.

  Inside, Joshua Corvine, G2 Field Agent for the Central Intelligence Agency watched the scenery with mild interest, though his eyes continued to come back to the kilometer high tower that rose from behind the crest of land just ahead.

  He’d been assigned to the Australian office as an attaché, a plum position for any operative, despite the general unrest to the North, between Mainland China and Taiwan, and so had been available, when the Flash traffic had come from the NRO intercepts office, a day earlier.

  It wasn’t the sort of job that Joshua wanted anything to do with at this point in his career, but when the order comes down from above, one can only straighten up and bull on through.