Dire Means

by Geoffrey Neil

“Pop requires no less than three taped incidents on separate days before a so-called person becomes eligible to be a fodder candidate.”

  Morana gave Mark a moment before she selected August 29 on the menu and pressed Play. The famous footage that had been shown throughout the world appeared on the screen, except that it was in full color and unedited. The ability to hear the cameraperson’s timid requests exacerbated the cruelty Keith showed.

  “What sort of human being treats another human being with such cruelty?” Morana asked.

  “Fodder,” Mark said, scowling at the screen.

  Morana smiled like a teacher watching a student finally learn resolution to a problem that had eluded him. “Today we obtain fodder from the Pacific Grove building. This one is going to be interesting because we are obtaining our first fodder couple—together.”

  Mark was getting used to the regular adrenaline rushes he got with each new bit of information he learned about the Trail Bladers’ processes. Obtaining two people at once in a city that was, essentially, in a police state seemed impossible. Morana talked of it as though the obtainment would be a walk in the park and different from the other only in that it was interesting.

  “Do they have children?” Mark asked, and then realized the question revealed a concern for fodder that he probably ought not to show.

  “No, they don’t. They are married, but not to each other. You’ll learn more in a few minutes. Time to prepare. Do you want something to eat before we go?” Morana asked.

  “No, I’m not hungry.”

  “Fine. Here we go.”

  They went to a room whose door sign read, “Research.” Inside three chairs sat facing a large panel monitor. Raphael was already there. He stood and shook Mark’s hand. “Welcome, Mr. Denny.”

  “Thank you,” Mark said. The last time Raphael had touched him, it was to body-slam Mark to the ground in a stairwell. Mark still resented it.

  They sat at the small boardroom table and Morana began the briefing like a facilitator of a corporate seminar, complete with a large electronic chart and laser pointer to highlight the written details of the couple targeted for obtainment today.

  Morana began the briefing. “Raffee and I have followed the Deedlog on this couple for some time now.” She looked at Raphael and they laughed together. “So this briefing is primarily for you, Mark. Denise Moutin and Serge Rostran work in the Pacific Grove building—a building from which we have obtained the fewest number of fodder due to our delay in mounting cameras in our third floor vestibule. We eventually installed some, and Bracks, our technology specialist, can insert stock footage of our ‘normal’ document destruction activities during time periods when we are performing an obtainment. If the police confiscate security footage, we control what they see—complete with any footage superimposed with any time stamp we need.”

  Mark recognized Bracks’s name as the man who harassed Cody into providing access to the cameras that Mark had installed.

  Morana clicked the flipchart remote, revealing photos of Denise and Serge. “Now to the double obtainment,” she said. “They are both married, but not to each other. Denise is Serge’s administrative assistant. Serge is a workaholic who, for the last two years, regularly worked alone until late into the night. Within a few months of hiring Denise, Serge’s late-night work became play—for them both.

  We targeted Serge for research since he was easily isolated while leaving his office alone at night. Placing an actor in his path outside his building was easy, and he proved to be ideal fodder by his treatment of our actor.” Morana waved the remote control toward the screen and launched a clip showing Serge flipping off the camera-toting actor and spitting toward him. “Over a series of weeks, Serge’s behavior consisted of much more abuse any time he was approached by the actor. In fact, his behavior epitomizes homeless abuse. Denise, his mistress, is no different. She used a plethora of standard clichés that she barked at the homeless: ‘Get a job,’—and my favorite, ‘If I give it to you, you’ll only spend it on alcohol’—as if the spare change she withholds somehow rehabilitates each alcoholic she denies it to.”

  Morana’s face became cold and she clenched her teeth. She pressed the remote to stop the clip and took a big breath. “We control all the elevators in the Pacific Grove building,” she continued. “Denise and Serge began their affair within their suite, but soon their encounters expanded to include more daring locations like the stairwell, their parked cars in the garage, and the occasional rendezvous in a janitor’s closet. Lately they’ve begun to enjoy long elevator rides, which should make this obtainment one of our easiest. Last week they stopped our main elevator twice during business hours for what you might call ‘emergency service’.”

  Raphael laughed as Morana began the footage showing the interior of en elevator with a partially-clad man and woman on the floor, the woman’s skirt hiked up and her legs wrapped around the man’s waist. Fingers combed through each other’s hair and their hands groped one another.

  “They don’t waste any time,” Morana said, “but watch what happens when our man, Bracks, overrides the elevator’s emergency stop and sends it up a floor.”

  Denise and Serge froze, their heads turned to the elevator control panel. Serge jumped off Denise and hopped about the elevator, trying to re-insert his exposed leg back into his pants. Denise pulled herself up by grabbing the elevator handrail and pulled her skirt down. She adjusted her waist belt, buttoned three buttons of her blouse, and finger-combed her hair into place all within ten seconds.

  After they removed all visual signs of their attempted quickie, they leaned to one another for a gentle kiss—a last daring act before the doors opened. When their lips drew apart, they laughed. Denise covered a smile with her hand and Serge put his hands into his pockets and whistled a tune while looking up at the elevator’s floor display. They were ready for the door to open now, and were proud of their successful risk management.

  Morana stopped the tape. “I don’t think Serge and Denise’s spouses would find our footage funny.”

  “Will you send it to their spouses?” Mark asked.

  “No. That would be cruel since, after today, their spouses will have no opportunity to confront Denise and Serge on the matter. The adultery isn’t our focus. The cruelty shown by Denise and Serge to their fellow man is what earned them a vacation in our resort. Because of their egregious behavior toward our brothers and sisters, we will obtain them today.” Morana spoke in an almost rehearsed way.

  “The Pacific Grove Team is already waiting so we need to get going,” Morana said. “If things go well, our lovebirds will get their usual urge for some elevator passion somewhere around 10:00 a.m.”

  Mark shuddered at the thought of participating in his first abduction. It repulsed him. He focused on the knowledge he would gain. If only the living people the Trail Bladers had captured could hang on for a short while longer, perhaps he could manage a way to end Pop’s terrorism. The more Morana taught him, the closer he’d come to finding a crack in the Trail Bladers’ armor.

  §

  Their armored truck pulled to a stop at the Santa Monica entry checkpoint and the rear doors swung open. Mark was hidden, tucked in the secret bay under the floorboards. Two officers peered into the back. One pulled a flashlight from his hip belt and aimed it into each corner of the truck bed. Morana and Raphael greeted the men with a wave and thanked them for the terrific job they were doing. “If all residents traveled in locked trucks like ours, wouldn’t that frustrate this madman?” Morana said.

  “Yes, ma’am. Is your company going to supply enough armored trucks to transport everyone?”

  “We’d love to,” Morana laughed.

  “Okay, let’s close ‘em up,” the other officer said. “And we remind you to please report any suspicious activity that you see while in the city. You folks have a good day.”

  As the truck grumbled away from the checkpoint, Raphael opened the bay and helped Mark out, pulling him up to his feet with an e
asy yank of his powerful arm.

  At the Pacific Grove, the truck swung a wide circle and backed toward a covered freight dock. Previous trucks had chipped away rough hunks of concrete from the edge of the dock. The freight dock was darkened by its enclosure and protected on top and all four sides by wire fencing.

  The truck’s rear bumped the dock and the engine cut off. Morana and Raphael stood and went to the back of the truck. Raphael consoled from the inside and the driver opened the doors. After Morana and Raphael checked the area for possible witnesses, they motioned for Mark to exit the truck. He ran to the open freight elevator that was held open by another uniformed Trail Blader. Morana followed.

  “Before we get to our floor, I want to show you something,” Morana said. She pressed a button labeled Roof Access. When the doors opened, they stepped out onto the roof to a spectacular view of the city and ocean.

  Morana said, “We do some surveillance here.” She pointed to an odd, makeshift aperture within several stacks of bricks on the roof’s ledge. To one side was a storage locker with its doors opened wide. It contained some boxes, a pair of binoculars hanging on its wall, and several long, zipped canvas bags.

  Mark approached the ledge. Morana didn’t follow him, but held the elevator door open. “Look over the edge,” she said.

  Mark leaned between the bricks and peered down. He saw a few pedestrians crisscrossing the building’s courtyard over twelve stories beneath them. A small bevy of pigeons flew under him. The view was beautiful, but Mark didn’t understand the point of it.

  Morana’s phone rang and she answered it. When she hung up, Mark said, “I don’t see anything unusual.”

  “Would you have rescued Pop on the edge of a building this high?” Morana asked. She took several steps sideways as if she was positioning herself for something.

  “Of course I would have,” Mark said. “It didn’t matter how high the building was.”

  “I believe you. Let’s go.”

  Mark was puzzled by Morana’s question and sudden urge to leave.

  They rode the elevator to the third floor where Raphael waited for them. They stepped out into a large, open space that looked as if it had been gutted for build out. Missing ceiling tiles exposed cables that snaked their way through the drop-ceiling framework. The bare concrete floor was dusted in patches of white drywall powder. Two waste bins the size of refrigerators overflowed with construction waste off to one side. A row of six shiny Trail Blader containers sat outside the elevator. Raphael smacked one on the side as he walked by it and the echo reverberated.

  “Please excuse our mess,” Morana said as they headed for the only door on the opposite side of the space. “This location would be in better shape, but it suffers from neglect.” Inside the door, three more uniformed Trail Bladers. One of them was Nanette, the female Trail Blader who had greeted Mark when he first met the Trail Bladers in the ALCO building. She sat at a table with two men. At the sight of Morana, they stood quickly—as soldiers do for superior officers.

  “Relax,” Morana said.

  “Good morning, ma’am,” they said, in unison.

  “Mark Denny is here to observe today. Let’s make this obtainment pristine.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” they said.

  Morana walked to the side of the small room and opened another door. “Mark, come see this,” she said.

  He went to her and peered through. A vestibule similar to the one in the ALCO building led twenty feet to two elevator doors. The ceiling, walls, and floor of the space were padded with the egg-carton foam. A single bulb hung from a two-foot cable near the center of the vestibule, lighting the drab, purely-functional space.

  “If our fodder hold true to form, we can expect our elevator to deliver them at some point between 10:00 and 11:30 a.m.”

  “How do you make sure they are alone on the elevator?” Mark asked.

  “It requires some luck. But in this case, they make sure for us,” Morana said. She pointed to a chair at the desk and said, “Have a seat and we’ll show you our prep.”

  Nanette jumped up and offered her chair to Mark with a star-struck expression that hadn’t faded since the first time she saw Mark.

  “Thank you,” Mark said, looking around. The other Trail Bladers introduced themselves, but Mark was distracted as he examined the room. The only table held paperwork, some mobile phones, a laptop, a stack of paper cups, and a box of donuts with only a few glazed left.

  An unfinished pine box about four feet wide with a latch on it sat it beside the door that led to the vestibule.

  Mark sat and Morana positioned the laptop so they could both clearly see the screen. She clicked a key to bring up a display. The other Trail Bladers gathered behind to watch. The screen was split with separate video feeds on the left and right.

  “A few minutes ago, I called Bracks. He connected from the Nest to the building’s video system, and what you see here on the left is the stock footage that Bracks has spliced in to cover us for two hours.” The footage showed an empty vestibule with an occasional uniformed Trail Blader wheeling a data container from an elevator to a place off camera. The current time showed at the bottom of the faked footage.

  On the right side of the screen, the footage showed a live shot of the vestibule. The single bulb did a remarkable job of illumination—like a candle in a pitch-black cave. Morana pressed a button on the laptop and the screen blinked to a camera mounted inside the elevator. The floor number showed in neon green superimposed over the bottom of the image.

  “Latecomers,” Morana said, pointing to the screen. Two suited men carrying briefcases, and a woman in a blue dress carrying flowers rode the elevator, looking up at the floor numbers that were close to the hidden camera. The floor numbers counted up and then stopped at floor eight where the woman exited and another man entered. They rode up and all exited on floor twelve.

  Morana took out her phone and pressed a button. “Yes, Bracks, the feed is perfect and we’re going to run the override locally… Will do…. Thanks.” Morana turned to Mark and said, “Bracks is able to control the elevator from the Nest and he usually prefers to secure and transfer the fodder once they have entered. However, for this obtainment I will control the elevator from here.” She typed a few keys and clicked the mouse several times before a box popped up on the laptop screen with buttons labeled OVERRIDE, RETRIEVE CAR, OPEN DOOR, and RELEASE CAR. She used the mouse to drag the box of options to the side so the live footage remained in view.

  “We are ready,” Morana announced.

  The Trail Bladers sat back in their chairs for the stakeout. Nanette hummed a song while she filed her nails. The two male Trail Bladers went back out into the gutted space and returned a minute later, pushing two of the large Trail Blader carts.

  “Do you have any questions, Mark?” Morana said.

  “When you—we— take control of the elevator, why wait for fodder to step out of the elevator—why not pull them from inside the elevator car? They can’t get away.”

  “Because of screamers,” Raphael said.

  Morana dismissed Raphael with a ridiculous look and then answered Mark with her consummate professionalism. “Drawing them into the vestibule gives us total control over sound and movement during obtainment. Silence is as crucial to our stealth as visual concealment. After our separator wall descends, fodder sounds cannot be heard more than three to four feet away from them. The vestibule creates muteness and fodder can scream as loudly as they wish.”

  “Have any fodder ever escaped?” Mark asked.

  All the Trail Bladers laughed. Morana only smiled and shook her head. “That isn’t possible,” she said. “If they step off the elevator, they’ve made an irreversible commitment to our mission.” Mark glanced at the faces of the other Trail Bladers. Nanette wore a slight, pleasant smile, as did the men, who nodded in unison. Their connection to one another was eerie.

  Mark asked the men some generic, safe questions: how long had they worked for Trail Bladers, ho
w had they met Pop. Each was eager to talk about Pop, referring to him as Papa and unable to heap enough praise on him for wisdom and the goodness of his mission.

  Morana’s phone rang. “Yes… Okay, thanks.” She pressed a button on the phone and tossed it back to the table. “The fodder are in motion—heads up.”

  The male Trail Bladers pulled the wooden box away from the wall, unlatched, and opened it. They removed Taser guns, tossing one to Nanette, whose face had become serious. One slammed the box shut. They lined up at the door, holding their Tasers up beside their heads as if they would soon kick down the door to rescue a hostage. Raphael positioned himself in front, ready to open it. All looked to Morana for the go-ahead. She nibbled her cheek as she studied the laptop screen.

  “Way to step, guys,” she said. “Mark, please stand behind me so you can see on screen. You’ll wait in here.”

  He obeyed, and had a front-row seat at a live obtainment. His heart pounded and he wiped his hands on his shirt.

  On the laptop, he saw the video feed from the camera mounted inside the elevator where one woman rode down. Morana placed her mouse on the Override button on the screen and kept her finger there. The woman on the elevator got off at the lobby. Two more people entered, rode up to floor five, and exited. “This could be them,” Morana said. The empty car continued up to floor seven and its interior brightened when the doors opened. A man and a woman entered, standing a few feet apart from one another. Mark recognized them from the footage he’d seen in the Deedlog room. The man was tall and thin. He had brown, combed-back hair and wore a white, pressed, dress shirt and tie. The woman adjusted her skirt, pulling it at the sides with her arms straight and wiggling her hips for a better fit. She wore her hair in a ponytail. Both stared straight ahead, their empty hands at their sides.

  “They’ve entered the car,” Morana said, her finger raised to strike the button.

  The doors closed and the elevator car dimmed. “Come on, come on, come on, do it,” Morana said to the screen. The couple smiled, turned to one another, and embraced in a passionate kiss. Morana hit the Retrieve button and the words “YOUR CARGO” flashed continuously at the bottom of the video screen. Serge’s hands reached out to his side during their kiss, feeling for the elevator buttons until his fingertips found the red Emergency Stop knob. He pulled it, but the car didn’t stop.