by Daniel Price
Amanda fell into hopeless black laughter. There seemed no point in telling her about the tempis-wielding Gotham in the Teddy Roosevelt mask, especially if all trace of him had been erased.
“Fine, Melissa. Pin it on me. Pin every murder on me. It doesn’t matter.”
“You don’t care what happens to you?”
“I care very much what happens to me. I’m saying it doesn’t matter what I say or do here. I know how this ends. I’m going into a government lab and I’m never coming out.”
Melissa slit her eyes in cool umbrage. “For someone who claims to be born in this country, you don’t seem to know how we operate.”
“I think the rules go out the window when it comes to me.”
“The rules of nature, perhaps. Not the rules of law. You still have rights.”
“So what’s the plan then? I go to trial? I spend the rest of my days walking around some prison yard with my four solic generators?”
“As we speak, a special cell is being prepared in our Washington headquarters. We plan to hold you under Title 22, Part IV, Chapter 409 of the U.S. Criminal Code, the provision that allows us to detain an undocumented suspect for up to ninety days unless they produce valid U.S. credentials or have their foreign identity confirmed by a representative of their home nation. Should that fail to occur, we’ll charge you as a Jane Doe in the assault of two policemen and the murder of Dr. Czerny. Given ninety days, I can all but guarantee I’ll find a pharmaceutical remedy to your tempis problem, which will be administered forcibly under Title 23, Part II, Chapter 217—the Prisoners with Special Afflictions clause. You’re not too unique for our legal system to handle.”
Amanda stared at Melissa through wide, unblinking eyes. The agent relaxed her stance.
“I know you’re not a malicious person, Amanda. I don’t want to see you incarcerated any more than I want to see you dissected. If you cooperate with us, if you help us solve all these deaths and riddles, we can work out a special arrangement. You can be our ally instead of our prisoner.”
“You expect me to believe I’ll walk free someday?”
“I can’t imagine we’ll ever be out of your life. But with time and trust, the chains will come off. This I promise.”
Amanda peered down at her lap. “I want to believe you.”
“But?”
“It won’t work.”
“Why not?”
“Because at some point you’ll ask me where my friends are and I still won’t tell you.”
With a soft and frustrated sigh, Melissa pulled a new photo from her pile. It was an extreme close-up of a small silver panel. A sixteen-letter code was etched across the surface.
“What is that?” Amanda asked.
“It’s a Serial Registry Pin. Every communication device has one. On Friday, September 17, you left your handphone facedown on the coffee table of your hotel suite. Our drills captured the image. Through the SRP, we got a trace warrant. After that, we just had to wait for you to use your phone before we could pinpoint its location. Ten hours ago, upon your arrival at the health fair, you sent a text message to David. This is how we got you.”
Amanda’s heart thundered. “What are you saying?”
“Through your phone, I got an emergency trace warrant on David’s number. Turns out Nemeth was just a stone’s throw away.”
“No . . .”
“At 3 P.M. this afternoon, my team raided your four-bedroom house on the lake. I don’t need to ask about your friends.”
Amanda gritted her teeth. “You’re lying. You would have told me if you had them.”
“You think I’d tell a woman who can smash walls that her sister’s in the next room?”
“Is she?”
“Of course not.”
“Stop playing games with me!”
“You first.”
“Show me they’re here. Show me they’re okay. Then I’ll talk.”
“If I trusted you, Amanda, I might agree to that. Since I currently don’t . . .” She chucked a blank notepad on the couch. “You tell me everything you know about Azral and Esis, Evan and Rebel, and then we’ll address the matter of your companions. If you’d like some extra-credit goodwill, you can tell us all about Peter Pendergen too.”
Melissa smirked at Amanda’s slack surprise. “Of course we knew about him. We’ve been watching him for two weeks now. We’ve had another team staked out at your rendezvous address in Brooklyn. You never had a chance.”
She tossed Amanda a pen. “I’ll leave you alone. If you need anything, speak to the camera.”
Melissa closed the door and shambled down the hall to the tiny office where Howard sat. He furrowed his brow as she crawled across the surface of his desk, spreading herself out in front of him like a buffet. Andy Cahill never did that.
“Uh, you okay, boss?”
“No. My back hurts.”
“Sorry to hear that. You need anything?”
“Just ten minutes on a hard surface.” She covered her eyes with her forearm. “I don’t think she’s from around here, Howard.”
“Yeah. I’m getting that sense.”
“I would laugh like a jackal if this turned out to be the world’s most elaborate prank. I would not be bitter at all.”
Howard checked Amanda on the monitor. “She’s just staring at her fingers now.”
“Huh. I guess they do work.”
“Her fingers?”
“The generators. She’s finally testing them.”
“Jesus. You really poked the lion, didn’t you?”
“She’ll cooperate,” Melissa said. “She knows she doesn’t have a choice.”
“You going to tell her the truth?”
Melissa exhaled wearily. It was a mean trick she’d played on Amanda, though technically she didn’t lie. Her team did raid the lake house in Nemeth today, but Melissa failed to mention that it had been abandoned in a hurry, with David’s handphone found smashed to bits on the floor. The other four fugitives were still at large, somewhere out there in the rain.
—
At 9 P.M., Theo arrived at the office, secured to a wheelchair by gray iron cuffs. His appearance was a throwback to his alcoholic days—ashen skin, sunken eyes, disheveled hair. He wore the same dark blue jumpsuit as Amanda, though his buttons had been misfastened by one.
Despite his haggard appearance, the augur never felt better in his life. An arsenal of powerful relaxants had cleared the maelstrom in his head. For the first time in days, he was free of all pain, free of visions. His relief gleamed like sunshine over every dark facet of his current predicament.
By the time Melissa returned from her clandestine cigarette break, Theo had been sequestered in a small room with two of her burliest and surliest Deps. They circled his wheelchair like predators, attempting to chisel away at his good cheer with overwrought descriptions of the prison ordeals that awaited him.
Theo smiled through all their bluster. He knew more about his future than they did.
Melissa sat in the bullpen, periodically checking the interrogation on the monitor while she browsed Theo’s medical report.
“No wonder he’s so happy. It looks like they gave him every drug in the lockbox. Ephermanine? That’s for schizophrenics.”
Ross Daley yawned from a nearby chair. “Who’s to say he’s not? You should’ve heard the threep he was spewing at the hospital. He tried to tell me that San Francisco will fall to an earthquake in two years. Said it was a fixed event.”
The agent was a young and broad-shouldered man, the only other person of color on Melissa’s team. Though she never expected racial solidarity, she was dismayed that Ross was her worst backbiter, covertly casting doubt on her decisions, her qualifications, even her sexuality. Melissa didn’t have the time or energy to work on his attitude.
“Did he mention anyth
ing about a private school?”
Ross eyed her strangely. “No. Why would he?”
Theo had mumbled something odd in Marietta, just before passing out on the gurney. Melissa wasn’t sure she heard it right, but it seemed like more than babble.
“It’s nothing,” she said. “I’m grasping at straws.”
She studied Theo’s cerebral tomogram in furrowed bother. The scan revealed a foreign object in his thalamus, a metal ring the size of a mouse’s eye. The chief examiner was at a loss as to how it got there. Even with the most advanced surgical equipment, it was impossible to plant an item that deep in a patient’s brain without killing him.
A flurry of new activity on the monitor caught her attention. The agents shoved Theo’s chair, poking him. Melissa pursed her lips and hurried down the hall to intervene.
“All right. Enough. Take a break. Both of you.”
The agents looked at her with childlike innocence. “We weren’t hurting him.”
“I didn’t say you were. But as you can see from his imbecilic grin, he’s not responding to your threats. Give it a rest.”
The two men shot Theo a menacing glare before exiting the room. The augur adjusted his rumpled collar with his free hand, then reclaimed his smile.
“I really look like an imbecile?”
“You look like a homeless imbecile,” Melissa replied. “If you’d been this conspicuous two weeks ago, you would have never made it past us in that hotel lobby.”
Theo chuckled cynically. “Okay. Guess you’re not here to play Good Dep.”
“No. I didn’t come to interrogate you. Though now that I’m here, I’m darkly intrigued by a question you’re not asking.”
“And what’s that?”
“‘How’s Amanda?’”
Theo’s smile vanished. Melissa crossed her arms and leaned against the wall.
“You do remember her, right? She’s the one who risked and ultimately sacrificed her freedom to get you medical treatment. She asked about you right away.”
He fixed his dark eyes at his lap. “You really know how to sling the guilt.”
“I’m glad you feel bad about it.”
“And I’m glad you’re looking out for her. I was afraid you guys wouldn’t see beyond the tempis.”
“We’re federal agents, Theo. We’re trained to profile.”
“Well, you sure missed the boat on me. If you think I don’t care about my friends—”
“You still haven’t asked about her.”
“How’s Amanda?”
“She’s managing.”
“I knew that,” he said, through gritted teeth. “I already knew.”
He fixed his sharp gaze at the edge of his wooden desk, then let out another snicker.
“Something funny?” Melissa asked.
“Just admiring your effectiveness. You killed my buzz in record time.”
“I’m your arresting agent. Did you expect me to be your friend?”
Theo had certainly expected someone nicer. The Melissa of his visions seemed honest and noble and thoroughly kind, even as an adversary. Unless his prophecies were prone to embellishment, the woman in front of him was just a shade of her future self.
“Guess not,” he replied. “So when does the interrogation begin?”
“In a day or so, when the drugs wear off and you’re a little more lucid.”
“In a day or so, I might not be around for questioning.”
“Are you predicting your death at our hands or merely threatening escape?”
“I’m just saying anything can happen.”
Melissa eyed him coolly. “You’re trying to use your augur’s mystique to rattle me. It won’t work. If you were as good as you think you are, you wouldn’t be wearing our handcuffs.”
“And if you were as good as you think you are, we’d all be wearing them.”
“You’re assuming we haven’t been to Nemeth to pick up your friends.”
“I know you don’t have them,” he said. “I overheard your man talking in the car. He’s not a big fan of you, by the way. Said you were frigid and arrogant. Frankly, I don’t see it.”
Torn between her urge to throttle Theo or Ross Daley, Melissa stashed her rage behind a smirk. “We’ll have plenty of time to correct our misconceptions about each other.”
She closed the door behind her, then marched to Ross in the bullpen. He slouched in his desk chair, reading baseball scores on his handtop. Melissa slapped the screen shut.
“I need a list of all the private schools within a hundred miles of Nemeth, current and defunct.”
“Why?”
“Because Theo said something about it earlier. It’s a possible lead to the location of the others.”
“The guy’s out of his skull. If we investigate every crazy thing he mutters—”
Melissa leaned in close, cutting Ross off with a harsh whisper.
“Agent Daley, in forty-five seconds I’m going to employ a supervisory tactic that’s not endorsed in the handbook. In fact, it’ll earn me quite a nasty reprimand from my superiors. I expect to recover. You, however, will look back on this night for a very long time. You’ll wish you’d done things differently. This is your last exit. Nod your head, say, ‘Yes, Melissa,’ and then do what I ask.”
Ross looked around the bullpen at his colleagues, then forced a breezy shrug.
“Fine. Whatever. No need to get menstrual.”
“Eight seconds . . .”
“I said fine.”
“Seven . . .”
“Yes, Melissa. Yes. I will get you your list of private schools.”
She rose to her feet. “Thank you.”
Howard swooped in from the stairwell. He looked to Melissa with urgent worry.
“Uh, we have a guest.”
—
The gray-haired man in the lobby was, like Melissa, a conspicuous presence. He stood as tall and thin as a beanstalk, with spindly fingers that were as long as most hands. He wore a fedora, longcoat, and gloves, all woolly black relics from a more conservative decade. Deep wrinkles ran like circuitry across his gaunt, handsome face.
The moment Melissa spied his shrewd blue eyes, she knew and feared his true nature.
“Good evening, sir. I’m Melissa Masaad. Supervising Special Agent, DP-9.”
The man removed his hat and procured his government ID. He spoke in a soothing lilt, as if reading a bedtime story.
“Cedric Cain. Associate, NIC.”
Melissa scanned his badge. “That’s quite a vague rank, sir. Can’t say I’ve heard of it.”
“I never need to make my own coffee, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I suppose I’m dancing around the larger question.”
Cain smiled slyly. “You are. But you look good doing it.”
The National Integrity Commission was formed in 1913, during the great American panic that followed the Cataclysm. Though their original mission statement involved the “neutralization of foreign threats and influences,” their first two decades were little more than a systematic purge of immigrants, illegal and otherwise.
In 1932, the NIC was re-formed into a global network of strategic intelligence operatives. They worked mostly in secret, virtually always outside the nation’s borders. Though crackpot rumors of their activities remained, Integrity held a mostly positive reputation among U.S. citizens. To the lay public, they were the stalwart souls who kept the world’s problems from becoming America’s problem. How they did that was their own business.
Melissa knew the shades would come sniffing around her case sooner or later. The question was whether or not they deemed her fugitives to be a foreign threat.
“Melissa,” Cain cooed. “Pretty name. Does anyone ever call you Missy?”
“No, sir.”
/> “Well, I’m going to start calling you Missy if you don’t stop calling me sir.”
“Apologies, Mr. Cain. My strict British conditioning.”
“It’s Dr. Cain, actually. You can start there and work your way to Cedric. You smoke?”
“Are you asking me if I break the law, Dr. Cain?”
“I’m inviting you to break the law with me, agent.”
Two minutes later, they sat in the parking lot, in the front seat of Cain’s black Cameron Bullet. Melissa found it a surprisingly compact car for such a stretched man. The driver’s seat had been altered to retract another ten inches, all the way to the back cushions.
“So how’s Andy handling his sunset?” Cain asked.
Her mind danced with pleasure as she took a drag of Cain’s Cuban cigarillo. “You know Andy Cahill?”
“Oh, we go way back. You were probably in diapers when he and I had our first turf war.”
“Really? Who won?”
Cain let out a coughing chuckle. The question was rhetorical sarcasm. Integrity was the rock to the Bureau’s scissors, trumping them on all jurisdictional matters. Only an act of paper from the White House could stop them from taking Melissa’s case away from her.
“Andy’s fine,” she responded. “He says he hates retirement, which I assume to mean he loves it.”
“Last of the cowboys, that one. You know, I tried to poach him a couple of times. The man was too damn smart to be a Dep.”
“We are a simple folk,” she jested.
“Please. I already know you’re smarter than Andy. If I thought you wouldn’t laugh me out of the car, I’d make you a job offer right now.”
Melissa couldn’t help but smile at Cain’s perceptiveness. After seven hard years in British Intelligence, she’d sooner club baby seals than step back into the world of national defense.
She followed Cain’s gaze across the lot, at the silver Royal Seeker that had been seized with Amanda and Theo. Her men had already pored over every inch for prints and fibers.
“How much do you know about this case?” Melissa asked.
“I’ll put it to you this way: I only recently started smoking again.”
“You’ll have to give me more than that.”
“I read all your summaries and transcripts,” he said. “Stole a gander at the Filipino’s hospital report. I sat in this car an hour ago, watching you interview Amanda Given on my handtop. There’s not a drop of evil in that woman, is there?”