Moonrise

by Mark Gardner

  Everyone was cautious, and the few that had actually raised their voices or their guns against a super wore a grim face every day, and oft-muttered to themselves or whoever was keen to listen that the city was doomed, and these “supers” were its downfall.

  Betty saw it for what it was: the force was struggling to stand up to the supers. Most of her colleagues supported Doctor, or Major Globe’s campaign fervently since his statement—à la rebellion through justice—had aired. That was yet another reason why they were letting the FBI take the job away from them; so they wouldn’t need to deal with it, and so they’d help advance the running-for-mayor, doctor. They trusted him, but Betty had seen how his men stormed the crime scene with their guns raised toward the crowd. They made her nervous. Betty didn’t like to be made nervous.

  Betty shook out of her reverie. She could only hope the tapes were still with Rey, a much easier person to persuade to give over evidence. As for the file…she saw no opportunity other than to cross the room and ask for it, feign that it was her instruction to ensure all documentation was present. Then she’d sneak the file out or take photos on her phone and shred the folder; a violation too great, but the quickest Betty way to fulfill Massey’s task. He specifically warned her not to allow the evidence into the hands of the feds. Just as she was about to step out of her hiding spot and do that, Officer Wallas, carrying three transparent bags with three separate tapes in them, collided with her. Her heart sank when she saw the tapes.

  “Betty, I didn’t see you there,” he mumbled.

  “I’m sorry Felix, I....” Betty paused looking at Felix’s freckled face confusingly smile and then frown at her. “Are you taking these to the agents over there?”

  Felix nodded. “These are the CCTV footage from the pizza place across from the park. The feds requested all items concerning the case, so these go there too,” he said.

  Betty had to think quickly. She pulled him aside and dropped her voice to a whisper.

  “I need you to distract these agents while I go into Detective Massey’s office.”

  Felix looked over at the agents and then back at Betty.

  “What’s going on, Betty?”

  She focused on Felix’s face creating a lasting connection, reassuring him that she was honest in her intents. Betty knew she would never betray Massey’s own intentions. Operating in the dark herself, she now dragged in Felix too. Would she bank on his apparent interest in her, manipulate him to make sure she got his help? Or would she remain cold and calculated, demanding his help through verbal force and some semi-threat involving the FBI? She composed herself and her face returned back to neutral. She disrupted the connection, averting her eyes for a split second, scanning the moving figures of the agents. Then she smiled back at Felix.

  Motivation

  Betty fumbled for a good lie to tell Felix through her smile: something that wouldn’t put Massey in the spotlight. The lie, a little white lie, slipped out of her mouth with shocking ease. Betty lowered her voice and stepped toward Felix. “I mixed up some of the evidence earlier. I screwed up really bad, Felix.”

  Felix sighed. “I’m sure that if you explain your error to the lead FBI agent, they won’t file any formal charges on you.”

  “The bag has my name on it, Felix. You saw how the feds came in and chased everyone away. I can lose my badge here. Come on, Felix, all I need is two minutes inside the office. Two minutes. I’ll be in your debt.”

  Betty reached for Felix’s hand and gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. She knew he liked her—he’d asked her out a couple of times in the past few months. Their eyes had locked for a few moments before Felix’s shoulders slumped and Betty knew she had him.

  “Alright. Make yourself busy and wait for my signal.”

  Betty watched him stride off with his back straight, blond hair pristinely combed. He passed by his desk and left the evidence bags with the tapes there, something Betty was thankful for. She made a mental note to swipe those. Her brows knitted together when she saw Felix hurrying off to the coffee machine and filling two cups to near overflowing. Then Betty understood what he was about to do. She moved closer to her desk and stood over it, feigning work, while listening and watching out of the corner of her eye.

  Felix gestured to the pair of FBI agents inside Massey’s office. He showed them the hot beverage and exchanged his pleasantries with them when they came out.

  “I figured you might need some refreshments, agents,” Felix said.

  “Thank you, Officer…Wallas, was it? We’re expecting the footage from the CCTV. We were told you were bringing them to us.”

  “Ah, yes, well it’ll be just a few minutes. Our specialist, Ray, is trying to round up all the other footage you also requested. Our archive is a bit messy.”

  The male agent had deep-set eyes that were pale and inexpressive and they watched Felix without blinking. “This case has a priority marker on it, Officer Wallas. Make sure the tapes are here first. We can pick up the rest later.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll make sure they’re delivered immediately. Oh, let me first give you your coffees.”

  Just as Felix was passing out the cups, Betty saw how his fingers slipped not accidentally, and the cup flew at the male agent, hot coffee splashing him square across the chest, soaking his white shirt in deep brown. The agent shrieked in surprise and pain, and Felix went on to apologize and push the agent toward the restroom while the female agent strode after them, worried for her partner who wailed and cursed until they were out of sight.

  Betty spurred to action. She slipped inside the office and closed the door, locking it. She knew she had minimum time, bare minutes before the agents returned, so putting on her gloves, she started fumbling through the boxes in search of the Jensen file.

  Rummaging through the boxes yielded nothing. Betty’s palms were getting sweaty as she rushed around the office. She was running out of time, and she had to make things work fast, otherwise the file was going to be as good as gone. Just as despair almost made her question her plan, Betty spotted the corner of something yellow sticking out from a black briefcase. It belonged to one of the agents; Betty could surmise as much. The thing wasn’t locked, and Betty pried it open, pulling the file free.

  “Miles Jensen,” Betty whispered.

  She grabbed it and made for the door but stopped. It would seem suspicious, Felix’s behavior and a file missing. It would alert the feds…and the blame of sabotaging the investigation would fall on Massey.

  Betty retreated to the small photocopier and booted it up. Fingers trembling, she loaded the four pages one by one, then hid the copies under her uniform shirt. Voices in the hall seemingly approaching nearly stopped her heart. The anticipation of discovery was cut short when a door opened and the voices slipped in, becoming muffled., Betty sprang into action, quickly feeding the original pages into the shredder, sweat beading on her forehead. It was risky. It was stupid. It was slow. It wouldn’t stop the feds from accessing the file, but it would slow them down and give Betty enough time to hand the copies over to Massey.

  Breathing hard, she quickly picked a random folder from the boxes, snatched its contents and stuffed it inside the empty Jensen folder, before throwing the replaced folder inside the case again, adjusting it so the corner was still visible. Hopefully, that would fool them long enough for Massey to get the purloined papers.

  She slipped out the door but was met with a bulking form that crashed into her. Betty looked up to see Special Agent Batiste wearing a smirk on his greasy face.

  “Why the rush, Officer Patterson? I hope I didn’t interrupt something in there.” Batiste looked past her shoulder and peered inside the office.

  “No sir, I was just delivering the last folders to the batch.”

  Batiste patted her on the shoulder. “Good, good. We’re all working for the same cause.” He winked, and tried to smile, but it ended up a crooked leer. “Stop the killings, catch the bad guys, right?”

  Betty nodded and when Agent
Batiste stepped out of her way she had to steel her nerves not to run as fast as she could. She briefly stopped near Felix’s desk and picked up the tapes. She could feel Batiste’s eyes on her back, so she worked slowly and in such a way that he couldn’t see what her hands were doing. She slid the tapes inside yellow paper envelopes and hurried out of the building without a second glance back.

  A trembling blond woman pounded her palms against the rear window of the limousine. She couldn’t see Doctor Globe through the tinted windows, but her bulging, teary eyes stared at him nonetheless. Globe studied her for some time. She was one of the parents who were unfortunate to have lost their children to the “Madison Butcher.” Globe imagined she blamed herself for letting her little boy or girl, he couldn’t remember which, out that day in the care of some friend of hers. Now her child was gone, and she was demanding of the good doctor with those sorrowful eyes that he return her child through some magic medicinal trick. Globe got bored of her deaf mumbles, her voice inaudible in the general cacophony surrounding his car. A member of the facility security team pulled her away and returned her to the throng. The undulating masses, as Globe came to think of them. The mixture of protest and reporter flocks trying to steal just one more word or career-making sound bite from him was beginning to grate on his nerves. Globe urged the driver to move.

  The driver gave the horn a firm press; once, twice, thrice, and then faced Globe in the rearview mirror. He muttered something about human sludge under his breath. The driver did his best to conceal the heated insult of his fellow man. “I can’t, sir. There are people in front of the car. They won’t move.”

  Globe swirled the ice cubes in his scotch with anxious exasperation. He stared at the almost transparent peaks above the line of fine alcohol. He appreciated that like the iceberg that sunk the Titanic, most of the action was below the surface. He came to think of his new organization in the same way—mostly under the surface. Sure, he was the very public face of it, but only a select few knew the extent of Globe’s reach. There were Middle Eastern terrorist groups that were so difficult to root out because they employed the same level of autonomy. There was a vague master plan, but each cell was free to carry out their own interpretation of those grand plans. They were insulated from each other and from him.

  Globe set his glass on the polished wooden bar and wiped the condensation his fingers had gathered on a white towel. He sighed at the bodies pressed against the glass.

  “Well make them move, Jarvis. I don’t have all day.” Besides they’re leaving smudges on my car, he wanted to add but bit his tongue. It was never a wise idea to show that much indifference and douchebaggery all at once, and in front of the more common people in his employ. Not that it made much difference; they were easily replaceable, but he had a kinder, gentler façade to maintain. Jarvis wasn’t even the driver’s name. Globe called each driver by the generic name. Although the current Jarvis had held the position the longest, Globe wasn’t about to snub his nose at the tradition.

  “They will calm down, Doctor Globe.” Jarvis glanced nervously at Globe in the rearview mirror. His deliberate swallow was audible in the tight confines of the car. Jarvis glanced at Globe’s traveling companion before continuing. “As soon as Miles Jensen is behind bars for life they’ll thank you for proving him guilty.”

  With a small smile, Denisha finished Jarvis’ thought: “The good people of this city will support you in your campaign. They believe in you just as I do.”

  Denisha smiled at him from the opposite seat, but as soon as Globe’s gaze lingered too long on her, she dropped her eyes to the tablet in her lap and resumed scrolling seemingly finding something of interest on there while in truth he was aware she was fighting the sensation of him staring, studying her face, her expressions. Denisha furrowed her brows as she absorbed some piece of information displayed on the small screen either in earnest or in pretense just to avoid any more remarks on his behalf. Globe had to remind himself to check the screen capture feed later in the day to see what garnered her attention from him.

  Globe’s eyes had drifted to the empty seat next to him before he replied to Denisha. “Thank you, Denisha. You’ve always been the voice of reason. A sound advisor. I have no doubts in the faith of the people. I know that their faith, like yours, is something that I take very seriously. I only hope that I can live up to theirs and your expectations. It’s just...” Globe let his voice trail off until Denisha looked up from her tablet to meet his eyes. “It’s just that they worry. I understand their fears. Their poor children are gone after all, but even in death they can help us bring Jensen to justice.”

  Denisha smiled shyly. Globe liked to see her do that. He had to remind himself that she was more than just a beautiful face to look at. She was an asset, and she still didn’t realize the importance she held within Globe’s plans.

  Initially, the parents of the slain children hadn’t signed the necessary agreements to release the bodies over to Globe’s research team. That was a grave first for a man who had built a reputation in the military and medical circles for getting what he wanted. He was persuasive enough with his promises to get to the bottom of the Madison Massacre. His claims made for good sound bites—both as a medical doctor and as a mayoral candidate—but not all of the parents relished the idea of the tiny bodies being examined by his staff. Silas and Bree worked quickly behind the scenes to ensure the appropriate level of compliance. He didn’t know or care if that compliance was purchased through flowery incentives or some other methodology. He only cared about compliance. Now six ambulances waited behind his limousine ready to follow the escort once the path was cleared.

  The people had turned Globe’s procession into a funeral march.

  The teeming mass congregated around parents, concerned citizens, and the reporters that had molded the short drive from the city morgue to Globe’s compound into their new story. They labeled it a march of justice. In the current information age, news blogs ran with the sentiment, and the rest quickly followed suit. Globe liked the sound of the headline: March of Justice. It was hastily scrawled on the posters they carried and silkscreened on their shirts. Globe was the face and voice of salvation; his words were those of a prophet. They trusted him with such passion that the tears of anger on their faces had melted away to a loud weeping for help, for truth, for a cure to the superhuman problem.

  Globe smiled when the path cleared, and his driver guided the limousine down the road. The ambulances followed behind in silent testament to the people’s fear. Jacob Globe knew what a powerful motivator fear could be.

  It took longer than was needed for Doctor Globe’s motorcade to reach its destination. Globe sighed more than once as his driver stopped to allow the ambulances to catch up to the limousine. Onlookers were kept at bay from the compound with the double fence and razor wire, but each gap between vehicles allowed the crowd to flow back across the gate. Globe’s men corralled the people away from the road and allowed the ambulances to follow.

  Once inside the lab, Globe again had to wait. The bodies had to be prepped before entering the impromptu “morgue” his team built a few days before securing the “bodies.” Despite the sterile whiteness of the small tent hidden in the basement beside his lab, the Madison Park Massacre victims emanated a pale blue light that shined brighter against the stark material surrounding them. Everywhere the blue light touched, coldness permeated. The tent swam in it. Globe shivered when he entered, but he regarded the quaking as a pleasant feeling, and not the “icy fingers” that many of his underlings referred to it as. They didn’t know that the frigidity meant that Silas and Bree’s powers had done their magic.

  A short man in a lab coat with a thin mustache approached Globe. Other than the facial hair from a bygone era, there was nothing special about the little man. He extended his hand, and Globe reluctantly shook it.

  “Doctor Lee,” Globe intoned, keeping up appearances.

  “Doctor Globe.”

  Globe rubbed his fingers toge
ther after Lee released them. He used the same hand to wave at the rows of white cots arranged in rows. “How are our patients?”

  “Stable. All their vitals are in the green. There are no indications of them waking up anytime soon. We’ll be carefully monitoring the…” Lee struggled for the right word, “…coma, but if any need appears to reassure the effect...”

  “I’ll take care of that.” Globe turned his attention away from the tiny bodies on the cots and scrutinized Doctor Lee. “Your job, Doctor, is to make sure these children remain asleep.”

  Doctor Lee shrunk from Globe’s jarring gaze but rallied and then cleared his throat. “I have to wonder, Doctor Globe, how long before the relatives and parents begin asking questions. They will want the bodies back to bury, and we surely can’t release the subjects, nor deny their families.”

  Globe crossed his arms over his chest. “I can postpone as many times as I please. I have promised results, but never said anything about my timetable. As long as these subjects here are believed to be deceased, then there’s no immediate hurry. The children are to be tested regularly. I’m curious to see how Bree’s power affects them after prolonged exposure. Make sure we understand how to harness her power in an efficient manner.” Globe moved toward Lee, towering over him. “I don’t want any mistakes, Doctor.”

  The honorific didn’t hold the respect that was usually reserved for bearers of the title, but if Lee took offense, he had the sense to conceal it. The shorter man nodded, and replied, “The samples will be small at first. The small sample size will lead to insufficient data to be collected, but—”

  “Regardless,” Globe interrupted Lee’s excuses. “We have to start somewhere. And Doctor, no one besides the people authorized to work on this project will be aware of this. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

  Globe left Doctor Lee with his mouth slightly agape. Globe disliked the irritable little man and his Napoleon complex, but he was a brilliant scientist. Globe was confident that Lee knew to keep his mouth shut even though the good doctor occasionally found his voice. Globe was thankful that those bouts of backbone were only in his presence, but if Lee proved to be untrustworthy now… Well, Globe had ways of making a person obey.