Face/Mask (35 page)

Things were moving too fast for Janus, who could only manage to ask, “Will you be working from my office?”

Again Prescott turned as if to nod, but this time he checked himself and stepped back toward Janus.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Janus. We won’t break anything, and it will only be until tomorrow morning. You really should go home. These men know exactly what they’re looking for and how to go about finding it.”

“There are some codes you’ll need.”

Prescott smiled in a patronizing manner and patted Janus on the shoulder.

“There’s no need. The Ministry has the codes for all P-screens on the premises, as well as passwords to get past any firewalls and so on. As I said, these men know how to do their jobs, which is to capture the terrorists. They will gather the information they need from your system and should be out of here by the time you show up for work tomorrow morning. Good evening, sir.”

Janus saw there was no point in arguing, so he shrugged and turned away from Prescott. He had taken a step or two when a policeman blocked his path, with a hand held out.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Prescott spoke again. Janus turned his confused expression toward his superior, who approached him once more. “I’m afraid that administration policy requires all departmental communication devices to remain on the premises until a thorough system check is completed. You understand, I’m sure, Mr. Janus.”

It was the first time in recent memory that Janus had spoken to strangers on the metro-bus ride home. The clearer air that day meant he wouldn’t wear the mask he used to cut himself off from the other passengers. Without it he felt exposed, as he always did.

Everybody was agitated about the bombing. Despite the sardine can-like conditions on the public transport, people spoke loudly, right into each other’s faces. All social norms were set aside, as people discussed or argued about who was responsible for the bombing and what it all meant. They were excited, angry, scared; sometimes all at the same time.

The middle-aged woman who was pressed up against Janus’s side was screaming into his ear to be heard over the other loud voices. They’d been taking the same metro-bus home for several years now, and they’d never shared more than a passing glance before. All this had changed now.

“It’s those Muslims, I’m sure,” she proclaimed, continuing on a theme she’d been expounding on for several minutes.

“Well, we should wait until the police finish their investigation before jumping to any conclusions,” Janus said.

“It’s silly to think it’s not Muslims,” she insisted. “Everybody knows how much they hate us.”

A man behind him spoke up before Janus had a chance to respond.

“Well, maybe if we hadn’t rounded them up like cattle and penned them in Laval they wouldn’t hate us so much.”

“Oh my
gawd
!!” The woman’s eyes bulged angrily as she spoke, her voice screeching even louder in Janus’s ear. “You’re sympathizing with terrorists!”

“No, I’m not, lady.”

“They kill our family and friends and you blame
us
for it.”

“Nobody knows that
they
did anything. There are a lot of people who are unhappy with the administration, not just Muslims.”

“Why? Are
you
unhappy with the administration? Is there something we should know about you?”

“You don’t have to know anything about me, lady. Haven’t you reached your quota of informing on people for this week?”    

“I haven’t informed on anybody. Why? Do you have something to hide?”

The rumbling engines slowed abruptly and all the passengers of the vehicle were jerked forward, as the metro-bus came to Janus’s stop.
And not a minute too soon
, he thought, happy to get away from the opinionated woman, and glad that the other rider had saved him from getting into a heated discussion with her.

Janus was one of about a dozen passengers who got off, most of them continuing their animated discussions as they headed down the sidewalk. He turned up the street and half-walked, half-ran to his house. Despite the reassuring e-message from Terry he wanted nothing more than to make sure that his family was safe at home.

When he got there he was surprised to see their van wasn’t in the driveway. Inside the house he found Rollie sitting alone at the dining room table, doing some homework.

“Hey, Rollie. Where’s mom?”

“Hi dad. She went to pick up Francis from school. I think the school buses aren’t running or something.”

“She left you here alone?”

“Richard’s in his room. He’s sleeping. But I could’ve stayed alone if I had to.”

Janus smiled at his son, who was only eight although recent events had forced all his children to grow up fast. He ruffled Rollie’s hair and leaned over to glance at the homework he was working on.

“OK, little man. We’ll worry about that later. Did you say Richard’s asleep?”

“That’s what mom said.”

Janus scratched his chin, wondering if his eldest son was coming down with something. With a final, absent-minded ruffle of Rollie’s hair he turned and headed up the stairs. Richard’s door was closed, as it always was, and he could see there was no light coming from under it.

He raised his hand to knock, then changed his mind, and began to turn the knob slowly instead. Just then the front door opened and Terry came rushing in, with Francis right behind her.

“Hi honey,” she called out. “I wanted to get back before you so you wouldn’t worry,”

Janus stepped back to the top of the stairs and watched her as she removed her overcoat and shoes and rushed to the kitchen.

“I tried reaching you several times,” she continued, “but each time your com…” Her voice became inaudible as she began opening and closing cupboards, so Janus trotted down the stairs where they could hear each other.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” she said as she reappeared “The high school called and they wanted all the parents to pick up the kids. But we weren’t allowed to approach the building for the longest time. Do you know the explosion was at the front of the library where the boys study? They could have been there when it happened.”

Janus turned his attention to Francis who was heading up the stairs on his way to his bedroom.

“You OK, bud?”

“Yeah, dad. We were in phys ed when it happened. All the way on the other side.”

“The reports were vague about how many casualties there were.”

“I think there were six students…” Francis’s voice caught briefly, and he turned his suddenly watery eyes away from his father.

“Geez, I had no idea, Frankie.”

“I didn’t know any of them,” Francis said hurriedly as he strode to his room, perhaps avoiding a dreaded fatherly hug. “I think they were in Richard’s year.”

The mention of his older son’s name reminded Janus of his original goal in going up the stairs. Maybe Richard had known some of the students who’d died; that would explain his going to bed so early.

He began heading back up to the bedroom but the door opened and Richard came out to stand above him. The teen looked like he’d just been awakened from a deep sleep, or like he’d been crying. His eyes were red and his face was puffy, his expression pure sadness.

Janus rushed up the stairs and wrapped his son in a bear hug. Richard stiffened at the first contact, as he usually did on those rare occasions his father hugged him. But then his own arms wrapped around his father’s waist, and he buried his head in the nape of his father’s neck.

They stood wordlessly like this for several seconds, until they were interrupted by Terry’s voice, calling them for supper. Janus stepped back, looking into Richard’s downcast face as he stroked his hair.

“Let’s go eat,” he said, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice.

They turned toward the stairs and Janus saw that Francis had come back out of his room and was looking worriedly at them.

“Everything’s all right,” Janus told him. “Come eat.”

The three headed down to the dining room where Rollie was already seated, being served by his mother out of a steaming pot. They all sat down and waited patiently while Terry ladled some soup into their bowls. Only Rollie began eating as soon as his bowl was full, blowing several times on his spoonful of hot soup, trying not to scald his mouth.

Although the food smelled good, none of the others were in a hurry to start eating. Janus thought that he should say something, but didn’t know where to start. He wanted so badly to find the words that would make everyone feel better, but whatever he thought of just sounded corny. Finally, it was Terry who broke the ice by stating the obvious and letting everyone know it was all right to speak about what had happened that day.

“I don’t know about you, but I’d say we all had a pretty crappy day.”

Janus smiled grimly and nodded.

“I’m just relieved that the boys weren’t anywhere near the blast,” he said. “The news reports weren’t very clear about what happened.”

“I only found out the school had gone into a lockdown when they called me to pick up Francis,” Terry complained.

“Do they know who did it, dad?” Francis asked.

“I’m not supposed to say anything,” Janus said, “but from what I was told our camera coverage didn’t pick up anybody suspicious-looking around the library. Just lots of students going in and out, although some were wearing air-masks.”

Richard looked up from the bowl of soup which he had yet to touch, but he said nothing. After a moment, he turned his attention back to his bowl, stirring the soup with his spoon, but not eating.

“Those will be the suspects, I’m sure,” Terry said. “Who else would wear air-masks on a clear day like today?”

“Maybe you’re right,” Janus said. “Still have to figure out who was behind those masks though.”

“Sometimes they never catch anybody,” Francis said.

“No way,” Rollie said, turning to his mother. “They gotta catch the bad guys, mom.”

“I wish that were so, honey.” She shook her head and turned her attention briefly to her husband. “Sometimes people do all sorts of things and nobody ever suspects them. Isn’t that so, Allen?”

Janus had his spoon in mid-air when she asked him, and it was all he could do to continue his eating motion without spilling any of it.

What’d she mean by that?

He tried to keep his face expressionless as he turned her way, but she had gone back to talking to the boys, explaining that justice sometimes wasn’t served. He nodded sagely while hoping his face hadn’t turned too red, and continued eating his soup.

“I can’t believe people can get away with doing something like this,” Francis said.

“I hate to say it,” Terry continued, “but people who do bad things don’t always get punished. Sometimes they even get away with murder.” She turned to Richard, who was stirring his soup quietly, and squeezed his arm. “Honey, did you know any of the boys who were…you know, hurt?”

That night Janus and his family were glued to the vid-bot, viewing news reports about the bombing. Richard, claiming a headache, went up to his room by eight, leaving his parents to exchange worried looks.

“This has really shaken him,” Janus said to Terry. “I wonder if he knew any of the people who died.”

“Maybe you should speak to him, Allen.”

“Let’s wait a bit. See if he comes back on his own.”

Their two younger sons took no notice of Richard’s absence. Their attention was focused on the multiple screens, as they tried to take in as much information as possible. Images of forensic investigators, rushing to gather evidence at the bomb site as fast as they could in the worsening air, flashed repeatedly. Janus was worried about Rollie, especially, being traumatized by what happened, but the young boy was taking everything in stride. Maybe it was good idea for him to know the kind of world they lived in.

Early reports put the death toll upwards of thirty people, with dozens more injured. Nobody had taken credit for the attack yet, and the administration spokesmen named vague “terrorist groups” as the likely culprits. Dozens of people had been detained for questioning near the bombing site, although Janus expected the residents of Laval to feel the brunt of any police investigation soon enough.

At eleven PM there was a news flash. The announcer said that a confidential RCMP source had informed him that the bomb had a very particular signature: the timer was an old-fashioned wristwatch, with a quartz crystal. The announcer intoned that this information was usually kept from the public, as authorities wouldn’t want the bombers to know that they had any clues which could identify them.

So why tell everybody, you jerk?

Janus looked at Terry but she seemed unaware of the significance of this kind of leak. She was looking down at Rollie, who had fallen asleep with his head in her lap. Janus stood up and told Francis it was time he went up to bed too. The boy protested mildly but then shuffled up the stairs. When Janus picked Rollie up and headed to his bedroom Terry pointed up the stairs and mouthed the words, “Speak to Richard.” He nodded and carried their youngest to his room.