Authors: Peter Cawdron
Tags: #science fiction dark, #detective, #cyber punk, #thriller action, #detective crime, #sci fi drama, #political adventure fiction book, #science fiction adventure, #cyberpunk books, #science fiction action adventure, #sci fi thriller, #science fiction time travel, #cyberpunk, #sci fi action, #sci fi, #science fiction action, #futuristic action thriller, #sci fi action adventure, #political authority, #political conspiracy
The Road to Hell (21 page)
“
Coffee?”
“
I'd love a skinny latte?” Susan replied.
No surprises there, thought Harrison, as he ordered himself a double-shot of espresso.
Susan went to sit inside the cafe, but Harrison steered her to one of the high-tables overlooking the food court and mall. Green leafy plants hung down from the rafters. The smell of freshly ground roasted coffee beans filled the air. The sound of steam whipping up a milk froth cut in and out over the ambient Italian music playing in the background.
“
So what now?” asked Susan, intrigued by the direct attack on the police, wondering what the implications were for them.
“
The stakes have been raised,”replied Harrison casually. “Our relevance in the eyes of the Police has just dropped considerably. Kane has bigger fish to fry.”
It was an odd expression, but Susan figured she got the gist of it.
“
Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?” she asked, a little unsure about how to interpret his demeanour.
He sipped his espresso, the bitter coffee biting at his tongue. Keeping his head down, he went on.
“
Don't look now, but I think were being followed.”
Susan's eyes opened up wide in surprise and her head bobbed up like a meerkat. Harrison knew he was going to regret saying something but he didn't think she would be quite this obvious. He kicked her leg under the table and she turned to face him.
“
You're determined to get me killed, aren't you?” he said.
Susan just smiled. She went to say something but Harrison cut her off.
“
They haven't made us, but they're definitely following us. Just keep looking at me. I can look right past you at one of them, down by the souvenir stand.”
“
I don't understand,” replied Susan. “If they haven't spotted us, how can they be following us? Did the cops bust our ID tags?”
“
I didn't say it was the police,” replied Harrison with a smile of his own.
“
Oh,” said Susan, sipping on her coffee, trying to look relaxed but dying to turn around and look down the stairs, wondering who was following them and how Harrison could pick them out of the bustling crowd. Could it be Artemis? She wondered. In broad daylight? In a crowded mall?
The couple at the table next to them stood up and turned to walk out of the cafe. Harrison got up with his espresso cup sitting slightly off-balance on its saucer. He timed his motion carefully, turning rapidly at the last moment and clipping the young man as he tried to squeeze past them between the tables.
“
Watch out,” the stranger cried just a fraction too late. The dark black coffee splashed across the young man's fawn-coloured jacket. The coffee cup clattered across the floor. A waiterbot was quickly on the scene, cleaning up the spill.
“
Oh, I am so sorry,” said Harrison, grabbing the young man to steady himself and slipping his vid-phone into the stranger's pocket.
“
You-”
The young man was visibly enraged. His sense of decorum, or perhaps the pretty young girl he was with, prevented him from swearing.
“
Oh, I've made a mess of your coat. I really am sorry. Can I give you something toward the dry-cleaning?”
“
No, don't worry about it,” he replied, getting over the initial rush of anger and feeling a sense of embarrassment at becoming the centre of attention in the cafe. He grabbed his girlfriend by the hand and pushed on, walking briskly out of the cafe.
Harrison sat down and watched the man by the souvenir stand. He'd bought it. He glanced down at some kind of handheld scanner and then walked over toward the stairs, his eyes fixed intently on the young man as he brushed himself off.
It all happened a little too fast for Susan, she was still getting over the surprise of seeing Harrison be so clumsy. Watching the expression on his face, it clicked, and she realised the hunted had become the hunter.
“
How did you-”
“
The phone,” Harrison replied tersely, not meaning to be rude, just absorbed in the moment and not wanting to lose his concentration. “If they're smart, they'll have been tracking us since the hotel.”
“
And now-”
“
They're tracking him.”
He grabbed her by the hand and said, “Time to go.”
The young man was still upset about the coffee stain, talking in animated terms about it with his girlfriend as they wandered down the mall. Trailing some thirty feet behind them, Susan could see he was trying to clean his jacket with a damp napkin. Harrison wasn't concerned with him, he was looking at the throng of people moving through the crowded mall around them.
“
There's three of them,” he whispered, pointing discretely to another man wearing a blue baseball cap.
“
Where are you going,” he said softly to himself, referring to the young man with the stained jacket, wondering where the spooks would make their move, trying to anticipate them.
The young man headed for the turbo-shaft, probably to head home, wherever that was. Harrison and Susan followed along at a distance. The man with the baseball cap stepped into a side alley, a narrow service access way providing a shortcut to the block park. He was about to make a phone call.
Harrison grabbed Susan, putting his arm around her and pulling her in tight he ducked into the alleyway laughing out loud, making like they'd just come from the theatre. The man in the baseball cap avoided eye contact and moved up against the wall to let them past, and that was exactly where Harrison wanted him.
Harrison ripped the phone out of his hand and slammed him up against the wall. With his forearm to his throat he briskly patted him down, checking for weapons, feeling for a concealed blaster or a razor.
“
What the-”
“
Where is Artemis?”
“
I don't know what-”
In that fraction of a second, before he'd even finished the sentence, Harrison knew he was telling the truth. He'd used 'what' instead of 'who' in his denial. Anyone that knew Artemis would denying knowing him personally, but this was impersonal. This guy had no idea who or what Artemis was, for all he knew Artemis was an object or a codename.
“
What about the girl?” Harrison snapped, deliberately withholding information, trying not to prejudice his response by using a name. He pushed a one-inch piece of piping into the man's stomach, up under his ribs. For all this guy knew, it was the barrel of a blaster.
“
Olivia?” He replied, his eyes wide with fear. If he was faking this, thought Harrison, he deserves an Oscar. But he got the name right.
Susan leaned in close. “Where's my sister?”
“
Your sister?” the man exclaimed. He paused, digesting more information than Harrison had wanted to give him. As he looked at Susan, something seemed to click, he recognised some family resemblance. He choked a little, trying to suggest Harrison loosen his stance, but Harrison wasn't buying it.
“
She had us follow you. She wants the data cube back. Why she wants it or what's on it, I dunno. I ain't paid to ask questions, but she wants it bad, put a good price on it, 50,000 credits. She said we'd probably have to take it by force.”
Harrison didn't like the sound of that. This two-bit crook was a front for a gang. Street scruples never extended too far beyond a few credits. People had been killed for less than ten thousand. Fifty thousand was more attention than Harrison cared for. Olivia was throwing around some serious money, probably as a way of keeping both herself and Artemis at arm's length. But she'd used her real name, she was sending a message.
The man held his hands up, in a gesture of surrender. If this guy was unarmed, it was probably for the same reason Harrison was, to slip by police scanners without an issue, but that meant he was a scout, a herdsman, a hound in street slang, one who lead the main hunting party to their quarry.
Harrison knew he was being played. This chump would be happy to talk with them for as long as possible, happy to tell them everything, anything, happy to keep them in one spot long enough for the rest of the gang to realise what had happened and converge. They had to get out of here and fast.
Harrison put the length of piping back in his pocket, but kept his forearm against the man's windpipe, applying just enough pressure to hurt, enough to discourage any heroics.
He pulled out the data cube and pushed it into his hand, saying, “Well, all you had to do was ask nicely, politely.”
He was tacking, vying for position, thinking on his feet, giving these street thugs what they wanted. So long as Olivia gets the cube, they'll get paid and that will get them off his back.
“
Tell Olivia we want to meet. Tell her we know all about Daniel. Tell her to come to the Cafe De Luna in the park, 10am tomorrow. Tell her no tricks. Tell her that Susan wants to talk to her. You got that.”
“
Yeah, I got it.”
“
And tell her sorry.”
“
For what?” the man asked.
“
For this,” replied Harrison, and he slammed the man's head violently into the wall, knocking him senseless. There was no way Harrison was going to risk being sprung by a street gang. They had a reputation for delivering only what was asked of them and didn't mind taking liberties beyond that.
Susan seemed nervous. She looked up and down the alley, clearly worried about what had happened and how vulnerable they were in the alley, how easily they could be trapped. Harrison let the man slump to the ground. Susan grabbed his hand and pulled him further down the alley, clearly wanting to get out into the warmth of the sunlight in the park at the other end. Harrison jogged on after her, past trash compactors and bags of garbage, following her as she ran down the alley and out the other side.
Stepping back onto a bustling sidewalk, out of the shadows, Susan was animated, excited. Harrison looked down the alley. The spotter was slowly getting to his feet, steadying himself against the wall, probably looking for the phone somewhere in the gutter.
They slipped into the crowd and out into the park, feeling the warmth of the sun on their faces.
“
Do you think she'll come,” Susan asked excitedly.
“
Oh, she'll come,” Harrison replied. “I only hope he doesn't.”
“
Be careful,” said Rosie, steering the cruiser on manual as she flew outside of the auto-air-lanes.
“
You're the one flying too close to the pylons,” replied Harrison as they banked to one side, following a smooth but tight parabola down toward the old city below, the g-forces building gently.
“
You know what I mean,” said Rosie, her southern twang catching on the vowels.
“
You make it sound like I'm deliberately reckless, like I brought all this heat down on myself.”
He glanced at Susan sitting quietly in the back.
“
Just,” Rosie was struggling for the right words, “think before you do anything rash. Don't get too wrapped up in the moment. Don't be too idealistic. I don't want no dead hero.”
“
Yes, Mom.”
Rosie smiled.
“
You can’t afford to live in Hollywood,” said Brains, adding his thoughts into the mix. “Life's not a vid-opera where you can rewind the scene and replay the action with a different set of inputs to see how the characters will play out. You only get one shot at life.”
“
What's brought on the lecture?” asked Harrison, somewhat offended by the insinuation that he was somehow naive.
“
The mind wants resolution,” explained Brains. “It wants to resolve issues into black and white, cause and effect, good and bad, right and wrong, but outside of books and movies that rarely ever happens. Life isn't clean-cut. Life is meaningless and chaotic. Beware of the leaven of Herod and the Pharisees!”
“
Now, don’t get all evangelical on me,” said Harrison. As much as he respected Brains, he had no time for his religious gobbledegook. What the hell did that mean anyway, he wondered.
“
You can’t afford to deal in absolutes. If you’re looking for what's right you’ll never find it. It’s not a question of who’s right and who’s wrong, it’s a question of where does their loyalty lie? With themselves? With some group or organisation? Or with principle? But don’t be deceived, Harry. Even Christ said of himself, there is none good, no not one.”
Harrison was still trying to figure out what yeast had to do with anything. “Leaven,” he replied. “Isn't that how you make bread rise?”
“
It's a metaphor, Harry, for the pervasive influence of religion and politics.”
Well, you'd know, Harrison thought. He dared not say that aloud or Rosie would have swatted him for his sarcastic attitude.
“
What he's saying,” Rosie added, “is just be careful. Be careful around people with guns. Be careful around people with ideals. They're both just as deadly.”
“
Amen, sister,” said Brains, impressed at how she was able to distill his thinking in such a concise manner. It would have taken Brains all night and several bottles of whiskey to have articulated his own point quite like that.
“
So what you're telling me,” said Harrison with a wry smile, “is shoot ’em all and let God sort the bastards out.”
Rosie laughed.
“
Forgive the ramblings of an old fool,” replied Brains, laughing at himself, “but I’d rather be the noisy court jester than the idiot sitting silent on the throne.”
Harrison had no idea what that meant, but Brains seemed to be commenting on himself, and it seemed to be quasi-complimentary, in the bizarre kind of way that only Brains could pull off.
“
I know we sound like worrying teenage parents,” added Rosie, “it's just because we care about that ugly mug of yours.”
“
I'll look after him,” added Susan as they came in to land on Washington Boulevard, to which everyone laughed, everyone but Susan.
Harrison and Susan hopped out of the flyer, stepping into the chill of the night. Rosie called out something, but Harrison missed whatever she said over the hustle and bustle of people on the sidewalk.
The gooks were out, Harrison noted, retro-punks with spiked green hair and enough body piercing to backfill a hardware store.
A preacher screamed into the night. For the most part, the crowd ignored him, pushing on to whatever bar or nightclub they haunted. Standing up on the back of a flatbed flyer, the preacher looked out at the sea of heads bobbing up and down and spotted Susan staring back at him. She just had that look about her, Harrison thought. She didn't fit in, she didn't belong, and that made her fair game.
“
And their worm shall burn forever and ever, in everlasting torment,” he yelled, his eyes looking right through her. “And there shall be no mercy. There shall be no respite from the flames. You will have no peace.”
Harrison led Susan away, taking her by the arm.
“
Traitors and murders, are ye all. Liars and adulterers,” he cried after her. “You have forsaken Him, and so He will forsake you. He must, for He is faithful to His Word.”
Harrison looked at her. She was shaken by what she'd heard, for some reason it had struck a nerve. It's a good job Brains didn't stick around, he thought. Brains would have torn the guy to shreds with his knowledge of the Bible and his knowledge of that contradiction of reason that is man-made religion.
“
Hey, don't worry about them,” he said, giving her a hug against the bitter cold of the night.
“
How can he say that?” She asked.
“
Life's different down here. Nobody gives a damn about the laws banning religion or anything else for that matter. And wherever there's suffering, there will be people who exploit that, religious or otherwise.”
“
But, it's so personal, so bitter. The look in his eyes. It chilled me to the bone.”
“
Yeah, I guess for him it is personal. Heaven and hell, God and the devil. With over a hundred billion galaxies in this old universe, each one filled with hundreds of billions of stars, you'd think the place was big enough for something else to take centre stage, but no, we're convinced it's all about us. Big egos, huh. And that poor bastard actually believes that horse shit.”
“
But how can that appeal to anyone?”
Harrison grinned. “Maybe it doesn't. It seems man is never so happy as when he's telling someone else what to do and how to do it, and for this guy, religious bigotry fits that bill. Somehow, this gives him a sense a fulfilment and purpose. What a
fracked
up crazy world, huh?”
Rain began to fall. That was the major downside of New New York, thought Harrison. The new world stretched up through the cloud layer, messing with the air currents and upsetting the natural cycles. It meant it always rained in the old city below, but no one cared. No one of any significance, anyway.
The entrance to the rundown tenement building was covered in graffiti. Vandals had smashed the lower windows and someone that cared but had grown tired of replacing the glass had boarded them up, giving the graffiti artists a framed canvas on which to work. The resulting mash-up of colours and shapes, perspective and depth wouldn't have been out of place in a modern art museum.
A crack addict sat slouched against the wall, his eyes rolled back into his head, dark stains marred the crotch of his torn jeans. The smell of shit and piss filled the air. Susan followed quickly behind Harrison.
The stairs were dimly lit. From somewhere high above them, a woman screamed. Susan dared not think why. A couple of whores walked down the stairs together, eying Harrison as they walked slowly by.
“
What a dump,” said Susan quietly, making sure the prostitutes were out of earshot. “What on earth is an NBC reporter doing in here?”
“
Laying low,” replied Harrison. “Staying off the grid. Even this is probably just a drop box, a waypoint for passing information. If Lincoln's right and the daemon really did influence the outcome of the war, a lot of people must have died to keep that secret. I suspect Lincoln doesn't want to join them.”
They stepped out into darkness on the sixth floor. At the end of the vast hall, several hundred yards in the distance, an exit light flickered.
Each door was numbered, but with over a thousand apartments on each floor, the block was a maze, a rabbit warren. Not a nice place to get cornered, Harrison thought, taking careful note of the various side corridors and the numbering sequence, carefully noting the distance to the nearest exit.
A neon light flickered above them as they walked quietly down yet another corridor. Dim lights shone out from beneath most doors. Scuff marks, graffiti and large scratches marred the fibrocast walls. The muffled sound of music, the smell of a curry or the scent of barbecued meats all wafted through the air. The old wooden floor creaked as they walked softly on.
Harrison came to a stop at room 6223.
In front of him, the door sat slightly ajar. It was dark within the apartment, darker than in the hallway. The curtains must be drawn, thought Harrison, reaching for his night vision glasses, but he'd lost them somewhere along the line. They'd probably slipped between the seat cushions in the cruiser. Just turn around, Harry, he told himself. Just turn around now while you still can. Remember what Rosie said. There's no need for a dead hero.
His heart pounded in his chest. This never got any easier.
Susan paused beside him, a wooden floor board creaking beneath her weight. Harrison could have yelled at her to be quiet. He pulled out his blaster, checked the charge reading and whispered softly into the stock.
“
Stun charge, two rounds, fifty thousand volts.”
Within the butt of the gun, Harrison could feel the custom rounds being pushed up into the breech.
Slowly, he pushed on the door, using the barrel of his blaster to edge the heavy wooden door open. The hinge creaked slightly. Even the slightest sound seemed to betray their presence. The noises and smells from the other apartments faded into the background as he peered into the darkness within.
A faint light flickered out of the holo-set. He could see the silhouette of a man seated, facing away from him, watching the screen.
Papers lay strewn across the floor. Lincoln's arms hung down to the side of the armchair. Blood pooled on the floor.
As he stepped into the apartment, Harrison could see blood dripping from the dead man's fingers. Not good, he thought. He moved against the wall, maximising his field of view, keeping his blaster out in front of him and taking in the layout of the apartment. He was trying to judge what rooms lay off to each side, desperate to pick up any movement in the shadows. Harrison moved past the body slowly, barely looking at it, his senses heightened, trying to take in as much as possible, knowing this might not be over just yet.
He stepped carefully, avoiding the blood soaking into the carpet. As he came around by the vid-screen, the light from the monitor revealed the extent of Lincoln's wounds. He'd been slashed, cut by hundreds, if not thousands of fine strokes, none more than the width of a pencil. Each razor thin line lay on the same path, all running parallel to each other, down and to the left, tearing at his clothing and his skin.
“
Well, at least we know Artemis is right-handed,” he mumbled softly to himself.
Susan stood silhouetted in the door way, her shoulders hunched, sensing the loss within.
There was no point in hanging around, Harrison realised. Pretty soon this place would be crawling with cops and crime scene investigators, the less physical evidence he disturbed, the better. It meant there was less they could pin on him. As it was, a stray hair or even the residue from his shoes could betray his presence. He wanted nothing to do with this melee, so it was best to minimise his impact on the scene. Maybe, just maybe, they wouldn't notice his intrusion.
Any knowledge Lincoln had died with him and his documentation of the daemon was either stolen or destroyed. Harrison wondered about the girl, so excited as she'd told him about their investigation the night before. A dark figure lay slumped on the floor of the adjacent bedroom. He didn't have the heart to look any further.