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 (22 page)
Any notions Harrison had about the nobility of the revolution died along with Lincoln. Artemis was no freedom fighter, just another bloody murderer. The sooner this was over, the better.
It was time to go.
__________
Kane stepped from the lift into the senator's chambers. He was tired. It had been a long day. It had been a long couple of days. He just wanted to go home, to go to bed, to sink into the soft mattress and dream. But to dream of what? Dreams were few, these days. Kane found himself unable to let go, even in sleep. He longed for the simpler days, the earlier days, when he would dream of triumphs, dream of women, dream of success. But here he was, summoned again. Whatever the senator had to talk about, he hoped it was quick.
The lobby was dark. Kane stepped out of the elevator and turned to walk down into the sunken lounge where they'd talked the night before.
The artificial fire cracked in the hearth, but something was wrong. There were no lights on. The robotic serf was powered down, sitting idle in the corner.
The senator sat in a leather lounge chair facing away from him, looking out of the wall-to-ceiling windows, looking into the dark of the night. A glass of brandy sat on the low coffee table in front of him, but the old man didn't move as Kane walked down the steps.
“
Senator?”
The old man's hand fell to one side of the chair. It was only then Kane noticed the dark pool of blood spreading out from beneath the chair.
Kane touched his earpiece and spoke softly.
“
Security breach. My location. Send an armed unit and a medical team.”
Almost instantly, the stiff reply came. “Yes, sir.”
Kane pulled out his blaster and turned away from the senator. Keeping his back to the old man, his eyes followed his blaster, sweeping intently around the reception area, past the piano, over the stately dining table and toward the bedrooms. He backed slowly toward the senator.
“
Is the area secure?” asked the voice in his ear.
Kane wasn't sure. He was looking for a fine mist in the darkness, a shadow dancing along the wall.
The lift door opened and four agents came out carefully, quickly and softly, spreading out into the lounge. Without saying a word, Kane signalled for them to move out and search the entire floor.
The voice in his ear was silent. The operator was monitoring the situation through the action-cams on the side of the helmets worn by the other agents.
The senator groaned.
Kane holstered his weapon and knelt down by the senator, ignoring the blood soaking into his trousers. Hundreds of razor thin cuts lined the old man's body, slashing through his clothing, marring his face, his throat, his arms and legs. He struggled for breath.
“
Hold on, sir. Medics are on their way.”
The senator reached out with a bloodied hand.
“
It's not important,” he whispered, delirious. “Artemis. You must get to him.”
A sense of anger and indignation welled up inside Kane. His mouth ran dry. He held the dying man's hand. The cuts were thin but they ran deep, exposing sinew and muscle, in some places reaching down to the bone.
“
It's not important, what happens to me,” the senator repeated, barely able to speak, trying not to move. “It's up to you now. You must carry on. You must. You, where I have failed. You must get to Artemis first and finish this. You understand?”
“
I understand,” Kane replied, seeing death in the senator's eyes, realising he'd held on beyond what he ought, that he fought to stay alive long enough to tell him this. But why him? Why not call a medic or security or one of his kids, his ex-wife or his personal secretary? Why call him? They barely knew each other.
Kane thought back to their conversation from the previous evening, trying to understand why the senator had called him up here in the first place, let alone tonight. What did the sage old man see in him? Kane felt guilty. He felt as though he'd failed him, as though somehow this was his fault. Tears welled up behind his electronic eyes.
It was all the old man's failing body could stand. His hand fell limp as his head slipped softly to one side.
Kane looked at the lifeless hand in his. The signet ring was gone.
“
So now you take trophies,” he said softly, reaching out with one hand to close the senator's dead eyes.
“
No more,” he vowed as he stood up, the senator's warm blood dripping from his hands. “There shall be no more bloodshed, not like this.”
Susan was nervous. She fidgeted with with her neckless and bit at her fingernails as they rode the air train to the park. She was unusually quiet.
“
What's the matter, kiddo?” asked Harrison.
She seemed distracted. Rosie had picked up some jeans and a nice top for her. She'd showered and had some of Rosie's southern style grits for breakfast, but she looked tired, exhausted. Dark patches beneath her eyes betrayed a lack of sleep.
It was hardly surprising, Harrison realised. Up until a few days ago, her world consisted of soft, sterile surroundings, a circle of activity that barely took her beyond the Victory Mall or outside one of the new age nightclubs.
It was easy to live above the clouds, to live in one of the towers and forget about the rest of the world below. Dead bodies were just a mannequin in a movie, with a bit of tomato sauce thrown in for a splash of realism. Seeing Lincoln must have scared the crap out of her, he thought, watching as she stared out the window with a vacant look on her face.
“
It's going to be OK,” he said.
The clouds were below them, the sun was out, there wasn't a storm cell in sight, nothing to cloud over the new city. It was going to be a beautiful day. Susan turned and looked at him. She was going to say something, but it seemed she wasn't sure quite what to say. She looked worried.
“
Relax,” said Harrison. “She'll come.”
Susan laughed and tried to smile. “I guess that's what I'm afraid of.”
“
Look, we're meeting in a public place. There will be lots of people around. It's perfectly safe.”
“
It's not that,” she replied, looking past him, somewhat dazed. “It's been years, you know. People change. Maybe she'll-”
She paused, holding that thought within.
Harrison rested his hand on her knee.
“
Listen. I'll meet with her first. I'll talk to her. There's a park bench on the hill behind the cafe, looking out over the lake. You can sit there in the sun while I wait for her below. You'll be able to see everything. I'll chat with her, figure things out, and wave for you to come down. OK?”
Yeah, Harry, he thought to himself, you're a real family counsellor now.
That seemed to satisfy Susan. For the rest of the trip, they sat in silence, waiting for the Park Road stop.
Pigeons fluttered as they stepped out of the train and walked through the open air station.
They walked out into the park, following the paths that wound through the botanical gardens. Strands of blossoming bougainvillea hung down from shades over the walkway, their pretty pink flowers disguising their thorny stems. Lilies floated on the ornate garden ponds, their violet blue and white flowers looked radiant in the sunlight. The sound of cicadas and frogs sung out in a morning chorus around them.
Above, the vast pressurised dome allowed the sunlight to shine through. Low on the horizon, a rainbow was visible, the distortion of oily light refracting through the seemingly clear nano-skin of the dome.
Cyclists and joggers hurried past, going every which way, all busy listening to music in their earpieces rather than the sounds of nature they'd come out to enjoy. A caretaker drove past on a ride-on mower, cutting the grass so it looked as fine as a golf course. Young mothers strolled on by, pushing trolleys with their children tucked safely within.
“
See,” said Harrison, looking somewhat out of place with his trench coat on. “It's a beautiful day. It's going to be a great day.”
As they walked on Harrison watched a group of teenagers playing football in a grassy area surrounded by tall palm trees. The trees swayed gently in the soft breeze. He'd have loved to join in, but the truth was he'd be out of breath within a few runs. They'd leave him gasping for air as they sailed past for a touchdown, and he knew it.
They walked down toward the central lake. The Cafe De Luna sat on the shoreline, looking out across the water. Susan and Harrison chatted idly before Harrison left her sitting alone on the wooden park bench overlooking a small stream winding its way down past the cafe, under a foot bridge and into the lake.
Harrison walked the hundred yards or so down to the cafe. He was a little late, but that was fashionable, wasn't it? He wondered just what he was in for and felt a little nervous himself.
Harrison sat at a small table on the edge of the cafe seating area by the lake. The path wound around in front of him, following the edge of the lake. He took his coat off and draped it over a chair. Ducks wandered between the tables, looking for scraps. Joggers ran past, sweating in the warm sun.
A pretty young waitress wandered over, asking him if he'd like something.
“
I'll have a latte, thanks, no sugar,” he replied.
“
Make that two,” came a soft voice from behind him.
Harrison didn't move. The smell of perfume drifted on the breeze. Jasmine, he thought as he waited that fraction of a second for Olivia to walk around beside him. He looked up with a smile. Sudden moves didn't seem like such a smart idea around someone that's been on the run for over a decade. Olivia seemed to recognise and appreciate the relaxed gesture.
Coming around beside him, Harrison got his first good look at the dead, naked lady from the photograph. She looked beautiful, stunning. The low, morning sun streamed in behind her, giving her a soft silhouette.
Olivia was wearing a navy blue sunhat with a wide brim, casting shadows over her face. Smart, he thought. Her floral dress looked as radiant as the flowerbeds in the garden. Splashes of red and blue, yellow and white lit up the fine fabric. Damn, thought Harrison, Artemis has some fine taste.
She sat down opposite him. If she was armed, he had no idea where she could be hiding a gun.
“
I'm Harry,” he said, offering her his hand in friendship, half getting out of his seat, making a show of being a gentleman.
“
I know all about you, Harrison,” she replied softly, smiling.
It probably made her feel a little more comfortable to know a bit about him, but that made Harrison feel distinctly uncomfortable, wondering precisely what she meant, wondering what conclusions she'd drawn from the rough snapshot some other private dick had formed of him.
“
And Artemis?” he asked, not quite sure what he was asking, but wondering if he was here somewhere as well, wondering if she really was mixed up in all of this. He was fishing for information, throwing out a line to see if she'd bite.
“
Artemis,” she replied, thinking about it for a second. “Let's just say, Artemis is Artemis. Artemis does what Artemis does, when and where he chooses.”
She was keeping her cards close to her chest, Harrison realised. She really hadn't told him anything. But she was here and that told him something. She had the cube. She didn't have to be here. She had to be curious.
“
Daniel,” Harrison began, baiting her, still fishing. Old habits die hard, he thought, but she cut him off.
“
Don't,” she replied.
The waiter put down their coffees and walked off to take an order from another couple enjoying the warmth of the morning sun. Harrison took a sip, tasting the smooth, steamed milk and the slight bitter tinge of the coffee. It was a great cup of Joe, he thought. Olivia sipped her coffee as well, enjoying the break in what was always going to be an awkward conversation.
“
Susan,” began Harrison, trying to shift to a softer subject, the real topic of their meeting. “She's worried about you.”
Olivia frowned slightly, her eyes looked distant, as though she was struggling to recall some lost memory.
“
Where is she?”
“
Up on the park bench,” said Harrison, gesturing with a nod of his head in her direction.
Olivia looked up across the open grassy bank at the young lady sitting alone on the wooden bench.
Harrison sipped his coffee.
“
What about Lincoln?” He asked. He'd promised himself he'd leave well enough alone, but he couldn't help it. The injustice ate away at his mind. He had to know. “Why did you kill him?”
Olivia looked confused, disoriented.
“
He was trying to help,” said Harrison, pushing the point more than he should have. It was over, history, why did he care? He wasn't sure, but he did.
“
No,” she cried, pushing herself away from the table and staggering to her feet. “What have you done?”
She lashed out, knocking her coffee off the table, sending fragments of the broken cup scattering across the ground.
Harrison tried to get up but his legs felt like jelly. His head was spinning. A sharp pain stabbed at his temples. He raised his hand to the side of his face, but his fingertips were numb, he couldn't feel anything.
“
You bastard,” cried Olivia, trying to hold on to the table, fighting to stay on her feet.
Harrison forced himself up, but his legs gave way and he fell crashing to the ground, knocking the table next to them out into the walkway and into the path of a jogger.
Ducks scattered, taking flight.
The last thing he remembered was lying on the rough cobblestones staring up the hill, seeing Susan still sitting on the park bench, but she wasn't alone. Kane was sitting with her.