(The sequel to "Dizzying
Highs and Abysmal Lows" )
15
Thursday.
Kyra
was never sure whether it was due to a rejuvenating night's sleep,
replete with warm dreams, or the gloriously bright morning that lifted
her spirits, but as she took the ten-minute subway journey to work,
Prozium free and clear-headed, the recollection of the sun-splashed
zeppelin almost caused her to leap out of her seat. By the time she
reached her desk to pick up the phone, her composure had returned.
"I'm
really not interested in how difficult it may be, Technician," Kyra
struggled to keep the impatience out of her voice. "But I want the
footage from those cameras relayed to my screens in the next ten
minutes, or you will find yourself answering to Vice-Council DuPont!"
She replaced the receiver carefully, aware of her heightened emotional
state, fuelled by pure adrenaline. If she were correct in her
assumption, then at least one part of the jigsaw would be solved.
While
she waited for the link, Kyra checked the progress of the searches she
had set up yesterday. The system was painfully slow. Such bureaucracy!
It was a miracle that the Tetragrammaton functioned at all, never mind
with such lethal efficiency! The structure was so complex that very
often, different Departments and Sections worked on the same project
with no interaction between them. Information was regularly duplicated,
altered or simply lost.
Several
screens flickered into life above her. She watched for a few moments,
toggling between views, then picked up the phone again.
16
"OK,
now zoom the view from the port camera to the south of the City wall.
Left a bit...there....can you see the white Sweeper truck? The black
one's about a block behind. Save that. Now we know where it is, pull
back and run the footage. Let's see if we can follow it...." Kyra
hovered over the Camera Technician as his fingers nimbly followed her
orders.
An
hour later, laptop firmly in her grasp, Kyra emerged from the depths of
the Hall of Enforcement and headed purposefully towards the exit,
mentally rehearsing her presentation, oblivious to all around her.
17
"So
you see, Vice-Council...although we can't see the raid itself, we can
follow the trail of the Sweeper truck and the stolen barrels right into
Sector 6."
Photoprints
were spread all over the immaculate desk and Kyra's laptop was running
the edited footage from the four cameras on IS3’s zeppelin. A Sweeper
tanker, closely followed by a black 8-wheeled truck, could be seen
exiting the gate and moving off, flanked by eight motorcycles. The
zeppelin had needed to climb to avoid some of the pylons and chimneys,
providing a more distant, if grainy view over the Inner Nethers.
Cleaned up, the images were much clearer. Kyra commented on the
audacity of the thieves.
"Do
not underestimate greed, Administrator," remarked DuPont, shuffling
through the prints, selecting particular shots. "You may not be able to
experience or understand it, but greed is a formidable enemy." He
pointed to the print which showed the convoy as static, then the next
one where it had disappeared. On this print was a note bearing a set of
co-ordinates. "This is excellent work, Administrator, I commend you."
"Thank
you Vice-Council," replied Kyra. She was wondering whether to ask if an
A & R was planned when DuPont spoke again.
"Can
you arrange for this mornings pass to be displayed here?" He was
walking towards a darkened area of the office, where Kyra could just
make out a small viewing station. The four screens flicked on,
displaying the familiar geometric symbol of the Tetragrammaton. "And
also the live feed. I need to know if the trucks are still there,"
"Er...of
course, Sir" Kyra crossed to the station and called the Camera
Technician again. "It’ll take a few moments, Sir." Kyra knew she
sounded curious, but she knew better than to question the Vice-Council.
Images of Interrogation Technicians flashed and were gone. After what
seemed an interminable time, the screens came to life. Kyra sat down
and toggled the views.
"Right,
Sir. The top two are the footage from this morning, paused and ready to
play. The lower ones are live. The view over the City wall is fairly
ragged, probably because the weather is poor. As the time elapses, the
live footage will transfer to the recorded screen and be redigitised
for a clearer view." Kyra was heartily relieved she had paid so much
attention to the Technician’s work.
The
edited film and the enhanced photoprints enabled Kyra to locate the
area where the Sweeper truck was last seen, on the first pass. The live
feed was useless just then, because the zeppelin was turning. However,
by rolling the film forward, recentering and zooming the images, she
finally ascertained that their quarry was still in place at 11:30 am.
It was now 11:45 and the zeppelin would not have a visual for another
15 minutes.
With
a sense of urgency that surprised her, DuPont swept up the photoprints
and returned to his desk. Kyra, still trying to establish a live view,
heard him order an immediate dispatch of two Enforcement teams to the
co-ordinates.
"Now,
we wait." The Vice-Council returned to stand behind Kyra's chair, his
fingers drumming on the high back. Once again she felt his warm breath
against her skin and swallowed hard as the fine hairs rose on the nape
of her neck. What had she got herself into! As soon as this was over
she ......the zeppelin’s port camera registered the Sweepers and eight
motorcycles tearing through the ruined landscape that was the Inner
Nethers. The weather was deteriorating and maintaining a lock would
soon be problematic. However, the Vice-Council appeared gratified by
the proceedings.
"Thank
you, Administrator, I believe that will be sufficient, for now. I will
not keep you from your continuing investigations. Am I being
presumptuous in assuming you will have a positive result for me quite
soon?"
Kyra
didn't miss the nuance in his clipped tones. "Not at all, Vice-Council.
In fact, once I have concluded my interviews tomorrow, I am reasonably
confident that I will have Watchdog's identity."
"Only
reasonably confident? Come now, Administrator, you must have faith in
your abilities. Without faith, we are nothing."
"Yes,
Sir. You are absolutely right."
Kyra
crossed back to the desk to collect her laptop. Near the edge of the
desk, there were some items of stationery, nothing of any interest,
except tucked next to a notepad was a slender metal case, engraved with
a swirled pattern. Something about it was familiar, but she just
couldn't place it. Plus she had more pressing matters to consider.
DuPont
closed the lid of Kyra’s laptop and handed it to her. Being
exceptionally careful not to touch his hand as she accepted it, Kyra
merely nodded and turned to leave. That DuPont was playing games with
her, she now had no doubt. That she not only knew the rules but was
making up a few of her own, thankfully seemed to have eluded him – for
now.
Machiavelli
would have been right at home here, mused Kyra as she paced down the
daunting hallway. Caught up in her thoughts, she was more than a little
startled to see Cleric Brandt strutting towards her, evidently on his
way to DuPont's office. He passed her with the briefest of
acknowledgements and Kyra considered that he looked inordinately
pleased with himself. Reflecting on why a Subordinate Cleric could be
of any interest to the Vice-Council served to subdue her anxiety and
she returned to the Hall of Enforcement, eager to organise her
interrogation schedule. Hushed tones and subtle glances greeted her
entrance to Administration Section 7.
18
Wholly
unaware of their impending fate, which had paused some distance from
its target, awaiting further orders, Carson and Jared were in the
process of co-ordinating the safety checks on both the barrels and the
full production equipment. The hollow clang of a metal door heralded
the arrival of Vasily, pushing a motorcycle and followed by a wiry,
bespectacled man, helmet clutched in one hand and a battered metal
briefcase in the other.
From
his vantage point near the refuelling area, Ellis watched the Chemist
cross to a set of long wooden worktables, strewn with rubber piping,
burners, test tubes and other paraphernalia necessary for the test run
of 'White Magic'. The test rig was a scaled down version of the mobile
production unit, situated by at the rear of the warehouse.
At a
signal from Vasily, one of the barrels was rolled to a square, waist
high plastic bin next to the first table. Donning a grubby protective
mask, Jared eagerly levered off the lid with a pry bar to reveal the
greenish yellow powder inside. It took several men to tip the barrel
and empty the contents into the plastic bin.
Few
words were spoken as the Chemist, now attired in a white lab coat,
perched on a tall grey stool, opened his case and extracted a small
test tube, in which swirled a clear liquid. Using a tiny red scoop, he
transferred some of the powder to the tube and shook it gently. Ellis
observed that everyone held their breath at this point, until Jared
delivered his customary whoop of excitement as the contents of the tube
turned a bright cobalt blue. The Chemist nodded. Everyone else breathed
again.
"This
is an excellent batch," He looked pointedly at Vasily. "A pity we did
not acquire more..." He let the accusation hang. Vasily grimaced.
"I
talked to Watchdog. He didn't know why either. To be honest, I think
he's getting twitchy. Just as well we can lie low for a while after
this."
"Hmm.
Not for as long as we envisaged, though. Still, let us get started.
Once I have determined the concentrations, we will process the first 10
barrels in this rotation." Imperiously,Vasily clicked clicked his
fingers at Carson, who ordered his crew to hook up gas bottles to fuel
the burners. Once the process was initiated, the actual refining was
straightforward.
Ellis
rose and sauntered over to Vasily and Jared. The Chemist would oversee
the initial stages, fine-tuning the procedure to ensure purity, then
vanish again. Ellis could not allow that to happen. Casually, he
checked his watch, then ambled to one of the exit doors.
"Where
the frickin' hell d'you think you're goin'?" Jared yelled after him
over the hiss of the burners.
"Gotta
get some air...that stuff's gettin' right up my nose!"
Once
outside, Lisle took a moment to centre his thoughts. There were a few
more men around than he would have liked, but he had the advantage of
surprise. Raising his rifle, he flicked the selector switch to
sustained fire and checked the clips. Six more in his pocket.. Just
before grasping the door handle to re-enter the building, he briefly
scanned the horizon. Squinting into the sun, he thought he saw the
glint of metal, then smiled nastily as he heard the faint, low rumble
of diesel engines. This was going to work out just fine. He slung the
rifle back over his shoulder and drew out his pistol.
Once
back into the building, he strode across the floor. It was only when he
was half-way across that he noticed Jared and Carson staring at him
open-mouthed. Finally shedding Ellis like an outgrown snake skin, Lisle
smiled at them, before raising the pistol and drilling a neat round
hole in each forehead. Visibly shocked, Vasily dived for his rifle as
the side of the building imploded.
Total
chaos and mayhem ensued as a white tanker ploughed through the fuel
bay, sending barrels careering across the floor. Motorbikes skidded
around the sides, riders shooting at anyone trying to return fire.
Vasily sprinted for the far exit, where his motorcycle leaned against
the wall. Lisle had reached the Chemist, who was attempting to slink
around the rear of the chemical containers and pinned him to the floor.
The position gave him the perfect shot at the bike’s tyres. They blew
out, sending both the bike and Vasily sprawling on the concrete. Far
from gently, a black-visored Enforcement officer hauled Vasily to his
feet, wrenched his arms behind his back and cuffed him.
The
dead or dying lay in widening pools of blood. Enforcement officers
rounded up the remainder of the group, ignoring the pleas of the
injured. The Sweeper captain nodded to Lisle as he loaded the offenders
into the waiting vans.
Lisle
dragged the protesting Chemist through the foam which now blanketed the
floor, neutralising the toxic mix of fuel and chemicals, until he
reached the hinge-lidded plastic bin, still intact despite the
devastation. He slammed the man against it, clamping his throat with a
vicelike grip. His mouth close to the petrified Chemist's ear, Lisle’s
voice was toneless, devoid of emotion.
"Now
you will tell me what you know about this operation, or, I promise you,
I will make the remainder of your miserable existence very, very
unpleasant."
"Nothing...I
swear...I...I wait for Vasily's call, that's all."
"And
Watchdog?"
"No...I
don't know who he is...no one knows...no one knows."
"A
pity."
Lisle
increased his hold on the Chemist's throat, yanking him upright. With
his other hand, he released the catch on the lid and flung it open. An
acrid odour rose from the greenish-yellow powder. For a few moments,
Lisle observed the terror-stricken man with detached indifference, then
coolly flipped him over, pushing his face into the bin. The man
struggled violently, his arms and legs thrashing impotently as he
fought to raise his head from the cloying, burning chemicals. Muffled
cries of agony became choking sobs as the suffocating powder filled his
mouth, infiltrated his lungs. His whole body convulsed as he clawed at
the air, frantically trying to free himself, but Lisle maintained the
downward pressure until, finally succumbing to asphyxiation, the
Chemist ceased his tormented writhing and became still.
Lisle
released the lifeless body and walked away without a moment's thought.
19
Cradled
in the grey cocoon of her unit, Kyra sat cross-legged on the floor,
arms folded closely to her body, rocking slowly back and forth. Nothing
she did, or thought, or tried to think could obliterate the anguish
threatening to consume her. Her world was reduced to two cold immutable
facts:
Partridge was dead.
Preston had killed him.
Her
carefully constructed existence was no more than a straw house built on
the shifting sands of Fate. The foundations of her life crumbled around
her, crushing the seedlings of hope so recently planted. She had
watered them with so many tears, none remained for her gentle friend
and she mourned his passing with dry eyes.
The
maelstrom of emotions raging in her heart sickened and confused her.
Partridge had often referred to the 'cost of feeling'. What they once
christened as Father's 'Prozium – the great nepenthe' speech, had even
become a source of humorous exchange between them, but nothing could
have prepared her for how truly abysmal the lows could be. Then there
was Preston. What she now reluctantly admitted had to be love,
conflicted violently with the raw anger engendered by the merest
thought of his actions. Struggling to her feet, bile rising in her
throat, Kyra staggered to the bathroom. Again.
Finally,
in the hurricane eye of exhaustion, she lay on the floor in front of
the muted viewscreen, the silent images of Father and Libria reflected
in her indifferent eyes. Physically and emotionally drained, her mind
retreated to the one place it could function. She crawled across the
floor to retrieve her laptop
Day V - Friday 
