Histories of the Void Garden, Book 1: Pyre of Dreams (31 page)

Sitting bolt
upright, he struggled to pull the sheet away from his face as he
looked for the phone a second time. He swiped the screen, and heard
a voice coming from the small speaker.

“David?”

“Dad?”

“David, it’s
me.”

“Hannah? How
did you … Oh Jesus.” He threw the phone on the floor and mashed his
bare heel against the glass front several times, but the cracked
screen still glowed cheerily. He picked up the phone and bent it in
half, clambering for a bedside lamp which he knew must be there.
Holding it under the light, he knew that secreted away in a small
compartment was a sim card that he had to get at, so he continued
to twist the device in his hands, bending and snapping it every way
that he could. When he was finally satisfied that he’d thoroughly
destroyed it, David sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the
shattered remnants of Stephanie’s phone. He knew it was a problem.
He wasn’t sure how much of a problem, but he knew enough to be
paralyzed by fear. Stephanie stirred, pulling the blanket over her
eyes to shield them from the light. He pinched the bridge of his
nose between his thumb and forefinger, trying to calm his nerves,
“Hey hon, I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Daddy what’s
wrong?”

Grimacing at
the broken glass and cracked plastic, he lied halfheartedly,
“Nothing Spiff.” He turned to face her, “When did you turn on your
phone?”

Wide eyes
peaked out from under the blanket, “I didn’t dad. You told me I
couldn’t.”

He turned away
from Stephanie with his eyes closed tight, lay down on the bed and
tried to open his imagination to the trouble he might have caused,
“I should,” he sighed heavily, his breath heaving in his chest
several times, “I should probably go and talk to West.”

“Can I
come?”

“Oh, sure. You
should probably come too.”

He felt his
daughter’s small hand on his shoulder, but rather than comforting
him, she pushed him towards the edge of the bed, “It’ll be okay.
You’ll see.”

Agent Brad Cobb waved
his hand in front of the monitor and scrolled through the report
from forensic accounting. He found it troubling to look at Dave
Beach’s various bank and card statements, not because they showed
any unusual activity or signs of unscrupulous behavior, quite the
contrary; David Beach was average, almost to the point of
absurdity. Cobb could see from the notes in the side margins that
the accounts department had held a similar opinion of Mr Beach.
Beach didn’t fit the profile of a conspirator to assassination. Up
until his sudden flight, every aspect of the investigation thus far
had only gone to highlight the fact that Beach was an upright
citizen. The only possible exception to this had of course been
Beach’s phone conversation of March sixth.

Cobb drummed
the edge of the desk with his fingertips. What had gone wrong?

There was
nothing in Beach’s history that would suggest he was capable of
taking on two field trained agents. Beach had been interviewed by
McMahon, so if the two had accidentally crossed paths at Beach’s
home it surely wouldn’t have come as a shock, and it seemed
unlikely that it could have lead to a violent resolution; certainly
not one which would end in Beach’s favor.

He looked up
from his monitor as he noticed in the periphery of his vision that
someone was approaching from the far end of the office. Agent
Danielle Wheatley presented somewhat of a challenge for Cobb’s
ability to assume an air of professional detachment, especially at
three in the morning. Cobb was already dangerously close to
exhausted delirium, and he was sure that Danielle Wheatley,
specialist in audio analysis, would tip him over the edge. He never
intended to flirt with her. It was never on his agenda, but for
some reason, he felt like he came across as a creeper when he was
around her. Perhaps it was her height, he wondered; at 6’4, she
towered over him, and that fact alone made him feel like a little
boy. He stared studiously at his monitor as she approached, and he
found himself wondering why she was so disarming. She was never
anything other than completely professional, but Cobb still found
that she presented an obstacle to professionalism.

“Cobb, you’re
on Beach now right?”

Blink, smile,
nod, focus on her face, “Yup, reassigned today.”

“The warrant
you requested came through for the kids phone. A call went through
a couple of minutes ago from Beach’s sister.” Agent Wheatley
frowned as she noticed Cobb’s eyes wandering off to a point in
space somewhere above her head, “You want to hear the
recording?”

Cobb snapped to
attention, wide eyes staring at her, “Of course,” he got up from
his desk, “Lead the way.”

She walked a
few paces ahead of him, leading him to a small office which was
tightly packed with equipment. She sat at her station and queued up
the recording.

“David.” Cobb
recognized Hannah Beach’s voice.

“David, pick up
the god damned phone.”

No response
from the other end of the line, just some muffled shuffling
sounds.

“David you
piece of shit, pick up the mother fucking phone.”

Still no
response. Cobb sat down beside agent Wheatley and listened to
another five minutes of Hannah cursing and screaming before she
hung up.

“Is that
it?”

Wheatley shook
her head, “Nope. She called back straight away.”

She started the
second recording. Five seconds of ring tone, then, “David!”

“Dad?”

“David, it’s
me.”

“Hannah? How
did you … Oh Jesus.” The phone clicked off.

Wheatley
smiled, “It’s not much to go on, and the kid’s sim went dead, so
I’m figuring Beach smashed the phone.”

Cobb leaned
back in the office chair and pushed away from the desk, the wheels
rolling across the smooth floor silently.

“Did he say
Dad?”

Wheatley
nodded.

“I’m pretty
sure his dad’s dead.” Cobb mused, “Why the hell would he expect him
to be calling?”

Wheatley
shrugged, “I have no godly idea. People are weird. Every day man, I
tell you, I hear the stupidest shit.”

Cobb laughed,
“This is great though Danielle, thanks.”

She shrugged,
“Great would have been getting point of origin on the call.
Wherever Beach is, there must have been some pretty heavy hardware
baffling the signal. Still, it’s a start. I’ve got it down to a
small cluster of cell towers in Manhattan.”

Cobb punched
the air weakly, half expecting to be met with a fist bump from
Wheatley, “I’ll work this up right away. You’re a star Wheatley, I
could kiss you.”

She raised her
eyebrows, looking doubtful, “No Cobb, you really couldn’t, but
thanks for keeping it weird.”

“What’s up? You look
like shit.”

Stanwick’s
words did little to soothe David’s troubled mind. He closed the
door behind him and turned away from the others, composing himself,
“I’ve made a mistake.”

“What kind of a
mistake?” West asked calmly, wondering what damage David could have
possibly done in his brief absence.

“I answered
Stephanie’s phone.”

There was a
long pause before West spoke again, and his voice remained calm,
“What have you done with the phone?”

David turned
quickly, mouth trembling, “I … I destroyed it, but it was too late.
I heard Hannah’s voice, and I’m not sure how long the phone had
been turned on.”

West looked
confused, “So where was your mistake?”

“I shouldn’t
have answered the phone.”

West rolled his
eyes, “No, you shouldn’t have had a phone to answer, but that was
my mistake, not yours; I should have been explicit in my
instructions regarding the phones.”

“But I
shouldn’t have answered.” David replied, certain that he was at
fault somewhere.

West looked at
Stephanie, who was standing beside her father, biting her lip
nervously. He knelt in front of her, smiling, “Stephanie Beach,
have you ever in your life stayed awake all night?”

“Nope.” She
responded truthfully.

West raised his
eyebrows, then he pulled out his phone to check the time. Four
twenty-five, not bad. News app, happily informing him that the
entire world was about to be turned on its head; not great. His
eyes, wide with excitement, met with Stephanie’s again, “I have a
feeling that this is going to be your first all-nighter, which
would make this breakfast time.”

Stephanie
grinned from ear to ear, “I get to stay up?”

West nodded,
“However, I recall that someone around here had a very specific
list of demands regarding breakfast.” He stood up and walked over
to Stanwick, handing her his phone, “What say we all take a quick
shopping trip, then get this show on the road?”

Stanwick read
the headlines on West’s phone, then returned the phone to him,
basking in the warm glow of his child-like glee. She had missed
him. She leaned past him and gave Stephanie the thumbs up,
“Breakfast!”

Stephanie
gritted her teeth, bouncing on her heels, growling with
excitement.

Cobb retraced David
Beach’s digital footsteps, clicking back and forth from website to
website. Knowing Beach’s Shadowcab73 alter-ego had opened up so
many doors Cobb pondered; it was still unnerving to him that
McMahon in particular had ignored that trail. Granted, behind many
of those newly opened doors, there was a picture of a slightly
depressed, aggravated, petty, misanthropic troll, but when Cobb put
all of those pictures together, the composite of David Beach was of
someone who cared, someone who towed the party line, and above all,
someone who believed unwaveringly in the Tiernan administration. He
had called Brice Daniels in to assist, delegating the task of
liaising with the various website administrators. He was certain
that within the past week, one other person must have gone knocking
at all of those same doors, and with Brice’s help, there was a
chance that this person could be located.

Brice called
over from his workstation, “Brad, have you seen this shit?”

Cobb didn’t
look up from his monitor, “What?”

Brice pushed
away from his desk, beady eyes as wide as they could go, sweaty
fingers stroking his clammy forehead, “Cobb, have you got your head
up your ass or something? You’re on the web right?”

Cobb scowled,
“What do you want me to look at?” He opened a fresh browser window,
which defaulted to the browser’s own news page. The news feeds from
several sites affiliated with Associated Press were dominated by
similar headlines, ‘Tiernan Alive? White House aides and security
report sightings of President Allan Tiernan on White House
grounds.’ Agence France-presse affiliates were leading with
‘Présidence contestée : Président Loube retourne Palais de
l'Elysée.’ Cobb clicked feverishly to Reuters affiliates, and read
that former Prime Minister Arthur White had arrived unceremoniously
at Downing Street.

Cobb stood up
from his desk and pointed at agent Daniels, “Quit fucking around
Brice.”

“What?”

Cobb laughed
heartily, “Really, you had me there for a moment. Elaborate. Genius
really, but the joke’s over okay?”

Brice shook his
head slowly, “Brad, this has nothing to do with me. It’s the real
deal.”

“Jesus Daniels,
I don’t have time for your shit, I’m supposed to hit the ground
running with this.”

Brice laughed,
“Brad, just look.” He pointed towards one of the large flat screens
at the far end of the room which silently displayed the feed from
CNN. There, Brad Cobb could just make out the headline which was
emblazoned across the bottom of the screen, ‘Breaking news: White
House security staff claim President Allan Tiernan is alive and
well.’ Brice changed channel to Russia Today, which showed footage
of crowds gathering at the Kremlin, the footer feed declaring,
‘Prime Minister Zhenechka Tamirov welcomes President Abakumov!’

Cobb collapsed
back into his chair, massaging his temples with both hands he tried
to fight off the tension which he was sure could break into a fully
fledged headache at any moment. He kicked his keyboard away in
contempt, “How is AP out in front of this before us? What the hell
are we even doing here hmm?” He stood up again and walked over to
Brice’s workstation, “If Tiernan is alive, who the hell am I
chasing?”

Brice was
indifferent, “Until we are told this is no longer an active
investigation, the news doesn’t effect anything.”

Cobb paced,
fingers working slow circles, feeling the skin of his forehead move
against his skull, “We still have an attempted assassination.”

“Exactly.”
Brice agreed, “and on that note,” he pointed at the in-box on his
monitor, “two site admins have just granted raw access logs. If I
can convince another three of the smaller sites to buckle, I’m sure
I can get a fix on our man.”

“How long?”

Brice shrugged,
“If the right people are awake, fifteen, twenty minutes perhaps?
Failing that, we’re looking at four hours or so … I’d guess eight
thirty?”

Cobb nodded,
“I’ll get on to New York field office, arrange entry
clearance.”

Ahken Kith Tiarsis did
not typically allow much time for introspection. He didn’t often
have cause to ask what ‘it’ was all about, because throughout most
of history, there had been ample evidence that it was about him.
The good parts at least. Whenever his inner monologue did take
over, he thought of himself as Alan Tiernan. It was healthier that
way. Ahken Tiarsis had existed as a role he had played for many
years, but hadn’t he played many such roles? In private, his
parents, still referred to him as Ahken and he knew that it was
their wonderfully petulant way of trying to keep him ‘on the level’
and ‘down to earth’. They still thought of him as their child, and
it appalled him that they were capable of such base and human
thoughts. He used the term ‘parents’ loosely, because it was
convenient, but it was preposterous to him that such a relationship
should hold any validity beyond that.