Murder Inc.: A Sci-fi Thriller: Book 1 (30 page)

“Money?”

“It's almost exclusively the source of all power in the world. It drives the world, Tabby, especially nowadays, where the poverty line is lower than ever before and wealth for the masses is much harder to achieve.” Tom read her skepticism. “The company has vast influence over the world. From the manufacture of foods and drugs that cause illness and death to the suppression of cures and vaccines that could prevent them. It sells or leases the diseases it creates by auctioning them off to the highest government or manufacturer. They own patents to all sorts of inventions. You wouldn't believe what sort of things governments are into.”

Tabby instantly thought of her father and his struggle to find a place in a breakthrough drug trial. “You mean they actually have cures they don’t use?”

“Only for the viruses they create. The company employs scientists and doctors to create viruses and diseases, along with vaccines and treatments.”

“My father is battling cancer. Are you telling me there might be a drug out there that can cure him?”

Tom hesitated. “It’s doubtful.”

“Are you sure? The whole thing is beyond comprehension.”

“I know. It is… at first. I couldn't tell you everything if we spent the rest of the day discussing it.”

“It's so… contrived.”

“To a point. Fox has always tried to maintain the randomness of it all, sort of like life, you know?”

Fox. She’d only seen the man a few times on his travels through the offices. He always spoke with courteous interest. She'd told herself it was nothing, but he seemed to go out of his way to greet her whenever they crossed paths. She tested her theory the last time, observing him ignore others only seek her out to say hello. She had always returned his cordiality, but now, knowing he was the boss of this murdering company, she wished she could tell him what she thought.

“Fox is one of the good guys. I heard from an older executive that until the last year or so, he ran the company with a real sense of moral obligation to the community. Sure, people die, but he always brought as much morality to it as possible.”

“I don’t see how.”

“It’s difficult to understand unless you know how it all works.”

“How does the government not know about this?”

Tom scoffed. “Governments drive it. You work for the government, Tabby.”

She pressed her hands to both temples and rubbed. “Choosing people to die though? Surely there’s got to be a better way?”

“There’ll be more in the briefing. But once you understand that the world can’t exist as we know it without the controls, you’ll see it differently.”

“Then why did you and Charlie want to leave?”

“We just didn’t want to be a part of it.”

“And you still want to leave?”

“Even more so now. Fox has had enough. Jennings and others are trying to take over. Killing Charlie and Dom and Bryce—because that’s what they did—is the beginning of the end for him.”

“Who are 'they'?”

Tom stood and walked to the windows. “Jennings. Samantha. Who knows? You did well not to give up the drive. Where is it now?” Tabby said nothing. “You don’t trust me?”

Tabby tipped her head sideways. “Of course I do. But if I tell you, then they might use it against you?”

“This isn’t a spy novel.”

“No, it’s worse.”

“What do you intend to do with it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know what’s on there.”

“They’ll come for it eventually."

“I plan to be out of here before that happens.” She stood and arched her neck, certain the pain was tension, and walked slowly over to Tom. There was one more thing that had struck fear into her the moment she had learned the awful truth. “My mother died when I was a child. What are the chances the company had something to do with her death?”

Tom turned to her, hands in his pockets. “How did she die?”

“Cancer.”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“It’s hard to believe humans haven’t completely cured the disease. So many people still die from it.”

“They shouldn’t.”

“The company causes it?” Tom was silent. Tabby felt hot rage wash over her. She reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Tom? Tell me. Did the company murder my mother?”

He reached down and removed her hand from his wrist. “I honestly don’t know, Tabby. Send me some information about her and I’ll look into it.”

“Sorry,” she said, looking down at his arm.

“Sometimes these things are better left behind.”

“Just find out for me.”

He nodded, his lips a grim line, and walked past her towards the door.

“Why wouldn’t I just leave?”

Tom turned back to her. “You wanted to find out about Charlie and what terrible things the company did.”

“Now I know.”

“You can’t leave. They won’t let you. They’ve already located your family.”

Tabby gave a humorless smile. “What about yours?”

“I don't have anybody left I care about.”

She considered telling him about Gutterson. She supposed it didn’t even matter if he told Fox or Jennings now. How could it possibly end well for her? Besides, this would test his loyalty. “I’ve been approached,” she said. Tom shifted his footing. “An NYPD detective. He was working with Charlie before…” Tom frowned. “I don’t think they got far. He’d approached Charlie, that’s all.”

“What does he want?”

“Information. Before Charlie died, he told me to hand the drive to the detective if anything happened to him.”

Tom’s eyes grew wide. “Have you?”

“No.”

“Good. If anyone tries to access it outside the company network it will send out all kinds of flags to IT. They'll know it was you.”

“So how do I get that information off the disk?”

“You can't outside the company walls.”

That was something to consider. “So what happens now? I really don’t want to work here, Tom.”

“Just go with it for the time being. Listen and learn. I’ll work something out.”

“That cop is going to contact me again. He wants information. He’s onto the company, you know.”

“Well, he can have it all once we’re out of the picture. But don’t give him anything yet. Try to hold him off for now.”

“And you’ll look into my mother?”

“I will.”

“Thank you. It’s something I need to know.”

He gave her a stiff smile and disappeared out the door.

The sickly feeling that had come on during Tom’s briefing remained; it might not ever disappear. Her initial instinct following Charlie’s death was to leave Janefield. Tom had convinced her otherwise, citing her own safety, but now she resented him. She had her answers about Charlie and the company’s true function. Now she had wanted to know about her mother, as well as the cures Tom had mentioned and whether any existed to help her father. It would be her focus as long as she continued working there.

The entire concept was too much though. Everything she thought about the world and governments was questionable. Although the rest of the global population was in the same situation, it didn't make acceptance any easier. Tabby decided she would give it a little longer to find out about her mother and if anything could help her father. If there wasn’t, she’d sneak away. Surely they couldn’t locate her if she was careful
.

The jingle of metal from the front of the apartment snatched Tabby from sleep. She jerked her head off the pillow and peered into the darkness of her bedroom and the hallway beyond, waiting for her vision to adjust. Had she set Stella to clean early? No.

“Time?”

The clock, dark and silent, spoke the words, “Two twenty-three a.m.”

She rolled onto one elbow, listening for a repeat of the sound, trying to limit the noise from her movement. There was a chance she had imagined it. She ought to go back to sleep, but that was impossible now. She was compelled to investigate.

As a child in her parent’s home, she had often lain in her bed at night listening to the creaks and groans of the old house. Many times she had convinced herself that someone was inside the house, creeping down the long hallway to steal her from the bed, or worse. Most times she could only return to sleep after turning on all the lights just to make sure nobody was there. It became such a problem at one stage that her father took her to see a doctor.

Tabby called for the bedside light and threw the covers back. Wearing only knickers and a light singlet top, she headed out of her bedroom and down the hallway, exploring the darkness.

Reaching the living room, she called for the lights. Nothing happened. She slid along the wall and located the switch. She pressed the button and found the same.

Stay calm.
But a thread of worry slithered in. Not all the lights were out, just the living room. Ambient light from the hallway allowed her to see dark blotches and the vague outline of the living room sofas and the kitchen area beyond. She contemplated returning to the bedroom and digging through boxes in the cupboard for a torch. There was one in her phone, but she thought she had left it on the kitchen bench.

That’s where she had to get; eight or nine steps across the living room to where she’d be in range for the voice activated lights or could use her phone. But why was the idea making her nervous?

There was someone in the room. Ice terror touched her skin, creeping up to the back of her neck. She couldn’t see them, but she felt a presence. Maybe even smell them. Somewhere in the blurry darkness, another person was standing or crouching or lying, waiting for her to move. She stiffened her stance, summoning the courage.

She took her first step, fists balled, and tensed herself. As she crossed the room, the shadows moved. She heard the pop of knee joints as the person stood. Tabby fell into a fighting stance and relaxed her hands. She never saw the fist coming. A knuckle connected with her cheek, pain washing over her face, and she fell aside with a cry. She was up momentarily though; a sidekick, connecting with a thick torso, and the intruder grunted. They fell on something—probably one of the side tables with the lamp—and it clattered to the floor. Tabby swiveled, shooting her fists out into the blackness and finding only air.

She moved sideways towards the kitchen and called, “Lights!” Nothing happened. She ran for the switch, but something snagged her foot just before she reached the wall and she went sprawling, thumping her face on the corner of the bench. She might have groaned.

A weight fell on her—not as much as she expected—and it gave her hope. She knew immediately from his smell that it was a man. She rolled, throwing an elbow backwards into the air, but again failed to connect. A fist struck her twice in the stomach, knocking the air from her lungs, and then a forearm slid in around her throat and cut off her airways. Tabby lay limp, gathering her senses. She had practiced freeing herself from this move in training many times.

She tucked her chin to prevent him cutting off her air or blood supply then turned towards his body, using his chest for protection from his fists. She groped for his hands, which were surprisingly soft, and pulled down to release the pressure.

He groaned, scratching to recover the hold, but the move worked and freed her to take in air. She kept thinking of rape; or worse if he pinned her down. She punched his upper thigh with gritted teeth, ramming her knuckles into the flesh. He cursed and sucked in a sharp breath. She thrust her elbow backwards and struck him in the chest, knocking him away and breaking loose. She reached around and grabbed for his hair, but he slithered out of reach. Panting, she sprung to her feet and faced where she thought he stood. His heavy breathing gave him away and then he rushed at her, banging himself on the table. Tabby kicked out—a roundhouse—anticipating his attack. Her foot made contact with his ear and the attacker fell to the side.

She attacked, dancing towards where he had fallen with a flurry of kicks, but he had moved away. His knees and hands thumped along the floor as he scampered towards the front foyer. She considered following as he fled down the hallway, but instead felt her way to the refrigerator where she snatched the door open and welcomed the soft blue light. He struck the wall as he reached the front door, the thud vibrating through the apartment. Tabby grabbed her tablet and, using the light, took a carving knife from one of the kitchen drawers. She crept through the living room and down the hallway towards the front door with the knife held out.

But there was no sign of him. The front door was wide open. Wondering how he had ever gained access, Tabby shut the door and this time she bolted it, ruing herself for not doing it more often.

She ran back to the kitchen and got down onto her knees near the loose skirting board in the corner. What if it was gone? What if they had taken it? Perhaps that was better. They might leave her alone now. Maybe that would allow her to leave when the time came.

She reached out and slid the loose piece aside. But it was still there, wrapped in the plastic bag in which she had secured it on the night of Charlie’s death. For now, she still had it, but that meant eventually deciding what to do with it.