Murder Inc.: A Sci-fi Thriller: Book 1 (5 page)

Fox felt a wave of giddiness as the teleportation process finished. A loud sucking noise sounded, followed by the hiss of escaping air as the seal door popped open, and he was out, standing in his own private teleportation room behind his office. He staggered forward and stood for a moment with his hands on hips, breathing heavily.

‘Vaulting’—the colloquial term for teleportation—was rapid, almost instantaneous, but it often left the porter sick for several hours afterwards. Fox was particularly susceptible. The doctors said it had something to do with a temperamental middle ear, which affected his balance and subsequently caused nausea. Fox hated the whole process—from the moment he spotted the glass cylinder to the claustrophobic feeling of being in the tube. A burning smell lingered on him for hours afterwards. He even had the Company lease its own grid to allow executives faster travel times and avoid the crush of an over-committed, over-priced, consumer network, but it didn’t improve things. Most vaulting was over a short distance, but there were large stations like the one at LaGuardia where people ported across the continent.

He gathered himself, adjusted his suit jacket, and opened the side door to his office. He recited a code for his arrival and the lighting came on at a pre-set brightness dependent on the ambient light outside. The room was double the size of the next biggest in the building, vast and spacious, filled with floor to ceiling windows across the northern wall. The important electronic devices activated, including Fox’s own computer server that was segregated from others in the building for security measures. A thirty-inch screen floated up from the desk, and a wall monitor displayed major news on Google’s business channel. Fox had handpicked hundred-year-old red oak for the furniture. Numerous floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covered the back wall, decorated with hardbacks in addition to a plethora of artifacts and relics from across the globe.

He laid his narrow briefcase on the desk and wandered over to the towering windows as he had done every morning of his tenure in the office. He enjoyed watching the citizens of New York City go about their day, oblivious to both his and the Company’s existence high above them. A sea of buildings spread before him. Vibrant green rooftop vegetable gardens colored the monochrome landscape. With global crop damage in the mid-twenties, space in the world at a premium and the early century push for self-sufficiency, every apartment building now utilized its rooftop and some had refitted other levels with special lighting to grow produce. There were a couple in particular Fox had watched sprout from brown plots into luscious green gardens, coloring much of their drab surroundings.
Nothing stays the same
, Fox thought.

Some day—maybe tomorrow, or next week, or next month—he wouldn’t be running the division. He thought of the people with whom he worked, particularly the ones he liked—Charlie Billings, Tom Bright, and of course, as much as he didn’t really work with her,
Tabitha
. There were others, of course, but those three held a special place for him. He had handpicked Charlie and Tom from junior roles and they had done so well, justifying his faith. They were the kind of people he wanted to take the company forward. And Tabitha… in another life, she might have been his daughter.

But he had more important things to consider now; the death of Dom Curwood, his future, and the imminent board meeting. First action was to take a look at Dom’s suicide note. Apparently Robert Jennings had it, but he’d been travelling late last week and Fox hadn’t yet managed to track him down.

He strolled out through the main entrance to the office, a large set of double wooden doors, and into the reception area in the hope that one of his two receptionists had arrived and might be able to tell him about Jennings—neither had. He passed the area and continued on towards Jennings office, but found it empty too.

As he passed the regular staff elevators on the way back to his office, the click of shoes on the tiles sounded from behind. Fox found Tom Bright approaching. Tom was almost as formidable as Fox, towering six feet four, and weighing over two hundred pounds. He filled out his blue pin stripe suit and tie on a white shirt with envious style. The color and make of the suit indicated Tom’s ranking within the Company—blue being the color of a recently appointed senior executive—in contrast to Fox’s black suit, the only one of that color in the company.

Fox offered a genuine smile. He liked the other man. “Morning, Tom.”

“Sorry, Bryan, I wanted to catch you before you started the day.”

“Sounds important. How can I help?”

Tom glanced around. “I need some advice on a couple of matters.”

“Walk with me.”

“It’s about Dom, sir.”

Fox halted. Tom’s expression faltered. Fox put a hand out on Tom’s shoulder. “I feel the same, Tom. Dom’s was a good company man. A genuinely nice guy.”

“I know. But… killing himself? It just doesn’t seem like something he would have done.”

Fox considered this; considered the right thing to say in the circumstances. Although he had his doubts, he didn’t want to plant unnecessary suspicion in Tom’s mind. “I haven’t spoken to Robert yet. Apparently he’s got more information.” Tom made a stiff face and pursed his lips. “What is it?”

“I don’t normally like to talk badly of other employees, sir—not that I’m going to say anything bad. It’s just that Robert has been acting a little strange of late.”

“Jennings?”

He hesitated. “Yes. I’m sorry to have to say it.”

Fox furrowed his brow. “What do you mean by strange?”

“He’s shut his office door quite a lot lately, and he’s been absent more than usual. Very difficult to get hold of.”

They reached the reception area preceding Fox’s office. “I wouldn’t consider either of those things strange,
Tom. I’ve been known to close my doors once or twice.

He spoke in a hushed tone. “But until a month ago, he never closed his door.
Never.
It was a peeve of his. Why the change?”

“Perhaps he wants some privacy.”

“For what?”

Fox chuckled. “I think you’re reading too much into this. Robert loves this company as much as the rest of us. And as for his absence, I’ve given him a number of projects that required his absence.” Tom nodded, but Fox read the skepticism in his expression. “I appreciate you sharing your concerns, Tom. Let me know if you notice anything else. As for Dom, let me see what I can find out. I’ll let you know.”

“Yes, sir. And thank you.”

Tom disappeared along the hallway towards the elevators. Fox returned to his office and shut the doors. People would be sensitive to Dom’s death. Later in the day, he’d ask managers to brief their staff and take questions; ensure everybody was on the same plane. For now, he had a meeting to consider.

Management meetings in Washington had been a source of apprehension over the last twelve months. Fox had noticed a decline in his enthusiasm for the elements that had once inspired him. Several of the regional CEO’s had changed in the last two years. People he’d known and worked with for decades had retired. Fox didn’t feel the same connection with many of the new members. These people were different—they possessed dissimilar motivations to the older generation, who had unanimously worked on making the world a better place. But the real lack of inspiration came from the chairman, Chekov. His view about the company direction compared to Fox’s was vastly different.

It hadn’t always been that way. Over the years, the gatherings had been a source of fuel for his ego, stunning results leading to high praise and reward. Year after year he had led the rankings of all the regions in the US across a broad range of categories. It had once been a chance to catch up with other CEO’s, discuss tactics, and review strategies for the impending quarter, but with management changes, this was no longer the focus.

Fox found himself at the window again. He went back to his desk and sat. There was no avoiding the meeting. He had tossed his options around for the last few days. Nothing could hide the underperformance, but whether it was courage or preservation, Fox wouldn’t raise the idea of leaving his post, despite assurances of the life he and his family might live beyond the company.

Do anything to me,
Fox had always said,
but leave my wife and kids out of it.
That was naïve, of course. He had always thought… what had he thought? How did he think it would all end, knowing the company’s purpose in the world?

A knock sounded from the door. Fox welcomed the distraction. His personal assistant, Maggie, entered. A middle-aged woman with a dark brown bob haircut, she was pretty and neat and far younger than him. Piper had recommended her through a friend who’d attended school with her and so took an interest in Maggie’s performance, as though she was responsible for it through her recommendation.

“Good morning, sir. Any priorities this morning?”

Fox gave a gentle smile. “Morning, Maggie. Robert Jennings. I need to speak with him urgently.”

“I believe he’s still travelling, but I’ll find out presently. Will a video call suffice, or will you need him to port in?”

“Video should suffice. Do we know any more on Dominic Curwood’s death?”

Maggie dropped her gaze. “No, sir. I was sorry to hear about that.”

“Thank you. Me too. Anything else?”

Maggie provided updates on several projects Fox had personally implemented—projects outside the common jurisdiction of the company. When he had first outlined his plans to Maggie, she had asked him how medical projects were part of financial investment. Fox had decided after a number of long discussions with Piper that he wanted to find a way to give back to the world. He had not told her what he was doing but, using the Company’s vast resources and network connections, he had created a project and subsequent funding for bionic eyes and ears. Fox wanted to make a direct difference. It pleased him to hear that he and Maggie—and the company, although it had no knowledge—were restoring value to the lives of those people that needed it, especially those in the lower socio-economic range. He had met with some of them incognito, and nothing in his working career had given him more joy.

Concluding, Maggie left the room. Fox sometimes wished he had a normal life waiting for him outside of the company, oblivious to the darkness in the world, like Maggie and the others who administered the falsity of the company’s existence. He wished for that more so each day as the politics of the job increased and his passion for their work slowly diminished.

Fox sat back and waited, considering what he might say at the meeting and preparing himself to port over to Washington just before ten
.

Charlie and Samantha had lived in the luxury accommodation for two years, a city view from level one hundred and eighty of the central tower amidst a cluster of three super high-rises in the upper Manhattan district the company owned. These were unlike most other structures in the area, being free to use unlimited power and water outside the government’s ‘self-containment’ laws passed in quarter one of the twenty-first century.

Charlie leaned against the marble kitchen bench-top, his arms folded, tapping his foot as his wife Samantha packed the last of her clothes for another business trip. She’d only sprung it on him the night before as he’d drifted off to sleep. That had sparked a late night row, and now, it was drawing to a conclusion. He slept late and she’d been out running early. Now she had placated him with promises of dinner and a holiday, but Charlie knew, given their mutually heavy workloads that might never come to fruition.

But it was more now. With the death of Dom’s Curwood’s wife, and now his, an underlying apprehension filled him. What if Samantha was next? Her travel schedule was hectic, porting all over the country each week. He would worry more now each time she was away. Accidents in the teleportation network were not uncommon. If the Company was behind both Dom and his wife’s deaths, they’d have no problem accessing Samantha, or even Charlie. He shuddered at the thought.

Samantha entered the living area looking like a beauty queen: high heels, auburn hair loose over her shoulders, a tight fitting skirt and blouse. They had met at a Colorado mountain conference three years before, just after Charlie had joined Janefield Investments. The sex had been memorable, but he hadn’t expected a relationship beyond the walls of their hotel room. Turned out she lived in New York. Samantha had contacted him and a quick coffee had turned into marriage.

Her ‘Bot carried a small suitcase. Samantha smiled. Charlie kept a straight face. “Don’t look so grim,” she said, flashing her green eyes.

“You enjoy this, don’t you?”

“The travel?”

“No. Watching me suffer.”

She approached; a gentle, mock expression of sadness on her face. “Oh, babe. You really think that, don’t you?”

“You should have told me, Sam. Jesus… leaving it until the night before?”

She kissed him softly. He fought it, and pushed her away. “I swear I thought I told you. Honestly, Charlie, it was a genuine mistake.”

“And why do you have to go away again?”

“
Exactly.
My travel schedule is hectic. You should have known I’d be off again sooner or later.”

“That doesn’t help. I had plans for us. We’ve cancelled the last two dinner reservations.”

“If I had my way I wouldn’t be going at all. It’s my boss; she’s lazy. And I might be a victim of my own good work. She raves about it.”

“Maybe it’s time to start pushing back a little. You’ve got a husband, in case you forgot. And you’re travelling again next week. What hope have I got?”

“I know there have been lots of early starts and endless late meetings, but it took women forever to break the glass ceiling in the corporate world. Now we need to stay above it.” She rubbed a hand at the back of his neck in the place he liked. It aroused him. “This trip is only three days, hun. I’ll be back Thursday night.”

He shrugged it off, fighting her charms. “I’m worried about us, Sam.”

She frowned. “I told you that’s just being silly. We’re fine. I love you. You love me.”

“But we don’t get any time together. You can’t have a relationship if you don’t spend time together.”

She kissed him again and he nodded reluctantly. “I promise I’ll make it up to you when I get back.” She winked, and he forced himself to smile.

After she left, he selected a breakfast shake from the ‘Bot’s menu, fighting to push Samantha’s absence from his mind. What was it that bothered him so much? Her job commitments were long—he worked above average hours, but hers were ridiculous. She was always gone before seven and often didn’t get home until after that time in the evening. Her business trips were sometimes weekly and never more than fortnightly apart. She ported most of the time, which reduced her absence, but it was the time spent in the other places that added up: Los Angeles, Washington, Nashville, Michigan—even Vancouver and Toronto for a time. Charlie was proud of her achievements, and didn’t want to crush her success or stifle further goals, but they just didn’t spend enough time together. He had raised the issue with her once or twice, but she had waved it off.

Before dressing, Charlie stood in the bathroom with his ‘Bot beside him. “Please remain still, Charlie.” The android applied an ointment to the skin on his face. Its accuracy was precise, covering his cheeks, neck, and jawline, based on a pre-determined area. A blade extended from a slot in its hand and began to shave his skin. Charlie had to be careful not to move, although the machine was sensitive to slight movement. He had not received a shaving cut yet.

He and Tom hadn’t spoken about the company since meeting at the bar last Thursday, but it had never left his thoughts. Tom neither, Charlie suspected. Nothing else had been mentioned about Dom Curwood, even at his cremation the previous day. It was as though he had died of natural causes. With no wife or children, and few relatives, most attendees had been from Janefield. Many of the administration staff—mostly women, the odd man—had shed tears for a person they remembered as kind and empathetic.

After Tom’s comments the other day, Charlie had watched Jennings during the service. He’d worn dark glasses, but kept his head bowed most of the time and left quickly afterwards, avoiding the post-gathering. Although Jennings had always been pleasant to Charlie, he felt a sense of unease whenever he was around the man. While Mr. Fox ran the division, Jennings was known as the enforcer.

The idea that the company might have killed Dom angered Charlie, but he couldn’t accept that Fox had something to do with it. It made no sense. Killing its own was the first sign of—

Pain flared in his cheek. He’d moved too much and the blade had nicked his skin.

“I’m sorry, Charlie,” the ‘Bot said. “This has never happened before.”

“No, it’s my fault,” Charlie said. The ‘Bot handed him a tissue and he pressed it against the cut.

Tabitha had asked numerous times of late if he was okay and Charlie had laughed it off, but it was affecting him.

He showered, trying to purge it all from his thoughts. After turning the water off, a dome shaped hood capable of fitting several people underneath lowered from the roof until it covered the top third of his body. It hummed, propelling warm air over him like a big hair drier, providing a few moments respite from the supposition.

Back in the bedroom, his ‘Bot floated to him with a choice of three grey Calvin Klein suits. The Company insisted on the brand, and each level of executives in the hierarchy was specified a particular color suit. Charlie wore light grey. The next level was blue, then charcoal, and finally black, worn by the CEO. He picked out a faint pin striped single-breasted piece with a black shirt.

The ‘Bot had prepared a fruit shake for breakfast, along with a plethora of vitamin and stimulant tablets. Charlie swallowed the mix, spitting and spluttering at the taste, choking on the second and third tablets as they struggled to go down. He hated taking them, but with his fondness for the oily foods of yesteryear, his GP insisted he supplement his diet.

“What’s on for today?” Charlie asked after finishing.

“You have lunch with Tabitha Marks at 12:30 pm. Reports to file for expenses by 3:00 pm.”

Tabby.
Charlie had forgotten about that. He had promised her lunch a number of times as reward for her outstanding work. He doubted he’d offer much companionship today though.

He would miss Tabby if he left the company. Working with her was one of the highlights. He had never met a more willing and diligent employee. She had huge potential, and Charlie had suggested a number of times to Jennings that she was more than capable of stepping up to the next level, but Jennings was apathetic to the idea.

Finally, he was ready. He couldn’t avoid the place forever. He’d drive today, pushing out his arrival just a little longer. What would it bring? These days, he never knew. That was the problem.