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 (15 page)
“
What are you doing here?” asked Harrison.
“
We’re following up on a lead. We got a tip about a sting operation at the Astor last week. When we got here it was all over. We set up shop hoping to pick up the trail, but it's gone cold. There’s been no action in four days, at least nothing till you showed up. Who are you anyway?”
“
I’m nobody you want to know. So why were you here? What were you looking for?”
The woman piped up, keen to show her involvement in things, looking to pacify Harrison. “We’re investigating extra-judiciary activities.”
“
Plain English.”
“
We’re looking into clandestine military operations being run in the city,” said Thomas. “Martial law was rescinded eight years ago, but the police still use the army to do their dirty work. They use a number of pretences for their actions, drug enforcement, a task force on organised crime, anti-corruption squads, etc., but beneath it all, it’s always the same core led by Special Agent Kane. And they’re always looking for the same group, an ex-Special Forces team on the run.”
“
The daemon?”
“
Yeah, that’s them,” said the woman. “A breed of genetically-engineered warriors.”
“
Tell me about them?” asked Harrison.
“
Are you going to put down that gun?” asked Thomas. “The way I figure it, you’re not a cop and you’re not one of them, so we’re all in the same boat, we're all after the same thing, the truth. If you were going to kill us, I think you would have done it by now. Maybe we can help each other.”
It was an interesting ploy, thought Harrison. Thomas was negotiating, trying to show a position of strength even though Harrison was the one holding the upper hand. But he was right. Harrison wasn’t going to kill them. Perhaps if they collaborated, they could both move a little closer to the truth. These guys were no threat. Harrison slipped the blaster under his belt and sat up on the edge of the table.
“
I’m a private investigator. I'm trying to track down a woman mixed up in all of this, Olivia Labree. My interest in the daemon is only to get to her. So how the hell does all this work? What are the daemon?”
Both reporters relaxed visibly when Harrison put away the gun, they were relieved to see the threat evaporate.
“
They bend time around them,” replied Thomas. “It’s all based on Einstein’s work. Everyone’s heard of E=MC2 and the equivalence of mass and energy. Right?”
“
Right.”
“
The other side of the coin is that mass distorts both space and time. Take the moon, for example, its mass distorts space, causing tides on Earth.”
Thomas was grabbing at the hair of his beard with one hand, stroking it as he thought about how to explain himself.
“
Spread a bag of marbles on a bed and then sit on the mattress and what’s going to happen? The marbles will roll towards you, right? That’s how the tides work. That's what keeps us glued to the Earth, stops us from floating off into space, right? Gravity is just a really large mass causing a big dent in space, causing everything to fall inward, like the marbles on a bed.”
“
So what’s this got to do with the daemon?” asked Harrison.
“
Einstein predicted that mass would distort both space and time,” said the woman, obviously excited as she explained the concept. “Not just space, but also time.”
Harrison looked confused.
“
Normal mass distorts time in a normal way, with one second leading to the next. Normal matter is made up of four types of quarks, but there are sixteen quarks in all. Think of quarks like the lego blocks of atoms. Start making alternate matter on a large scale from some of these other exotic quarks and, well, the results are mind bending.”
Lego, thought Harrison, if only it really was that simple.
“
The daemon were engineered with DNA comprised of exotic quarks. At an atomic level, their DNA is exactly the same as ours, using exactly the same atoms chemically, but the quarks making up those atoms are radically different, allowing the daemon to move through both time and space.”
“
All right, now you’ve lost me,” said Harrison. “But that’s OK, I still have problems figuring out how a pop-up toaster works. Who are the daemon? Dumb it down for me.”
“
The daemon are relics from the civil war,” said Thomas. “Officially, they never existed. But without them, the Senate would have lost the war.”
“
Think about it,” said the woman. “If it hadn’t been for the daemon, America would still be a republic ruled by an elected President and an elected Congress. The war was never about the anti-sedition laws. That’s just the spark that lit the fire.”
“
In reality,” Thomas interjected. “The war was over constitutional power. Does the President have the right to overturn the Supreme Court? Who holds more power? The Executive or the Chief Justice? When the court ruled the anti-sedition laws unconstitutional, only the Senate backed the Court’s decision. Congress and the Laver Administration both sided with the anti-sedition laws, even though they were draconian. Popular opinion held with the Court and the Senate knew that. Although it was technically powerless, the Senate had the masses on its side. The Senate was, after all, elected by the people so it had just as much right to represent the people.”
“
Yeah, yeah, skip the history lesson. Get to the point.”
“
As civil unrest grew,” the woman added. “The National Guard was called upon. But at least one of the Joint-Chiefs objected to the heavy-handed approach being adopted by the President and so the Marine Corps sided with the Supreme Court and the Senate. Although the first of the pitched-battles occurred several months later, that really defines the moment the civil war began.”
“
Now the daemon,” Thomas continued. “They were the result of a DARPA project run by General Norman Augustus Grant. They were army, they were supposed to side with the President.”
“
But?” said Harrison.
“
But they could think, they could reason, they could choose for themselves. As the conflict grew in intensity, they defected to the side of the Senate and turned the course of the war.”
“
Think about the implications,” said the woman. “The course of American history was swayed by the defection of eight genetically-engineered soldiers. That is the story of the century.”
“
But nobody knows about it,” said Harrison somewhat lost in thought.
“
Exactly,” replied Thomas. “The catalyst for overturning over three hundred years of American democracy and the institution of a virtual police state came from the actions of eight extraordinary soldiers.”
“
So why aren’t they heroes in the eyes of the Senate? Why are they being hunted down?” asked Harrison.
“
Imagine if nuclear weapons had a conscience,” said Thomas. “Imagine if a lump of Plutonium could make moral judgments before detonating. You see, the problem is the most lethal weapon ever devised cannot be controlled. And that scares them. The daemon never signed on for a police state, they sided with the Senate because they did not believe the President had the power to overturn the rule of constitutional law. But they weren’t willing to see one dictatorship replaced by another.”
“
Most of them died when Chicago was nuked,” said the woman. “When the war ended, the Senate hunted down the remaining unit members and had them eliminated. As far as we know, only two of them escaped. Nathji died in New Orleans, so now there’s only one.”
“
Artemis.”
“
Exactly, and the police and army have been hunting him down ever since.”
Thomas realised they had a common interest in finding Artemis. It was irrational, but he hoped they could help each other. He handed Harrison a card with an address on it, 6223/18000 Washington Blvd, Queens.
“
Meet me here, tomorrow night at eight, and I’ll show you everything. Perhaps together we can find Artemis and bring the story out into the open.”
“
I need your memory cube erased,” said Harrison pointing at the camera. “There can’t be any record that I was ever in there.”
The woman flicked open a drive on the side of the tripod-mounted camera and pulled out a small cube similar to the one Harrison found in the kitchen. She dropped it on the floor and crushed it with her foot, saying, “Done. Now do you trust us?”
“
Trust,” said Harrison, half thinking to himself, half in response to her. “Yeah, that’s what all this revolves around, isn’t it. Trust. All right, tomorrow night. I’ll see you then.”
With that, Harrison left and returned to the Astor to pick up Susan. From there, the plan was they'd head back to Rosie’s. Harrison had a standing arrangement with Rosie. If ever she was under surveillance she’d leave the kitchen curtains open when she turned in for the night. He hoped they were shut. He was getting tired and needed somewhere safe to bed down.
Tomorrow was going to be a long day, and Harrison knew it. He’d have to get Rosie in contact with Brains to see if she could persuade him to come topside. With that southern charm, she could sweet-talk Judas into giving himself up. Then there was the RFID tags. Both he and Susan were taking a huge risk moving about with those still intact. They needed to switch identities or the whole thing could come crumbling down around them. And finally there was Thomas and his files on the daemon. Yeah, thought Harrison, catch a few zzz’s and then straight back into the thick of it again.
Damn, he hoped Rosie had those curtains shut.
“
Where the hell is she?” Harrison muttered to himself.
He didn't like this. They shouldn't be here. They needed to get to Rosie's. They didn't need to be here at all, he felt. And it wasn't just the fact they were in a cemetery that spooked him, it was that they'd departed from the plan.
Harrison wasn't fearful in a superstitious sense. He never expected the dead to rise out of the graves as zombies or for a vampire to jump out at him or anything silly like that. But they were off the beaten track, they were isolated and exposed. Anyone could have been out there, hidden in the darkness waiting to strike.
The soil felt soft underfoot, the ground was a little muddy. A light mist rose up from the damp grass. The day had been warm, but the temperature had plummeted with night fall and a chill hung in the air. A fog had formed, sitting low over the gravestones.
Harrison looked around for Susan as he moved between the rows of old graves. The headstones would provide excellent cover in a fire fight from in front, he thought, but they would be a death trap if someone fired sideways down the rows, and for two reasons. Firstly, he reasoned, there wouldn't be any real cover from the sides. Secondly, although the plasma rounds would be absorbed by any roughhewn gravestones they would probably ricochet off the polished marble head pieces and that would concentrate the fire into a channel. Realising that, he tried to be more aware of his periphery vision rather than just looking straight ahead. And besides, thinking tactically about his position helped stave off any irrational sense of fear.
Harrison raised the stock of his blaster to his lips and whispered. His breath condensed into a fine soft white mist as he spoke.
“
Plasma rounds, double tap.”
The dim charge light on the side of the gun blinked in acknowledgement of the instruction. If it came to it, he'd give as good as he got.
The crypts lay at the back of the cemetery, in the old sector, dating from before the war. Slowly, the low headstones were replaced with statues of angels and obelisks reaching up eight to ten feet in height, casting long, dark shadows on the ground. The moon cast an eerie glow over the graves. The damp cold seemed to seep into his bones. Damn, this is creepy, he thought. But apparently, this was where the daemon had gone to ground.
Where the hell had Susan gone?
The fog swirled around his feet. The leaves in the trees rustled in the soft breeze, casting a moving shadow on the ground around him. Who's goddamn idea was this anyway? He asked himself, hating every moment, his heart racing.
Harrison checked the charge indicator on the side of his blaster for the fifth time. Still green. Like it would be any different, he thought. He approach the crypts cautiously, his eyes struggling to make out any distinct shapes in the grainy half-light. His ears pricked at the slightest sound. A cold sweat broke out on his brow.
There was a burnt smell in the air. A dim light shone out of an open crypt. The wrought iron metal gate was open. The lock had been smashed. Harrison edged slowly toward it, looking to each side and behind himself, constantly expecting someone, something to jump out of the darkness. Stepping down the marble steps into the crypt he could see a oil lantern hanging on the wall, its wick turned down, barely alight. He reached out and turned the rusting iron screw, bringing the wick up higher and increasing the light inside the tomb.
The crypt was empty. The stone slab that should have held a coffin was bare. Behind it, there was a small hole in the wall, barely large enough to climb through, but it seemed to lead to some kind of antechamber behind the main crypt.
Where the
frack
was Susan, he felt like yelling out in frustration. What the hell was he doing here alone?
The lamp blew out. The crypt descended into darkness. Harrison spun around, turning to face the entrance, looking out into the night beyond. A dark shape swirled in the doorway, the form of a man fading in and out of view, dissolving into a mist.
“
Artemis,” cried Harrison, his heart leaping in his chest.
The night air cleared. Harrison leaped forward, jumping up out of the crypt, a knot forming in his throat. To his left, a dark mist swirled between the gravestones.
“
Wait,” he cried. “Trust me.” Not really knowing what else he could say, realising those few words condensed so much of all he'd been through and all he was trying to accomplish into a single concept.
His blaster disappeared from his hand, snatched out in an instant and sent hurtling into the distance. It clattered as it crashed into a gravestone some thirty feet away.
Harrison looked down at his empty hand. A dark mist swirled around him, enveloping him.
“
Why?” came the rough reply. The sound was stretched. It seemed to echo around him. “Why should I trust you?”
Lines of pain erupted from his body. Harrison looked down at his hands. Thin cuts appeared, deep cuts running at different angles, tearing at his palms, slashing at his wrists.
“
No,” he cried.
Blood dripped from his fingers. An invisible blade tore at his clothes, tearing at his trousers, slashing his shirt. Deep red lines appeared on his chest.
“
No, no,” he cried again.
Fine cuts slashed at his face and his throat, stinging his cheeks in the cold wind. Warm, wet blood ran down his neck.
“
No, no, no,” he groaned, falling to his knees.
“
Harry,” a woman's voice whispered beside him. Her voice was soothing, gentle. With her presence, the pain seemed to fade away.
A soft hand rested on his shoulder, shaking him gently.
“
Harry, are you alright?”
The world around him dissolved, fading into the darkness as his eyes opened.
Rosie was knelling beside him as he lay on the couch. Moonlight streamed in through the lounge window in her apartment.
Harrison looked around with a sense of relief.
“
What time is it?” He asked.
“
Just after four,” replied Rosie. “I could hear you from the other room.”
“
Damn,” said Harrison softly.
Rosie got up and walked into the darkened kitchen, wrapping her nightgown around her, tying off the waistband on one side.
“
You wanna drink or something?” she asked softly, not wanting to wake anyone else. She flipped on a nightlight and checked her messages. There was one from Brains.
Harrison wandered into the kitchen behind her. Seeing the soft glow of her console and realising she was reading a message he asked, “What's up?”
“
Brains, apparently,” replied Rosie. “I don't know what you said to him down there, but he actually sounds quite keen to come up and help out. He said he'd be here by 9am. Now that's a first. Brains being punctual.”
Rosie poured a couple of glasses of water, handing one of them to Harrison. When she'd said she was getting a drink he'd hoped it would be something stronger.
Rosie sat down at the table next to him.
“
So what was all that about?” she asked.
“
Nothing,” said Harrison. “Just a dream. A meaningless dream.”
“
Really?”
“
Really,” replied Harrison, leaving the water alone.
“
You know why we dream, don't you?”
Harrison was silent.
“
Unresolved business. Things worrying us, playing on our mind, so the mind tries to work back through them as we sleep. The only problem is, our imagination tends to get the better of us.”
“
You're not wrong there,” said Harrison.
“
So what's troubling you, Honey?”
Harrison sat there for a second. Unfinished business, he thought. There was plenty of that. There were several unresolved lines of reasoning from the investigation at the hotel, questions he had about Artemis and his motives, things he didn't understand about the relationship between Susan and Olivia. There was so much that didn't add up but he didn't know where to begin. And he was tired, and yet he didn't want to go back to sleep, not just yet.
“
You know what worries me?” said Rosie.
“
What?”
“
Kane. It's been what, six or seven years since you last saw him. I don't like how he's behind all this. I don't trust anything that man is involved in.”
Harrison smiled.
“
It wasn't your fault, Harry,” she added. “He knew what he was getting into, but still he blames you for the loss of his eyesight.”
“
Rosie,” said Harrison, not wanting to get into it.
“
I know,” she said, determined to say her piece. “But you've got to trust people, Harry, and he didn't trust you.”
Harrison wished it was that simple. Truth be told, so many years had gone by he'd forgotten a lot of the details himself. Hell, he couldn't even tell you what he had for dinner last week let alone what he said in an argument several years ago. Sure, he had his side of the story, but he wasn't fool enough to think that was all there was to things. The reality was he was a hotheaded young fool back then and he knew it. Sure, Kane was an asshole too, but Kane wasn't the only one. He'd crossed the line himself too many times.
A flood of feelings and emotions welled up within him, but no clear thoughts, just regrets.
“
Trust,” he said, patting Rosie's hand as he got up from the table and headed back to the couch. “Seems to be the buzz word these days. Seems everything revolves around trust or the lack thereof.”
Rosie turned off the nightlight and wandered out past him, heading back to her bedroom.
“
I trust you, Harry.”
She disappeared into her room.
Harrison lay there thinking about trust, wondering if he really deserved the trust of those around him, not wanting to let them down. Huh, he thought, and it was there in his dreams too. His dream-induced personification of Artemis had a point, why should he trust him? Trust was earned, not demanded. Trust was a precious commodity, not something to be doled out to everyone that greets you with a smile. Lincoln had earned it, destroying the cube that recorded their activities in room 412. But maybe Harrison was too trusting of others. Maybe that's what his subconscious was trying to tell him.
He rolled over on the narrow couch, pulling the blanket up to his neck. He worried too much, he told himself. Things were looking up. He had the cube Artemis had hidden, he'd left a breadcrumb for Artemis to follow and he had a good lead with Lincoln. Stop being so hard on yourself, Harry, he thought, things are going well. And with that he drifted back to sleep.
