Justice Keepers Saga--Books 1-3, page 46
Physical currency.
What a quaint notion. On his world, any man who suggested such a thing would be mocked. Coins, notes – and any other physical commodity for that matter – would be far too easy to steal. Commerce was carried out by means of a bio-chip implanted in each citizen's hand and keyed to his DNA.
Leo frowned, turning his face up to the overcast sky. Useless fools, the lot of them, he thought, squinting at the clouds. The people of this world are all fat, soft and gullible. Ripe for the taking.
He started forward.
As he drew near the credit union's front door, he saw through the glass pane that the uniformed men had made it to the back. They stood with their backs to him like a couple of mice gobbling up crumbs. Completely ignorant of the looming alley cat.
Leo pulled a small syringe from a pouch on his belt.
Pressing the tip to a vein on his left arm, he pierced his own flesh – the pain was a gift, a reminder that he was alive – and injected himself. Amps surged through his system in seconds. He could already feel his heart rate climbing.
Baring his teeth, Leo shut his eyes tight. A sudden burst of heat flared through his face. Strength comes at a price, he reminded himself. Those who will not make the hard choices deserve their fate.
He tossed the needle aside.
Once through the door, Leo found himself inside a narrow vestibule where cash dispensing machines offered their services at all hours of the night. A second door led into the building's interior. So far, the guards had not noticed his presence.
Raising a gauntleted forearm, he rolled back his sleeve to reveal a Leyrian multi-tool strapped to his wrist. Such useful little devices, these things. Why had his people never conceived of anything similar? “Multi-tool active,” Leo ordered. “Execute program twenty-two.”
The silver disk on his forearm emitted a pair of blue lasers that scanned the lock on the door, tracing its every contour. Only half a moment passed before the tool gave off a beep. Tiny nanobots emerged from the desk, clumping together to form a key that would fit the lock.
Removing the disk from his gauntlet, Leo slid the key home and gave a twist. The door opened with a satisfying click, and – wonder of wonders – the pair of idiots who had just now managed to open the vault still didn't notice that they were not alone. These men called themselves guards?
Leo stepped forward.
One of the guards froze at the scuff of his footsteps, shivering as though someone had dropped an icicle down his shirt. He rounded on Leo with his mouth agape, his eyes ready to pop out. “Jeff.”
The other guard turned as well.
This one was both taller and fatter than his companion, the fabric of his beige shirt stretched by a noticeable belly. His face was flushed and scrunched up in an expression that made it look as though he had trouble opening his eyes. “How did you get in here?” the man demanded. “Hands in the air, now!”
His face split by a cruel grin, Leo shook his head. “This is a truly pathetic display,” he said, moving forward. “But for the fact that I have chosen to draw this out, you would be dead already.”
The men reached for guns on their hips.
Leo thrust his chin out, staring at them through slitted eyes. “You possess enough honour to face this like men,” he said with a nod. “For that, I'll do my best to make it as quick and painless as possible.”
Both guards drew pistols, clutching them in both hands. As one, they lifted their weapons to point at Leo, faces pale with fright. Amps made his heart pound, made his reflexes sharper.
Leo fell over backward, slapping hands down on the floor. Clenching his teeth, he stared up at the ceiling while the guns went off with a CRACK! CRACK! He felt bullets whiz through the air.
Leo snapped himself upright.
He jumped and flung a hand out to the side, the spring-loaded gauntlet on his right wrist delivering a razor-sharp metal disk into his grip. He threw his new weapon with all the strength his body could muster.
The disk landed in the fat guard's forehead, blood spraying from the wound as he spasmed and flailed about. The man dropped hard onto his backside, making a croaking sound when he hit the floor.
In that moment of confusion, the shorter, thinner guard backed away and raised his pistol in trembling hands. Poor fool. He would never make a clean shot with that much anxiety. Not against a man enhanced by Amps anyway.
Leo sprinted forward.
He dropped low, extending one leg toward his prey as he slid across the floor tiles. The gun went off with a violent growl, sending bullets flying over his head. Half a second later, he was right in front of the trembling guard.
Leo brought a hand up to strike the man's wrist and knock the pistol away. With his free hand, he seized the guy's shirt. A single shove was all it took. Amps-fueled strength sent his opponent flying backward.
There was a harsh clank as the tiny man hit the open vault door and dropped to the floor. A thrill went through Leo, a sense of elation. He was the strongest, and he'd proven it beyond a doubt.
This drug was a wonder, able to make a man into all that he should be. Now, it was time to repay the man who had bestowed this kindness upon him. Pennfield had ordered him to sow chaos, and that was exactly what he would do.
He turned around to find a camera mounted on the wall just above the front door, a camera that was perfectly angled to capture everything that happened in front of the teller line. Whoever ended up watching that footage was in for quite a shock.
Turning his face up to the camera, Leo offered a sly grin. “You think yourselves safe?” he said, shaking his head. “With this technology, I can walk into any home, any place of business.”
The camera continued to record him. He noticed a small microphone just below the lens and felt a wave of gratitude at the knowledge that his words would be heard. “Your best men were nothing but toys for me to play with.”
Clenching his teeth, Leo lowered his eyes to the floor. “I will find the places where you are most vulnerable,” he said. “Schools, hospitals and places of commerce. Parks and daycare centres. I will find the weakest among you and make them bleed!
“You will never be safe!”
The mug shot of a young man filled the screen of glass that stood at an angle above her desk, casting light down on the keyboard. Ricky Sykes wore a scowl, his hair gelled into a forest of dark spikes.
Jena pressed her lips together, squinting at the screen. She shook her head ever so slowly. “You really made some brilliant choices, Rick,” she muttered, leaning back in her chair. “What makes a kid like you want to sell drugs?”
Pressing the heels of her hands to her eye-sockets, Jena let out a groan. “Oh, Sweet Mercy, I need a break,” she growled. After nearly two weeks on this station, she was just about ready to scream.
“Talking to yourself, Boss?”
She looked up to find Jack standing in the door to her office, dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a dark jacket. The kid's hair was unkempt, and his eyes had a few dark circles of their own.
Jena smiled, her cheeks burning. She lowered her eyes to stare into her lap. “It's a habit you pick up when you're starved for good conversation,” she said. “I take it you've got something to report?”
He had coffee.
With the aid of her Nassai, she would have sensed the cup in his hand as he drew closer, but more importantly, she could smell it. What she wouldn't give for a fresh cup right about now.
He set it down on her desk.
Jena touched two fingers to her forehead, wincing as they made contact. “That's for me?” she asked with more than a little rasp in her voice. “Well, kid, I'm starting to think taking you on was a good idea.”
He was smiling, his face painted a deep red. He looked away to hide his chagrin. “I figured you stayed up to the wee hours reviewing reports,” Jack mumbled. “Then you hauled your ass in here first thing in the morning.”
Bringing the cup to her lips, Jena took a sip. The kid had left it black, just the way she liked it. Why some people chose to dilute the flavour by adding sugar and milk was beyond her. “Hot and bitter,” she said. “The way I like it.”
“We talking about coffee or women?”
She looked up at him.
Jack backed away with his hands in his pockets, keeping his head down to avoid looking at her. “I-I'm sorry,” he stammered. “I didn't mean to pry. I just noticed the way you were flirting with Agent Lanoto.”
“You're observant,” she said. “A good quality in a Keeper.” She had deliberately avoided discussing the topic of her sexuality since coming here. It wasn't as though she had any desire to hide, but some of the people on this planet still believe that romantic love between two women – or two men for that matter – was an abomination. That ugly truth stoked an ire in her. “For the record, I'm what you would call bisexual.”
“Cool.”
“So what have we learned about Ricky?”
“Not a whole lot,” Jack answered. “He keeps telling the same story every time we question him. The man who sold him the Amps wore a hood which made it hard to see his face. Ricky was dealing at a party in downtown Gatineau when this mysterious man approached him and offered 'something out of this world.'
“At first, our boy wasn't having any of it. But Mystery Man knocked out a couple of his crew and told him this stuff would make him strong. Get this, he left a suitcase full of Amps for Ricky without a cent in payment.”
Jena nodded.
This was very much what she would have expected. Amps was an incredibly potent drug; you wouldn't turn a profit by selling it to college kids looking to party, and anyone with the resources to acquire the stuff would have no need for Earth currency. No, this was about fear. Leyrian weapons had been the…What was that charming Earth phrase? The tip of the iceberg.
Once the populace was sufficiently frightened by the prospect of force-fields and particle beams, these conspirators would up the stakes by adding super-soldiers to the mix. Keepers inspired a certain amount of awe in the average person. Giving the common criminal enough strength to defeat one would be devastating.
Jack's multi-tool made some noise.
Lifting his forearm, he frowned down at the screen before tapping a in a few short commands. “Just got a text message from Detective Carlson,” he said. “He wants me to check the news.”
Jena closed her eyes, thumping her head against the back of her chair. “What is it this time?” she asked, spinning around to face the wall. “Did he say exactly what it was he wanted you to see?”
“No. Just check the news.”'
“Computer,” Jena said. “Play local news.”
A hologram shimmered into existence in front of the wall, stretching from corner to corner, from floor to ceiling. Brilliant light solidified into the transparent image of a man who sat behind a news desk.
Short and slim, he had a ring of gray hair that encircled the back of his bald head and a mustache on his upper lip, and Jena could already tell that he was uncomfortable. “The attack on Capitol Credit Union,” he said, “is just the latest in a long string of violent incidents involving Leyrian technology.”
The image shifted to black-and-white security footage of the credit union's interior. A small man went flying backward to strike the open vault door before dropping to the carpeted floor.
Moments later, the camera was focused on a young man who wore a self-satisfied grin. “You think yourselves safe?” he said, shaking his head. “With this technology, I can walk into any home, any place of business.”
Jena made note of his features – fair skin and messy blonde hair. She'd committed that face to memory before he spoke his next words. Not that it would matter. The man's image would be in every criminal database on the planet.
“So that's our guy,” Jack said.
On the screen, the criminal lowered his eyes so that Jena could only see the top of his head. “I will find the places where you are most vulnerable,” he went on. “Schools, hospitals and places of commerce. Parks and daycare centres. I will find the weakest among you and make them bleed! You will never be safe again.”
The newsfeed returned to a close-up of the anchorman behind his desk, and now, the reason for his discomfort was obvious. “Ottawa Mayor Bill Cunningham is calling for calm in the wake of these recent attacks.”
A spindly man stood beneath an overcast sky, breathing heavily. “Now is not the time for panic,” he said in a thick Canadian accent. “We've established a police presence at schools and local hospitals.”
“You think that will be enough,” the interviewer asked.
Cunningham licked his lips, then bowed his head, afraid to look into the camera. “I think it's important to keep calm,” he replied with a nod. “Panic only makes it harder for our people to do their jobs.”
“Kill newsfeed,” Jena ordered.
The hologram vanished.
Jena squeezed her eyes shut, slapping a palm against her forehead. “Damn it,” she muttered, slouching in her chair. “Things just went from bad to worse. We've gone from violent crime to open terrorism.”
Jack stood on the other side of her desk, facing the wall so that she saw him in profile. “I'd better get down there,” he said, nodding once. “Someone's going to have to do damage control.”
“Good plan.”
“And you?”
Leaning her head against the seat cushion, Jena let out a groan. “I'm putting a call in to every law-enforcement official I can find,” she said. “They're going to be in panic mode after a story like this.”
He grunted.
“Call your friend Detective Carlson,” she instructed. “Tell him I want to see him up here as soon as possible. We're going to need someone to liaise with the locals, and I bet he's got a long list of contacts.”
“Right.”
“And, Jack,” she added as he turned and made his way to the door. The kid froze in mid-step, waiting for her to finish her sentence. “Good luck.”
Harry felt the grimace come on, shaking his head as those horrible words echoed in his head. You will never be safe. The man on the camera had said them, daring anyone to challenge him. Only twenty-four hours had passed since the attack on the credit union, and the city was already in a state of chaos.
Harry sat down at the desk in his small home office, planting elbows on its surface and hiding his face in his hands. “I think I'm losing my mind.” He split his fingers to peek through the cracks between them. “Slowly.”
This small room on the first floor of his house was cluttered with old books and manila folders containing reports from cases long closed. He really should have shredded those, but he was something of a pack-rat when it came to information. Blinds across the window blocked his view of the night sky.
“Dad?”
A quick glance to his right revealed Claire standing in the door that led out to the hallway. His daughter wore a pink nightdress, her black hair done up in pig-tail braids that she hadn't yet removed. At only nine years old, Claire was already starting to ask the hard questions, and he knew perfectly well that he was in for a discussion on the murders at Capitol Credit Union. All the kids must have been talking about it.
Claire frowned, shutting her eyes tight. She bowed her head as she worked out what she wanted to say. “The man who killed those guards,” she began. “Peter says he'll come for our school next.”
“Peter's wrong, honey.”
“But he said so!” Claire's eyes were wide and glistening, a single tear rolling over her dark cheek to drip from her chin. “He said he was going to come to our school. Peter told me.”
Harry paused, considering his next words. True, the man on the security tape had threatened to come after schools – along with banks, hospitals and shopping centres – but he had said nothing about Claire's school in particular. All that aside, however, his little girl was clearly frightened.
How exactly was he supposed to handle this? Before the Leyrians had come, it had been easy to separate his job and his family life. Daddy went off to catch bad people and put them in jail. None of them ever followed him home. Now he had to deal with terrorist threats. “He won't come for your school.”
“How do you know?”
“There are lots of schools, Claire. He won't choose yours.”
That left her with a thoughtful expression, and Harry could tell as soon as the words left his mouth that he had said the wrong thing. “So some other kids would die?” Claire whimpered. “In that case, I'd rather it was me.”
Harry felt his face tighten, ignoring the tears that spilled over his cheeks. Christ! Now he was crying. “I won't let that happen, Claire,” he whispered. “I'll catch him before he has a chance.”
His daughter needed him to be strong.
Pasting on a brave face, Harry looked up and blinked tears away. “Everything will be okay,” he said. “The police take threats like that very seriously. And we have officers watching your school and all the other schools.”
Claire surged forward, throwing arms around his waist and planting her face in his chest. “I love you, Dad,” she whispered, hugging tighter. “Please don't let any other kids get hurt.”
There was nothing he could do but pick her up and carry her upstairs. The smallest bedroom on the second floor belonged to Claire, and with the sun down, the only thing that outlined the silhouette of her bed was a distant streetlight. He set her down on the mattress, tucking her in.
In the dim light, he saw Claire's big eyes as she stared up at him. “How are you going to catch him, Dad?” she inquired. “What do the police do when they have to find a man like this?”
It was a complicated question. Idly, he wondered how long it had been since Missy had started asking questions like that. Seven years? Eight? Something happened to kids just before they hit double digits.
