The Pretender - Chapter 7

Friday, July 16, 2083.  9:30 p.m.

“Well, I didn’t think things could get any worse really, did you?”

Robbie’s voice was tinged in irony but Marcie stayed silent, watching the rest of the news broadcast on a vidscreen in the Flipside.  A solemn, but suitably bland, news commentator was frowning her way through the report:   “…for some unknown purpose.  The Eastdown Institute is a luxury rehabilitation centre in Aurora, Ontario.  It isn’t understood why Eastdown became the target for a terrorist attack, but inside sources suggest that the, as yet un-named group, was attempting to kidnap a politician’s family member.  Marcie Noel and Robbie McLean are long term business associates in the city of Toronto, catering to that city’s elite.  It’s believed they gained insider information from one of their clients.  They are considered armed and dangerous.  Anyone with knowledge of their….”

Suddenly, Marcie stopped the playback.  She shook her head in amazement.

“Well, how did they know it was us?”

“They know we’re mixed up in this whole thing.  Didn’t Stellan say we were about to be picked up?  Maybe they caught me on an internal cam at Eastdown and put two and two together.  Or maybe Henderson or Pall mentioned our names.  Who knows?”

“Maybe we should take up holding up banks, Clyde.”

“At least there’d be some money in it.  This international terrorism is for the birds.”

Marcie frowned.  “Robbie, if they suspect that we’re fortunatus, won’t they go after our families?”
“Sure, but my folks have resources.  They’ll be fine.”

“Okay, what about my Mum?”

She tapped the comm button on the vidscreen, and said clearly, “Dr. Jeffrey Stellan.”  She waited for the connection to go through and suddenly, Stellan’s face was on the vidscreen.

“What can I do for you, Marcie?”  He looked worn.  His voice was strained.

“Stellan, I need a vehicle, so I can pick up my mother.”

“I understand.”

“I want to leave in a few hours.”

“How many people will you need?”

“Just Robbie.”

Stellan paused. “Okay.” 

Marcie rung off and looked at Robbie.  “I volunteered you.”

“Good.”

“Before we go, let me check in with the office.”  She tapped a few buttons and signalled the waitress.  “And I need another cup of coffee.”  She turned back to the vidscreen and loaded her webmail account.  There were four emails.  In the first, Tracy reported that the police searched the place from top to bottom and seized company records and assets.

The second email came from a completely unrelated webmail account, but turned out, again, to be from Tracy.  She reported that Jeff was able to export nearly ninety-four percent of the business files while the police did their premises search.  He’d gone straight home and copied them to disk, deleted the remote copies, and deleted the file transfer logs.  The business could run if Marcie wanted it to.  The third email marked the next morning reported that Jeff had managed to hack three bank accounts before the authorities got their hands on them and; although Marcie was a lot poorer, she was by no means broke.  Apparently, Jeff had disparaging remarks to make about Marcie’s passwords.  He had ‘stolen’ the money and placed it in an offshore trust account for safe-keeping. 

In the last email, Tracy reported that in the absence of input from Marcie, she’d decided to do something about the situation, assuming that Marcie was a little too busy to handle things herself.  Tracy released the new staff from Noel and Co. and she and Jeff set up a ‘rival’ company that would perform the function of Noel and Co., under the name of TR Associates.  TR Associates then hired everyone back and business was continuing as usual.  The trust fund was set up as the third partner in the business and Marcie would receive thirty percent of the profit on a quarterly basis.

All in twenty-four hours.

Marcie thought hard.  Her old life was gone.  She shot back an email asking Tracy to change the arrangement and make her share of the trust account ten percent only.  Considering her tarnished reputation, she couldn’t see taking an active part in the business even in the far future.  However, the business concept, operating capital, client records, and all the free advice you ever wanted, ought to be worth ten percent and that was all she was willing to take. Considering the growth of the business over the initial two years, Marcie assumed that the ten percent would turn into a tidy sum over time.  She was content.  Besides, my new life as an international terrorist awaits.

Robbie had ordered meals along with Marcie’s coffee.  They ate, went up to their suite and changed into Outside clothes.  They walked through the Promenade on their way to the Outside elevators.  They noticed that the fields of the Sports Complex were full of people gathering for some kind of Fair.  There was music and revelry.  Marcie and Robbie stopped and Marcie asked a young woman what was going on.

“We are mourning our dead,” said the woman, with sad eyes.

“It almost seems like a festival.”

“Usually, our people don’t die so young, Ms. Noel.  We have taken to celebrating a person’s life and achievements on their death.  It’s informal, personal.  Usually fun.  But this day is so…”

“Heartbreaking.”  Marcie put her hand on the woman’s shoulder to comfort her.  The woman nodded and moved away.  Robbie and Marcie stood watching for a few minutes.  “I want to stay, Robbie, but we can’t.”

“Yes, sugar.  Time might be an issue, here.”

They continued on and took the elevators up to the tired old farmhouse.  They walked out to the barn to collect a PA where they were met by Jason.

“Friends, we have a vehicle ready for you.”  He pointed to a brown, family-sized PA.

“Thank you, Jason,” said Marcie.

“I’ve taken the liberty of programming the PA to emit a false identity.  Without it, you’ll never get over the border.”

“I want to see how that’s done.”

“Feel free to access the code.

“Well, now that I have a keyboard to work with.”

Jason laughed.

They hopped in, drove the PA out of the barn; Robbie took off and stayed at local altitude.  They did their usual trick of making a series of short hops to Chicago.  Then, they powered down and re-initialized the PA.  Marcie had studied the ingenious code that created a personality to mask the personality in the PA.  The border authorities would think they were Jacob Reid and his wife Heather.  They would almost certainly not stop them.  As they went over the border, Marcie and Robbie stayed quiet.  Conversations were monitored without apology by both governments’ border guards.  They got into Canada without a problem.

As they flew to Toronto, they took turns napping.  They arrived around four in the morning and set down on the roof of her mother’s building.  Marcie’s key still worked.  I hope I’m still one step ahead of them.

They walked down the stairs to the top floor and to the elevators.  One was standing open.  They stepped in and pressed the button for the eleventh floor.

“Could be a trap, sugar.”

“I have no choice, Robbie.”

“I know. I’m just saying let’s be careful.”

The elevator opened on the eleventh floor and seemed loud in the stillness of the early morning.   Marcie could clearly hear their footsteps on the carpeted floor.  They went to 1115 and Marcie slid her access card into the lock.  The door monitor showed green, so Marcie carefully and quietly pushed it open.

“Hold it right there.”

Pauline Noel was sitting in her favourite chair, the one that faced the door.  She was a trim woman of sixty years, with slate grey hair and piercing eyes.  She was wearing a baby-blue wrap-around robe over cotton pyjamas and fuzzy slippers.  She had a large revolver in her right hand.

“Mum, it’s me.”

Pauline looked annoyed.  “Marcie, you really need to telephone before you come.  You gave me a fright.”

Marcie and Robbie stepped into the suite, closing the door behind them.  “Mum, where did you get that gun?”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Yes, sorry.  Pauline Noel, please meet Robbie McLean.”

“You don’t look Scottish.”

“No, ma’am, I don’t.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“Mum, where did you get that gun?”

“This old thing?  I’ve had it for years, dear.”

“Oh.”  Marcie didn’t know what else to say.  “We’ve got to get you out of here.”

“Yes, dear.  With all the stink about you, I was going to leave in a few hours, anyway, my normal time to go to the gym.  I’m all packed up.  Just give me a minute to change my clothes.”

“Okay, Mum.”

“Why don’t you make you and your friend a cup of tea?”

“Thanks, but we’re all right.”  Parents never stopped being parents.

“I’ll just be a moment.”

They stood waiting for exactly two minutes and then Pauline emerged from the bedroom wearing a smart pantsuit and carrying an overnight bag.

“Is that all you’re taking, Mum?”

“Oh yes, dear.  It’s mostly photographs, actually.” 

Marcie always thought that her mother was the most interesting woman she’d ever met.  It shouldn’t surprise her that Pauline would be ready and willing to pull up stakes and go at the drop of a hat.

“All right, ladies.  We should leave.”  Robbie was looking a bit nervous.  Marcie knew what was bothering him.  After the fiasco at Eastdown, and with their faces all over the evening streams, this was too easy. 

Marcie and Pauline nodded and they walked to the door.  Pauline took one more look around the condo.

“Such a shame, Mum.”

“Ah.”  Pauline smiled.  “Easy come….”  She walked out the door.  Marcie and Robbie were right on her heels.  Robbie closed the door quietly and they walked to the elevator, silently.  The elevator was still there.  They got on and Robbie pushed the button for the roof.

“Mum, did you know we were different?”

“Of course, dear.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“Soon, dear.  It’s not an easy subject to breach.”

“Well, no.  You’re right.”

“So.  Are you a terrorist, dear?”

“Yes, Mum.”

“Hmmm.  I have to tell you.  I have a few talents that I haven’t used in years, dear.  I might be able to give you a hand.”

“That’d be great, Mum.”

They exited the elevator and walked over to the PA.  It was a quiet morning.  The air carried the chill that comes with the dew.  The sun wouldn’t be there for a half hour, but the eastern horizon had already started to glow.  There was little traffic in the streets below or the skies above.  No one appeared to be about, nor would they be for some time, but Robbie is a distrusting sort.  When he got into the PA, he had the car display a proximity log and he ran a status check.

The reports came back and Robbie paused, but held the expression on his face.  He turned the vidscreen toward Marcie and pointed out that the proximity log was empty but that the status check revealed an anomalous object attached to the underside of the vehicle. 

Marcie picked up the keyboard and started tapping.  She was able to recover the data from the wiped log.  The retrieved log clearly showed activity under the vehicle in the last ten minutes.  She turned the screen back, so Robbie could see the results.

They had to guess whether it was a bomb or a beacon.  Which do they want most?  To blow us up or to find Origin?  Pauline was watching intently from the back seat. 

“Beacon or bomb?”  Robbie mouthed the word, barely whispering.

“Beacon.” Marcie mouthed the word back.  Robbie was nodding in agreement.  He obviously agreed with her.

They looked at Pauline.  “Beacon,” she said silently.

Robbie shrugged.  Since all of their answers were the same, the probability of the answer being the right one was much higher than if only one of them had guessed or if they had disagreed.  He initiated the start-up sequence.  The PA started up with no problem.  Except that they were being tracked, of course.  He paused for a moment and then said clearly into the microphone:  “Trump International Hotel.”  Marcie was about to protest, but he shook his head and brought his finger to his lips.  They may be listening in on our conversations.  They probably know what he owns and what he doesn’t.  After all, THEY did a background check.   Marcie sighed.

“Well it’s a beautiful morning, if a little chill.  I understand the temperature for the day will hit around twenty-six degrees, but I looked up New York before you came and, it’s too bad, but it’ll likely be raining there today.  Such a pity.  But I guess you wouldn’t like to be outside in New York in July, really, would you?  So, perhaps we’ll keep to the hotel facilities and the nice shops, shall we?  Do they still have Mama Leone’s?  Oh they must.  It’s been around for a hundred years – a real landmark in the city….”

Pauline kept on talking with Marcie and Robbie interjecting only from time to time.  She didn’t let up until they slipped into the figure eight over New York.  Then, she quieted down during the drop and landing.  She pulled a scarf and a set of dark glasses out of her purse.  Marcie put the scarf over her hair and slipped on the glasses while Robbie parked the vehicle. 

“There’s not much I can do about Mr. McLean,” said Pauline.

“It should be okay, Mum.”

They got out and walked toward the entrance.  The concierge recognized Robbie immediately and hurried over to greet them.  He was a small, trim man with a warm smile.

“Ken, good morning.”

“Good morning, sir.”

“We’ll need two adjoining suites under my name, please.  Will you take care of it?”

“Certainly, sir.”  Ken nodded and walked over to the check in desk.

Robbie turned back to Marcie and Pauline.  “Okay, ladies, wait here.  Ken will show you to your suite.  I have a little business to attend to outside.”

Marcie nodded and took her mother’s arm while Robbie returned to the PA pad outside.

“Come on, Mum”

“Don’t you think we might be able to help Mr. McLean, Marcie?”

“You have to call him Mr. Grant here, Mum.  Come on.”

Marcie and Pauline walked over to the counter to wait for Ken, who looked up and smiled at them as they approached.

“Almost finished, ladies.”  A few more taps at his computer and he walked around to the front of the counter.  “This way please.”

Friday, July 16, 2083.  6:00 a.m.

Before she knew it, Marcie was washing the tense night away in a hot shower.  Robbie had come downstairs only minutes behind them and reported that the bug was removed from the underside of the vehicle.  Robbie had put it inside the cab, to be certain that anyone monitoring it would consider all kosher.  He didn’t want their pursuers to give up on the beacon and send a real plane to follow them.  They decided to eat breakfast in their suite.  Robbie called in an order, and Marcie hopped into the shower.

In what seemed only a few minutes later, Marcie heard a rap at the bathroom door.  “Food’s here!” 
“Thanks, Mum.”  Marcie sighed, stepped out of the shower, and grabbed a towel.  She dried off and pulled on one of the hotel bathrobes.  As she walked out into the main room, she saw Pauline and Robbie sitting at the table, already eating what looked like a sumptuous meal.  Robbie was talking.

“…and, oh, hi, sugar.”  He gestured to her meal.  “Eat up, we need to get going.”  He turned back to Pauline.  “When we leave, we need to leave everything behind as if we were planning to return, including your overnight bag, Mrs. Noel, photographs or no.”  Pauline looked sad, but didn’t complain.  “Take heart, Mrs. Noel.  I’ve left instructions.  I’m hoping they’ll be saved for you.  Okay?” 

She brightened up a little.  “Call me Pauline, Mr. Grant.”

“Only if you call me Robbie.”  He smiled.  “Okay, we’ll get on the elevator as usual, go down to the lobby, and then go up to the roof in the service elevator, after I disable the security system for a bit of maintenance.  We should be able to get up there and out before any cameras pick us up and before the sharks have any idea what’s going on.  But to get away, I think we’re going to have to risk a drop.  Okay?”

Marcie nodded.  “Okay.”  Pauline nodded too.  A ‘drop’ was an unscheduled fall from the lanes and a risky move in more ways than one.

“All right, eat up.  Could be your last meal.”

“Not funny, Robbie.”

“So Robbie, is it Grant or McLean, then?”  Pauline was the kind of women who liked to know everything about everyone, and she never forgot a thing.  Robbie seemed to understand this intuitively.  He just smiled and shrugged.  Best not to commit yourself one way or another. 

“What do you think?”

“Grant.”

“Is that wishful thinking?”

“Perhaps.  I always wanted my daughter to marry well.”

Marcie said nothing as they both looked at her.  She sipped a little more coffee and turned away to stare at the stream of rush hour traffic.  How is it possible that her mother would make this whole thing about finding a man?

“Mum, aren’t I supposed to be saving the world, here?”  Marcie didn’t bother to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

“Yes, of course, dear.  But you must consider what you’re going to do afterward.  Hmmmm?”

Marcie felt a little stymied and then she looked at Robbie.  “Are you done?”  She stood up.  “Because I’m done.”

Robbie was clever enough not to laugh. Marcie went into the bedroom to change into some clothes and pull back her hair.  She was back in a few minutes.  Pauline and Robbie were both standing by the door waiting for her. 

As they left the suite, they chatted like they hadn’t a care in the world.  Marcie was getting used to playing this game and was still amazed that her mother played it so well.  I’ll have to find out how she learned all this.  They walked down the hall to the elevator and punched GL for ground lobby.  A few moments later, they emerged and the women waited while Robbie went to consult with the day manager.  Marcie watched as the two men greeted each other warmly and had a quick conversation.  They shook hands as Robbie left to walk back to Marcie and Pauline.

“Pauline,” he said as he approached.  “I just arranged to show you around the kitchens.  I know you like a bit of gourmet food, and I thought you might want to see a professional team in action.”

Pauline beamed at him.  Marcie schooled her expression.  Her mother liked food but hated cooking.  “Robbie, how gracious of you.  I would love a tour.  Come Marcie, darling.”

“All right, ladies.  Just this way.”  He gestured to the rear of the lobby and started walking.  They followed.  “The main kitchen is one of the most important elements of a world-class hotel like this.  One kitchen is responsible for preparing food for three main meals – breakfast, lunch, and dinner – in two of the three restaurants on premises, as well as, brunch seven days a week, mid-morning coffee break in the lounge, High Tea in the lounge, and room service in our eight hundred rooms twenty-four hours a day.”

“Who runs the other restaurant, Robbie?”  Pauline looked at Robbie with an honest inquisitiveness.  Mum, you’re good at this.  They went through an automatic door into one of the service corridors on the main floor.  Unlike the lobby, this floor was tiled, a neutral off white. and was busy with hotel staff going about their business.

“We hire the best chefs in the world.  Currently, our head chef is Jean Georges, a Frenchman from Thailand, who combines the two traditions in the most delicious way.  Would you like to eat at his restaurant this evening?

“Jean Georges!  We would have to wait weeks for a reservation!”

“Oh no.  We could go tonight.”

“I would love to.”

They arrived at a set of double doors.  The security monitors were showing a solid green.  With a kitchen this busy, Marcie wondered when they ever locked those doors.  Beside them, a maid was feeding dirty dishes onto a conveyor that disappeared through the wall.  Robbie pulled the door open for the women to enter.  The kitchen was huge and manned by two armies:  one preparing food and one clearing away.  The hustle and bustle was impressive.  Robbie continued the tour guide patter as they walked and Pauline continued to appear extremely interested. Marcie thought she could get away with looking a bit bored. 

Suddenly, Robbie stopped talking, turned on his heel, and started walking back to the door they came in.  Marcie perked up, Pauline lost her look of rapt attention, and they both followed him.  Robbie pushed the door open and Marcie noticed that the security system no longer showed green.  It showed nothing at all – Robbie must have had the security shut down.  I wonder how much time we have.  She picked up the pace.  Robbie walked them to a bank of service elevators where Robbie pushed the ‘up’ button.  They stood waiting beside a maid who clearly recognized Robbie and looked nervous in his presence.

As the elevator dinged its arrival, Robbie turned to the maid and said, “Why don’t you take the next elevator, Eleanor.  You’ll be glad you did.”  The young woman took his advice and stepped back to leave them room to enter.  She moved toward the call button as the elevator door closed.

“As you might have guessed, all security is off.  We have about three minutes, sugar.”   There he goes reading my mind again.  Robbie pulled out his PA remote and pushed the button that started the vehicle.  By they time they got to the roof, the PA would have run through all of its checks and would be ready to leave immediately.  The elevator opened onto the roof, and Robbie walked them directly to the PA.  They took care not to speak to anyone.  Most of the employees would likely be rigorously interrogated after they left.  It was best if they knew nothing.  The PA was already running and ready to take off.  All Robbie had to do was identify a destination.  He leaned over and spoke clearly into the microphone:  “Tampa, Florida.”  The PA lifted off immediately, paused for clearance from Control, and then began a steep climb to the state-to-state lanes.  Robbie and Marcie scanned the skies intently, but could see no pursuers.  Presently, they levelled off.

“But, Robbie, won’t they be able to track our flight path through Control?”

“Sure, but Control approved a flight to Florida.  Once we’re clear of NYC, I’m going to do the unscheduled drop and from there, we’ll fly low home.  Okay?”

Marcie felt a little sheepish.  “Sure.  Don’t we have to watch what we say?”

Robbie fingered the small beacon.  “Na.  It’s just a tracking device, no more.  We’ll dump it over a farmer’s field, and then, we’ll execute the drop.  Hopefully, it’ll be enough to get us clear.”  But he looked worried.

“Why didn’t we leave it behind?”

“They would notice right away if it wasn’t moving as we took off – especially if they’re monitoring Control and know what we’re doing.  They’d know something was up and they’d just sick a Wing on us.”

“But they’ll notice that the homing signal stops moving when you drop it.”

“Sure, but I’m hoping they’ve relaxed a little, now they think we don’t know about the beacon.  From their point of view, we think we’ve pulled off an escape and they think they have their little secret and can still track us.  I’m hoping that they’re going to rely too heavily on the edge they think they have.  They want us to lead them to Origin.  So, they need to back off and let their little plan work.”

“I’ll cross my fingers you’re right.” 

About fifteen minutes later, when they were well clear of the congestion of New York:

“Okay, this is it.”

They were flying over a farmer’s field.  Robbie opened the pilot’s window and threw the tracking device out, and then, punched the drop button on the dash.  The PA fell like a stone.  The descent was too abrupt for Marcie’s stomach, which stayed a few hundred feet up well after they fell.  Robbie levelled off just above the tree line over East Brunswick, Pennsylvania and continued south for a few kilometres. 

“I’ll stay on this course until we’re absolutely sure this worked.”

Marcie checked the proximity monitor and saw that they were well below radar range, practically skirting the tops of the trees.  ‘Topping’, she and her friends used to call it when she was a teenager.

The proximity monitor was clear for a few moments, and then, Marcie sucked in her breath as a dot appeared not far behind them and at their altitude.  Marcie turned and looked out the aft window.  She saw that a black, super-speed reconnaissance vehicle had levelled off behind them. A Wing.  Shit.

Control established the Winged Force, its own police, the same year it went live, with jurisdiction only in the streams.  The WF, by international treaty, enforced a global area, ignoring borders and domestic considerations.  A Wing, watching the flight streams would, as a matter of course, drop out of the flow to follow a vehicle making an unscheduled descent to ensure there was no emergency.  To do this part of their job, a Wing had a few extra capabilities.  The WF could legally monitor PA cab conversation just following a drop, to ensure that the pilot wasn’t out of control.  As it turned out, over fifty percent of folks making unscheduled drops were involved in criminal activity and monitoring their conversations usually hastened their capture.  Convenient, that.  So,  Robbie, Marcie, and Pauline stayed quiet for a few beats.  And then, Pauline started talking again, mainly about nothing, but complaining intermittently about having to go to the washroom.  She filled the air with innocuous conversation until they were able to stop in at a gas station.  The Wing hovered above the gas station for a short while, then, took off.  Marcie and her mother went to the bathroom for good form.

“Mum, that was great.”  Marcie whispered as they disappeared into the building.

“Yes, you must never underestimate the power of small-talk, darling.”  Pauline smiled and checked her face in the mirror.  “Come on, let’s get some snacks for the trip.”

They went downstairs to the snack bar and bought a bagful of goodies and drinks.  By the time they got back to the PA, the vehicle had been recharged and was ready to go.  They all climbed in.  They lifted off without a hitch and headed manually westward on the lowest stream.  They’d managed to get away, but it was going to be a slow ride.  Robbie set the PA on automatic and sat back looking at Marcie.  She raised her snack bag.

“Cheesy?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

As Robbie reached into the bag, they heard a solid metallic ‘thunk’ from above. 

“What was that?”

“Sugar, that was the sound of an attach magnet.  A Wing has decided to pick us up.”  Robbie sighed.  “We should have taken a ground car.”

Two hours later, they were back in Toronto, but Marcie couldn’t figure out what they were doing there.  By international treaty, a Wing is required to remand a criminal in the district over which he is apprehended.  But in their case, the PA was impounded by the WF and they were transferred to a prisoner transportation vehicle.  They were flown almost a thousand miles and over a border, all the way to the city of Toronto.  Then, they were remanded not to the local authorities, but to the RCMP – Canada’s federal policing agency.  They were formally charged with terrorist activities, and then, herded into a vehicle and flown for about fifteen minutes.  But when Marcie stepped out of the plane, they weren’t at a prison, as she expected.  She was standing, instead, in front of a beautiful house in the country, with a wide flowing staircase up to a grandly designed front entrance.  The house was large, three stories with a wing.  The grounds were tastefully landscaped and full of flowers.  Marcie blinked.  A guard shoved her from behind so she headed up the stairs.  They reached the top and the guard rang the bell.  A self-possessed woman in her forties opened the door and ushered them in.  The guards waited outside.  The woman closed the door and then turned and spoke to them. 

“Please stay here.  I would advise you not to try anything.  This facility is heavily patrolled and you’re a long way from anything or anyone who might be inclined to help you.  Do you understand?”  Robbie nodded and Marcie just stared.  Pauline was wearing her most vacant expression.  “This way, then, please.”

They followed the woman down a long, wide hallway to the wing where they turned the corner and walked into a small seating area.  The woman didn’t invite them to sit down.  Instead, she led them straight to an ornate door and tapped on it lightly. 

“Come.”  A man’s voice called.

They entered the room and found themselves in a large office, hexagonal in shape, with windows floor to ceiling on the three outside walls.  The interior walls were dominated by mahogany bookshelves full of hard cover, beautifully bound books.  Dr. Lawrence Ryan stood in the shadows of some thick drapes, behind a grand and ornate desk, also done in dark mahogany.  Marcie could barely make him out, but she could clearly see a woman was sitting on a visitor’s chair in front of the desk.  Helen Pearce!  Marcie, Robbie, and Pauline walked into the room.

“That’ll be all, Hilda.”  He was talking to their tour guide.

“Thank you, sir.”  Hilda’s voice communicated her relief.  Clearly, she wasn’t comfortable with her new guests.  She disappeared and closed the door behind her.

“Welcome. Some introductions are in order, I think.  I’m Dr. Lawrence Ryan of the Eastdown Institute.  I’m sure you’ve recognize Helen Pearce.  I understand you’ve been looking for her.  Helen, please meet Marcie Noel, her mother Pauline Noel, and Robbie Grant, a business associate.”

Helen looked a little confused.  “How do you do?”

Marcie didn’t react.  She was having trouble reconciling the situation.  This man was far too powerful.  He can hijack prisoners and have them brought to his…, what?  His home?  He must be extremely confident in his resources to be standing there so composed in front of them all, no fear showed on his face, nor was betrayed by his behaviour.  Not even nervousness.  He was above the law and a law unto himself.

“How do you do,” said Pauline after a slight pause.  “I hope you’re well.”

Again, Helen seemed confused by the civilized, almost bourgeois, conversation.  “They’re treating me well, yes.  I…I’m well.”

“Well, that’s something, my dear.”  Pauline turned to Ryan.  “And you, Doctor, are well I hope.”

“Very well, thank-you.”  Ryan was assessing Pauline with shrewdness in his eyes.  She didn’t fool him.  “Please ladies and gentleman, come this way.  We can have some lunch and discuss exactly what I want from you.”

He led them back out to the hallway, down to the back of the house, and into an airy dining room with a table already set for five.  The moment they sat down, they were served lunch.  Ryan and Pauline kept the conversation light for the whole meal, to the point where Marcie was almost starting to enjoy herself.  The change in tone came without warning.

Ryan sat back and smiled his most ingenuous smile.  “Well, I suppose you know why you’re here.”

“No, we do not.”  Marcie’s voice was firm.

“You’re here, Ms. Noel, because we want the location of Origin.  We’re prepared to do whatever it takes to get Origin and we’re not above using any means to extract information.  Do you understand?  Helen, is Ms. Noel going to tell me where the colony is?”

“No.”

“Hmmmmm.  Not frightened of me, are you.”

“No.”  Marcie said the word as matter-of-factly as possible.

“You should be, Ms. Noel.”

“Actually, Dr. Ryan, it’s you who should be frightened of me.”

“What are you talking about?”  He almost laughed. He thought she was bluffing.

“We found the results to the blood tests, Dr. Ryan.  You have a very efficient secretary – or at least you did until recently.  He or she kept back ups of absolutely everything and did it daily.  Someone tried to delete them all but, wouldn’t you know it?  We were able to save all those files.  Wasn’t that lucky?  We know what you are.  You know?  …I think you should do some testing to see how fortunatus luck cancels itself out within fortunatus society.  I would be really interested in seeing how that works.  For example, are we luckier when we are on the side of the just?  Does that give us an edge?”

As the impact of what she was saying settled on Helen, she stared a Ryan in astonishment.  Ryan had frozen as Marnie started to speak, his coffee cup almost to his mouth.  But his mind was able and quick, so it was Marcie’s turn to be surprised.  He recovered almost immediately and with confidence.  He again flashed what was becoming his famous smile.

“Well, now, Ms. Noel, whom do you think they’re going to believe?  A non-human terrorist like yourself, or me:  a pillar of my community, a top-notch researcher, and a candidate for high public office?  Hmm, who do you think?”

Marcie sniffed.  “What ever happened to Doctor Roper, Dr. Ryan?”

“Dr. who?”

“Roper.  Helen’s gynaecologist.  Remember him, Helen?  He died.  Then, they found him, a month later, lying on one of his own examination tables, crawling with insects, half rotted, soiled with the dirt they originally used to bury him.”

“Ah, yes.  I remember.  We killed him.”

“Really.”

“Yes.  He was the blabbing kind.”

“Oh?”

“We have a government directive that requires the attending physician to report a patient whose blood analysis returns with fortunatus markers.  They are required to call our hotline and we take over from there.  Most physicians have a sense of professional discretion, but Dr. Roper didn’t. He’d already requested money in return for Helen Pearce.”  Helen’s eyes grew wide.  “He wanted to go to the tabloids.”

“Ah, I understand.  Can’t have anyone knowing about your little hospital of horrors.  But why would you dig him up?”

“To tarnish Helen’s reputation, of course, and to make everyone think that she killed him for his money and tried to cover things up.  There’s no crime without a body.”

“Right.  But if you are a murderer, Dr. Ryan, it’ll be a little difficult for you to run for high public office.”

“No one will ever find out, Marcie.  One thing about sapiens.  They tend to believe what they want to believe – or should I say, what I want them to believe.”

Marcie looked at him.  His reputation was absolutely unsullied and his star was on the rise.  “I think you are a monster, Dr. Ryan.”

His smile disappeared.  “You don’t know the half of it, Ms. Noel.  Not the half.”  He stood and paced the room for a few minutes.  The silence was heavy.  “Helen, am I going to find out where Origin is?”

“Yes.”

“Am I going to destroy it?”

“Yes.”

“There.”  He turned on Marcie.  “You see?  You may as well give in.”

Before Marcie could speak, the telephone rang.

“Damn.  Guards!”  Ryan let the phone ring until the two guards appeared.  These men were burly and shrewd, the best that sapiens had to offer.  Ryan picked up the phone.  Marcie stayed put.

“Ryan.”  They waited in silence while Ryan listened to the caller.  “Yes, yes.  Good.  Send all the details to me and get General Chaisen on the line, please.  Thanks.”  He hung up the telephone.  “Well, I didn’t need you after all.  One of your operatives responded to our line of questioning.  Ms. Noel, I’d like to have you killed, but I think both you and Mr. Grant will make excellent subjects.  We’ll take your mother along to ensure that you comply, hmmmm?”  Ryan fixed her with a piercing look.  “Put them downstairs until we can transport them.”  He pressed an intercom button.  “Hilda?  Inform the kitchen we’ll have three new guests in the basement.  I’m afraid they’ll be around for a few days.  We have some pressing business.”  He looked at the guards.  “That’s all.  Come, Helen,” he said as he strode from the room.  Helen Pearce walked behind him almost meekly.

Marcie had never felt so trapped, so hopeless.  She stared at those beautiful windows and the open sky beyond.  Would I make it?  No, not today.  She stood and followed the guards out of the room.  They went to the back of the house and down a narrow staircase to the basement.  They walked past an impressive wine cellar and some storage facilities but quickly came to a desk behind which sat a rigid looking young man.  He stood as they approached.

“New guests?”  He looked almost happy.

“Yeah.  Keep the old lady away from the other two.”

“No problem.”

Marcie always marvelled at sapiens cruelty, feeling an anger begin to burn in her stomach.  Then, she remembered Ryan, a great example of fortunatus compassion, and settled down.  They walked down a hallway with seven doors, three on either side and one at the end of the hall.  Marcie was shoved into the first door on the left.  The door was locked behind her.  Marcie looked around.  An eight by five room.  A cot and a chair.  No window.  She heard two other doors slam.  She stood for a moment, and then, she sat on the chair and just breathed.

Saturday, July 17, 2083.  5:30 a.m.

Marcie was only dimly aware of a loud banging on the door.  She opened her eyes and blinked.  Same little room.  Same chair.  She focused on something new:  food on a tray on the floor in front of the door.  She got up and went over to pick up the tray.  She sat on the chair and pulled back the tin foil. 

The meal was much better than she might have expected.  Scrambled eggs and bacon, some toast, and coffee.  It was still hot.  She ate quickly, not knowing what to expect.  A while after she was done, there was another rap; then, the door opened without ceremony.  A man with short hair and a guard’s uniform poked his head in.

“Shower time, princess.”  He threw a towel at her and disappeared.  She caught the towel, stood, and followed him.  He walked ahead without fear.  Another guard was training a gun on her as she came out into the hallway.  The door at the end of the hallway stood open, waiting.  She went inside and found a washroom that was still steamy with the previous user’s shower.  The door was slammed and locked behind her.  She flicked on the fan and began to disrobe.  Then, she looked at the mirror and she could see a message written in the steam.  ‘Patience Sugar’ was all it said.  She smiled and wiped the mirror clean.  Moments later, she was in a hot shower, washing off the dirt and the events of the last few days.  It almost worked.

But. when she got out of the shower, she saw that her clothes were gone.  In their place, she found a set of blue workman’s overalls, some plain underwear, and socks.  She got into the clothes, thankful that they were clean, but when she looked in the mirror, she almost laughed.  So much for style.  When she was done, she tapped on the bathroom door.  It opened almost immediately and she walked out into the hallway in stocking feet.  The two guards were waiting for her.  One gestured toward the floor, and there she found a pair of army boots, in her size.  She pulled them on, tied them and stood looking at the guards.

“Follow us.”

She did.  There was little else for her to do.  They went back upstairs, but this time, out the back door.  Marcie could see a PA pad with a large RP idling on it.  They marched her straight to the door and stopped beside it, gesturing that she should get in.  Marcie went up the two stairs into the vehicle and only one guard followed.

“Last prisoner reporting, sir,” he said.

“Very well.”

Ryan was sitting at a thin conference table at the back of the RP.  There were three other men with him and four guards watching Pauline and Robbie, who were wearing the same blue outfits as she.  They were sitting quietly on bench seats, a few feet away from Marcie.  Between the prisoners and the conference table were banks of vidscreens, keyboards, and other communication equipment.  One of the guards gestured that Marcie should sit.  She took the place beside Robbie.  He said nothing, so she followed suit.  The silence gave them some time to listen.  A man Marcie didn’t recognize was talking to Ryan.

“… of Eastdown and requires that a whole new wing be added or that we consider processing clients earlier.  But really, my question is this:  If the client isn’t unusual in any way after the first round of tests, why are we housing them at Eastdown?  We need a facility, or a compound, where these people can live, something self-sustaining, something that won’t cost the taxpayers any money.  And keep it out of the way, certainly not on US soil.  They won’t want to play host to a penal colony.”  POW camp, you mean.

“Yes, great suggestion.  Perhaps we can put them to work.” Ryan was nodding.  “Find the real estate.”  The man nodded and made a note in his book.  “All right, then, gentlemen.  We have dispensed with other business.  Are we ready for today’s strike?”

“Absolutely, sir,” responded the three-star general sitting beside him.  I gotta read Who’s Who.

“Then, let’s do it.”

The meeting broke up.  A couple of the men, including the general, left the vehicle, and the rest of the staff began its pre-flight preparation.  One of the guards told them to buckle up.  All staff sat and strapped themselves in, including the prisoners.  They heard the engines rev, and then, felt the vehicle lift off and move forward.  It banked sharply for a time, levelled off and cruised.  Marcie didn’t have to be told where they were going.

A few thousand miles away, a sea of attack vehicles converged on the old farmhouse that stood above Origin.  Tanks, jeeps, and troop conveyance vehicles, dozens of them, kicked up enough dust to colour the sunrise pink.  In those pink skies, flew hundreds of PAs and utility vehicles.  The sound of this advance was deafening.

During the flight, the RP’s vidscreens were alive with the footage of the advancing army, with the faces of the commanding officers checking in for more instructions, with plans and diagrams of Origin itself.  What Marcie could see, however, wasn’t current.  Maybe they don’t know about the new warren.

Ryan was extremely busy.  Although clearly he wasn’t a military commander, he seemed to be in charge of the operation.  He was constantly talking on a headset, pulling people together, consulting with as many as ten people at once, generals, et al.  No wonder he felt powerful.  Marcie couldn’t say he was drunk on it, but she could see that he was definitely in his element; coordinating and communicating with his team.  Such a good little fortunatus.  This was what he was born to do.  She could see how he’d be loath to give that up.  No fortunatus community would accept him after what he had done to so many of his own; despite his obviously knowing the truth.  While, conversely, Sapiens would never accept him.  He was stuck in a living purgatory with nothing forward and nothing back.  He’d best live out this role to its fullest.

Once Robbie tried to speak to Pauline, who was looking a little bleak, but the guard nearest him didn’t bother talking; he just hit Robbie in the shoulder with the butt of his rifle.  They stayed silent for the rest of the journey.

Hours later, Marcie felt the RP descend, and then, eventually land.  Ryan and a couple of aides left the vehicle immediately without even a glance in their direction.  Some time passed.  Then, the telephone rang and one of the guards answered it.  He spoke briefly in quiet tones.  Marcie couldn’t hear what he had to say.  He nodded a lot.  Then, he hung up the telephone and gestured to the men with him.  The four guards came over and stood above them.

“Get up,” said one.

The three of them stood and followed two guards out the door.  The other two guards went behind them.

The sun was well and truly up, and Marcie immediately recognized the farmhouse, its humble outer buildings and barns.  All around the area, Marcie could see tanks and soldiers:  the pride of the US army.  Above, flew a veritable hive of military vehicles.  PAs, carriers, attack planes, and jets.

Marcie, Pauline, and Robbie were marched into the farmhouse and down to the cellar.  They passed five bodies that had been left in a pile by the big oak tree.  The old screen door had been ripped off, and the house inside was askew, obviously roughly searched.  In the cellar, Marcie was surprised to see a wall of potatoes and turnips.  No elevator door.  How’d they do that?

Ryan was standing studying an old blue print.  He looked up and smiled civilly when they came down the stairs.  He waited until they were all in the small cellar before he spoke.

“Who can tell me how to access the elevator?”  He sounded like Marcie’s grade three teacher.  They were silent.  He raised his eyebrows and continued:  “I don’t think you understand our problem here, ladies and gentleman.  If we cannot gain access without your help, we’re going to start using explosives.  And if anyone dies, it’ll be on your head.”  Oh, right, and your intentions are to invite them out to dinner!  They said nothing.  Marcie didn’t feel like being the resident consultant on Origin.  Let them figure it out by themselves.

“Sir, is it worth a stealth approach anyway?”

Ryan was shuffling papers.  “Not stealth, just more efficient.  I thought it might be easier to deploy a bomb with the elevator.  We could use the opportunity to test that thermonuclear device you’ve been talking about.”

Marcie was dumbstruck.  An atomic bomb?  Atomics had been outlawed by all civilized nations for decades.  Every great hesitant step forward precipitates two confident strides back.  She said nothing and tried to keep her face neutral.

“According to these plans,” Ryan continued.  “There’s a large open area directly below us.  We could simply send the device down and trigger it as it reaches the bottom.  It would save us all the ammunition we’ll need to break through.”  Marcie couldn’t help but pull a face.  How economical.

“Well, the elevator has to be behind this wall, right?”

“You know.  I might want to study some of what’s down there.  Let’s just start breaking through with conventional explosives.  Get a team on it.  You,” he said gesturing to a guard standing idle in a corner, “get rid of these three, please.  Lock them down.”

Marcie, Robbie, and Pauline were lead up and out of the cellar, out of the farmhouse and to a vehicle that looked like a troop carrier, but was actually a kind of brig.  They were marched into a small, windowless room and the door was closed and locked behind them.  They decided to try and relax and wait, though Marcie couldn’t help pacing back and forth.

After a while, the vehicle they were in started up, and they could hear a number of other vehicles around them doing the same.  Their vehicle started to move but didn’t take off.  They drove for maybe two minutes and then stopped.  Now what?

Possibly a few hours later – they had no idea of the time – the ground started shaking intermittently.  They all three felt the tremors, and they all three understood what the tremors meant.  Origin was being destroyed, without giving any warning to the people who lived there.  Marcie, Robbie, and Pauline sat in stunned silence.  There was nothing to say.  After a long while, the shaking stopped. 


Jacqui Burke is a freelance director, writer, and theatrical teacher living in Toronto, Ontario, Canada.  She is currently directing Wrong for Each Other for Encore Productions opening in April, Kidsplay 2012:  The Mayan Prediction opening in June, and The Last Five Years for TOKL Productions opening in July.  She is, also, serializing The Pretender, her first novel, online at http://thepretender-amarcienoelnovel.blogspot.ca/.  She is preparing for two Shakespeare is Boffo! summer camp sessions for 2012.

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