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Scowling, Mike took the phone and hit the holographic.
A furry, glowing statue of Cindy sitting at her desk drifted between the men.
“Agent Donnelly.” Cindy glanced at the other man.
“Creel.”
“Ma’am?”
The word came out of Creel in a shrill squeak, and Mike
winced.
“Have you checked the directional finder lately?”
Mike nodded, holding it up from its place next to him.
He touched it, then tapped the TV remote and the LCD screen died, the TV sliding
away to its slot in the wall.
“He’s less than a mile away . . . But where?”
Cindy crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair.
The chair was butter soft leather and held all sorts of things for her pleasure.
The one thing only a few knew of was the remote pickup that burrowed itself into
the wood. The transmitter would run for a hundred years, sending her every noise
to a certain Asian gentleman in the Emperor’s Greater China Embassy, North
American Directorate.
The gentleman listened to her, rerouting anything of
interest, including the time Mike found just out how soft that chair was, with
Cindy’s help.
She was tapping a pen on the chair, a sign she was
growing short of temper. Mike smiled. He relaxed, the smile for her, his legs
easing open. Her gaze strayed to that, then, in an angry motion, she tossed her
head and scowled.
“Grey is sick. Last report—real report—we’ve had
was he was at the hospital. The one for indigents. Have you checked it yet?”
“Yeah. The Harvesters were watching our boy –”
Bolting from the chair, Cindy screamed. She glanced
back at Creel. The man was frozen, petrified at her rage, entranced with her
power. Outwardly calmed, she slid back in the chair.
Creel wasn’t much, but he was innocent of any
wrongdoing, at least against Cindy personally. His professionalism was something
else. Mike cleared his throat.
“What about them?”
“Bastards. I’ll have them ruined if they hurt my
Benny.”
In a dry, desiccated voice, Mike said, “Too late.
Kills Deer happened again, possibly twice, but no body count.”
She stared at him. Slowly, she began to laugh. Tears
ran down her face, and Cindy choked it off in a sob.
“Proof we’re right, and proof he has to be
terminated.”
Creel made a move. It was slight and with no noise,
but the cat in Cindy pounced on him.
“I’ve your records here, Agent.” She was close
to purring while the man began to sweat. “If Benny isn’t in my grasp in the
next week, my friends in Siberia tell me they would like a new operative at the
oil fields. Apparently, the last one was eaten alive by mosquitoes and deer
flies.”
Creel shuddered, and a frowning Mike crossed his legs,
earning a severe look from Cindy.
“He was tracked to the underground –”
“A place like Philadelphia has a what?”
Mike shook his head. “Not an Underground, but the
sewers.” Taking the watch from the dresser, he tapped it, saying, “Benny Wya
Grey, February inst.”
Light moved up. A chart formed.
“See the map?” He pointed at it for Cindy. “This
is the sewer network. He was traced from here, near the area marked Dead Zone,
where he took refuge with people that may be connected with an ex-agent.” The
map changed, forming the picture of a man. “James –”
“Morgan!” Cindy began to sputter and it took
several minutes before she regained a vestige of composure. When she saw Mike
staring ice at her, she stilled, glaring back.
“He was fairly close to Ms Hylnn,” she said,
staring off into the vast office complex under the Pentagon. “He was fired and
is wanted, but escaped justice.”
“You tried to have him killed but missed.”
She frowned, then laughed.
“Yes. Let it be a lesson, Miky.”
One more he didn’t want to hear.
“So, we tracked him to a raider’s enclave –”
“Damned raiders.” Cindy pushed a lot of contempt
into the words. She gestured for Mike to continue.
Voice flat, Mike said, “He escaped, and we lost over
fifty people, local cops, mostly, to a pack of well trained people. The people
with him – we suspect Morgan and a nurse, Becker. Katarina Becker. She was
rather close to him when he was hospitalized." The picture of a sunny,
smiling woman replaced Morgan’s. Out of the corner of one eye Mike studied
Cindy. She was livid.
“They were followed via the air net for several
miles. We lost him completely,” he said, letting the holograph fade.
Cindy was scowling and angry. The woman, Nurse Becker?
Eyelids drooping, Mike uncrossed his legs. Face
burning, Creel turned his head away, but Cindy didn’t.
Benny stared out the window. A small boy lugging a
schoolbook under one arm was following a small flock of goats into the burned
out buildings across the street. Like Toddy always said, education is the only
answer to escaping poverty. A few weeds rattled in a stiff, damp wind, and Benny
shivered for the scantily dressed kid.
A dog trotted behind the boy sniffing for something to
eat. He pawed at a pile of rotting paper. A small rat leaped from it to confront
the dog, but the boy kicked it, and the dog snatched it from the air.
The boy took it from him, nimbly gutted it, and
slipped it in a hidden pouch while the dog snatched up the remains for himself.
The goats stopped, waiting for the boy to catch up. With a wry smile, Benny
watched him trot after them. Well, at least now they knew where the smell came
from.
There was a tap at the door, and the door screen
glowed, then showed Ramie standing outside with a net sack and a couple of
books. Down the hall a tall man shrouded in the shadows watched and waited.
“Who’s that?” Jim asked.
Ramie shrugged. “Postman. He brung these here book
for you all.” She showed the books. “Got grub an’ books on reels, too.”
She punched the code but had to wait while Jim replied
through the computer on his side. The door creaked open.
She slid in handing the books and reels to Jim, but
the groceries to Kat.
“Ain’t no man know how to cook,” she snapped
when Jim tried to take the sack. “You just lay offen these. Real grub, not soy
junk.”
Smiling, Jim gave a small, humble bow, and let Kat
take the sack.
With a cool smirk for Jim, Kat sauntered back to the
kitchen area to empty the sack.
“Ain’t a whole lot,” Ramie said. “Jus’ what
the folks here can give. A little milk, a little meat or herb tea. Mos’ don’
want no nada from the gov. Got to get the tattoo and register for that.” In an
absentminded move, she rubbed the line of numbers and letters that marked her.
Benny was staring at the door screen. The picture was
a little fuzzy, but the man was clear enough, now standing before the door with
one hand close to the wall, the other touching his ear.
Benny took a book reel and tossed it at Jim.
“Hey.” Jim frowned, but when Benny nodded at the
door, got up and raised a hand to quiet Ramie.
He reached under his shirt, pulling out a slender
weapon only a few centimeters thick, but black and deadly.
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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