Rise of the Syndicate Page 4

  After all. I had a life to live.

  8

  Castor

  I did not expect the scene outside of the World Council Building to become so chaotic as quickly as it did. But I supposed that was what happens when a member of the Council dies. Especially when the evidence suggested murder.

  I slipped on my jacket and kept to the shadows across from the gala as the sound of sirens chirped from seemingly every direction. The alarms bounced off the smooth dome above and echoed, making it feel like I was swimming in sound. The piercing wail of the upper register pounded inside my head, a psychological effect which felt physical and my ears pleaded for mercy. Despite this, I stayed put, craving to see what my actions set into motion.

  From across the street I saw the victim's body brought out on a stretcher, the dark body bag draped over her, but there was no denying whom it contained. I half-expected to see Halem running out with the emergency response team, but instead, I watched as he was escorted out with his hands cuffed behind him. Even from the distance, I stood from the gala, I saw the red streaks on his face from the tears burning down his cheeks. I watched his lips move but could not make out what he said. Certainly, he was pleading his innocence. After all, he had nothing to do with Marada's death.

  The buzz of my communicator pulled my attention away from Halem. When I pulled it from my pocket I noticed it was a text from my employer which simply stated, "well done". I closed the device and shoved it back into my pocket with a roll of my eyes. I did not want or expect validation for what I had done. All I wanted was to forget it and move on with my miserable life. The sooner the better.

  It was a dream I knew I did not deserve.

  I noticed a commotion from the corner of my eye and I looked up to see Marada's body being loaded into the ambulance. The disturbance came as Halem shouted at the guards, blatantly refusing to enter the transport parked before him. One would think, being in that line of work, he would know where his resistance would lead. But how could a man so distraught by his loss be expected to maintain his composure? I was certain, if the shoe was on the other foot, I would react in kind.

  Watching him, a tinge of sympathy invaded my consciousness. My empathy was met with pain like a hot needle piercing the back of my right eye as it drove into my optic nerve. My eyelid twitched madly as I sucked in another gasp, holding back the urge to wince. I hated weakness as much as I hated the pain.

  I hated a lot of things.

  I covered my eye with one hand, obscuring the bright, flashing lights in hopes that it would make a difference as I stepped forward to get a better view of the scene. Within moments, I watched the Guardsmen take Halem to the ground. Each one had their weapon drawn and shoved to the back of his head. The situation seemed like overkill to me. I still could not hear anything, but I knew enough about law enforcement to know what was happening.

  "Your night will only get worse, my friend," I muttered as he lay, pinned to the ground and moments from regretting his actions. Once his mind was clear enough to see how his actions dug his hole deeper, then the next layer of regret would begin.

  A chirp from my communicator distracted me once more and I answered it without thinking. "Castor," I said flatly.

  "I don't know if you're aware, but outside the World Council Building is a circus. I'll do my best to steer the Guard's investigation, but in the meantime, I need you to disappear. You should have orders to report to Clenist immediately." My employer said, his voice nearly robotic.

  "I'll leave when I'm ready," I replied. "Just make sure the money is in my account."

  "You'll leave tonight. I don't want anything leading this back to you, or leading you back to me," he said, sudden irritation evident in his voice.

  "I understand you're a powerful man, but I'm not ready to leave. I have other business outside of our arrangement. My superiors are aware of this, orders or not."

  I heard him swear under his breath before responding. "I couldn't care less about your other business. I told you my expectations before we closed the contract. I won't—"

  I closed the connection and dropped the comm to the ground before stomping it. I squatted and picked up the sim card to destroy later, but for now, I would be untraceable. "Go to hell, Pontiff," I said, placing it in my pocket before looking back towards Halem. What I saw instead was an empty section of sidewalk as he was already hauled away.

  "Figures I would miss the climax of the evening." I turned and walked away, staying in the shadows. The events of the evening replayed in my head as if I watched them on screen. I was unsure why the sudden desperation for me to leave Archea arose so quickly. Pontiff Cherum hired me to do a job and it was done, clean and efficiently. There was no tracing the murder back to me, so his worries had to go much deeper, and more personal. For what reason, I had no idea. What I did know was that I was walking a tightrope, and if I was to get what I needed, then I had no choice but to leave for Clenist as soon as possible.

  Still, I had the gnawing feeling that I needed closure and there was only one way I could think of the get it.

  The real question was, did it come at a higher cost than I was willing to pay?

  Halem and I were once brothers on the force. We trained together. We bled together. Would he accept me for who I was now, especially after what I had done?

  There was only one way to find out.

  9

  Halem

  Chills ran down my spine as I sat alone in the interrogation room. I watched the crooked, faded clock on the beige wall tick, each second removing me from the life I once shared with my wife before someone took her from me. For the most part everyone seemed to think it was me. How no one witnessed another person near her when they sat less than ten meters away from her boggled my mind. I could remember making eye contact with two men moments before I left her, alive and full of life. No more than ten minutes passed from the time I stepped away until I returned, and my life changed in ways that made me nauseous.

  The doorknob clicked as two Guardsmen entered the room. They were not Archean policemen, which told me more than I needed to know. This was a government investigation and not a department one.

  "Officer Scrimpshire, my name is Lieutenant Gosney and this is my superior, Captain Coshner. We would like to ask you a few questions." The one speaking took a seat in front of me, his dark hair slicked back with enough product to make it look wet. Meanwhile, his superior stood near the corner with his arms crossed over his chest, a sour expression on his face. I couldn't tell if it was because he viewed me as a murderer, or because he knew all of this was a farce and there was no way I was behind my wife's murder.

  "By all means," I said, struggling to keep my voice from cracking after sitting with cottonmouth for over half an hour.

  "Can we get you anything?" Gosney asked, placing a tablet between us with images of my deceased wife. The images were marked with illegible notes due to the size and glare of the image.

  "You can get me some water and release me from these cuffs for starters," I said, trying not to sound indignant despite the multitude of emotions coursing through my body. I was caught between despair and rage, a cacophony of feelings I could hardly bring into focus before the next one crested like a violent wave.

  Gosney gazed back at the captain for permission. He then scanned the cuffs, electrically disarming the locks before helping me remove them. "There. Hopefully, you're ready to talk," he said with an insinuating tone which suggested he wanted a quick confession and to clock out before midnight. It was clear he had never conducted an interrogation before. He was too casual with a hint of timidness. It was unclear if he thought he was in control of the room, or if he was looking to be rescued by his superior. Either way, it painted a grim picture for my evening on a night that I didn't think could get any worse.

  "I'll tell you whatever you want to know," I answered, my eyes still trying to make out the words on the image in front of me before he lifted it.

  "The coroner found a large amou
nt of nitrogen in your wife's body. He said she died almost instantly, but I imagine being gassed like that had to be painful at least for the few seconds it took to stop her heart."

  My jaw clenched as he spoke about her death as if she meant nothing to me. I wanted to take my pain and anger out on him for being so insensitive, but I knew where that would land me. "I'm aware."

  "So, you admit to using nitrogen to kill your wife?" Gosney asked, nearly sending me into a violent rage.

  I sucked in a deep breath and counted until I could compose myself. "I merely meant that I recognized the mark on her neck as being consistent with a weapon we've seen used on the streets for nearly a decade. It's a canister of nitrogen stored in a small capsule that when injected can blow out a victim's veins and cause them to bleed out internally. In most cases, it blows out the heart and can even cause blood to seep from parts of the body." I spoke slowly and used my professional voice. It sounded cold, even to my ears, but I couldn't think of any other way to communicate clearly enough to not have my words used against me.

  "How much experience do you have with this weapon?" he asked.

  "Not a lot. My precinct has only confiscated two of them which were fully functional. Most of the time, the weapon is only viable for one use. We hear about them mostly on the streets after reports of gang violence. It's a cheap weapon used for assassination." The fact I said the word "assassination" and the weapon having been used on my wife for that purpose made my stomach turn. I paused a moment to collect myself. "I'm sorry."

  "I'll get you that water," the captain said, exiting the room.

  "How do you know so much about a weapon you've hardly seen?" Gosney continued without prompting from his superior.

  I sat back in my chair, feeling like the room was spinning as I looked at him, wondering when the questions would cease. "It was part of my job to know these things when I worked on a task force to lessen gang activity in lower Archea. Eventually, we had to shut that section down."

  "You mean the sealing off of the tunnels under Outer Downtown several years back?" Gosney asked.

  "Yes. We were tasked with the job, though none of us knew what we were doing. Several policemen were killed in the process as the tunnels collapsed. The rest of Outer Downtown was abandoned except for criminals, but now no one goes there, I guess."

  "Anyone you know die in the collapse?" Gosney asked.

  "Yeah, my partner was down there," I replied. It was then that I recalled something that had been gnawing on me for most of the night before the tragic even brought me to this moment. "Speaking of which, there was someone seated in the same aisle as me and Marada. I caught a glimpse of him a few times and each time I thought I recognized him, but I couldn't place his face."

  "What does that have to do with your partner?"

  The captain returned with water and placed it in front of me without saying a word. I took a sip and nodded my thanks before answering the lieutenant's question. "I think it might have been him."

  "Your partner?" Gosney asked. "He's been dead for what, five years?"

  "I mean that man might have killed Marada," I spat, knowing how ridiculous it sounded. Trying to place the blame on some guy I hardly recognized, who was nowhere to be found when I returned to find my wife dead, sounded too convenient for my side of the story to be true.

  "Yet, you have no idea who this mystery man is?" The skepticism in his voice felt like a warning for me to watch what I said.

  "No," I said. "There was just something in his eyes that was familiar. He just caught my attention for a moment before I moved about my business. Nothing about my interaction with him sparked any feeling of danger."

  "Something about his eyes, huh? Do you have any descriptive information about him that might help solidify your story? Perhaps we can look at surveillance footage outside of the gala and see if this mystery man exists."

  I paused a moment, feeling like the world was caving in on me. "I don't know, he was a couple of inches shorter than me and had dark hair, slicked back. His eyes were a light green, a color I haven't seen much of in Archea. Most people have blue or brown eyes here." I thought back to the few people I knew with light-green eyes and the list wasn't long. Perhaps four people in my life. "He had some scarring I noticed behind his ear like maybe he had some kind of injury or surgery, but it was partially covered by his hair and not very noticeable."

  Gosney wrote down the description and handed it to the captain.

  "I'll take this and check out the surveillance footage. Maybe we can find a match. It might take some time considering there were two-thousand people in attendance at the gala," the captain said.

  I nodded, understanding, but still terrified this horrendous act was going to get pinned on me. Being in law enforcement, I knew it was hard to remove the blinders and look outside of the evidence in front of your face. I was the only person with Marada and the balcony was relatively empty. No one reported seeing anyone other than me, and my trip to the restroom looked more like a convenient, staged alibi than it did the truth.

  "Do you think I could get a cot or something? My head is pounding," I said as both men rose to leave.

  "I'll ask one of the officers to see if they can accommodate you," Gosney replied, his tone flat. I had the feeling he was just giving lip service.

  "Thank you," I said, trying to not stir the mess any more than it already was. In truth, I was exhausted and pained. The fact I could think clearly enough to control myself was a miracle in and of itself. I had anger issues and it posed enough problems in my life that I knew I had to maintain control at all costs. If I gave into the anger and got indignant with the Guardsmen, then their willingness to look beyond what they saw of the truth would evaporate completely.

  I sat at the investigation table and watched the Guardsmen step out of the room, leaving me to the torturous thoughts floating around my head. They had to find something in the surveillance feed. A gala like that wouldn't forgo security. I held onto hope that I would be vindicated. The fact no charges had been filed looked good in my favor, but the clock was ticking, and the Guardsmen still had two days before they had to press charges or release me.

  I tried not to think about it, but I couldn't shake the feeling it was going to be a long couple of days, much less the rest of my life, as I picked up the pieces of my now shattered life.

  For the first time in years, I thought about praying. I never truly believed in a higher power. I only knew of the historical significance of religious ideology from what we learned in school. But the words escaped my lips nonetheless, as I sought refuge from this storm, and my grief.

  "God, if you're real, let them find those responsible for Marada's death." It was the only thing I could think to say that didn't sound selfish. I wanted justice for Marada. As I sat quietly, waiting for a response, my prayer was met with nothing more than confinement and silence.

  10

  Tetrim

  "What do you mean he won't take my call?" I shouted into the comm. Never in my life had anyone rejected my call, but as sure as I sat in my leather chair overlooking the Archean Reservoir, my longtime friend, and confidant refused to speak to me.

  "I'm sorry, sir. He says he has pressing business and does not have time for a personal call," the secretary replied, her voice thin and full of fear. I reveled in it. Nothing reminded me of the power I held than the sound of fear in others. But I could hardly appreciate it considering Cherum's constant attempts at dodging me.

  "Tell him if he won't take my call, then he can expect me to come to see him," I said.

  The sound of a hand covering the receiver of the comm filled my ears, followed by the muffled speech of two people, barely audible over the sound of my heart throbbing in my ears. A moment later, Cherum's voice greeted me.

  "What in the world are you doing, Tetrim? This borders on harassment," he said, his voicing dripping with irritation.

  "You haven't taken my calls since last night. I'm getting the feeling that you're tryin
g to avoid me," I said. I watched my reflection move in the window overlooking the water from my office. I spent the evening at work, feigning grief over the loss of my political opponent. I barely slept, but it wasn't out of fear or sadness, it was to make the necessary moves to bring my vision into reality. I finally felt I was unrestrained to pursue my business ventures and secure Mars' future, and my financial interests.

  "As you can suspect, I've been fielding numerous calls regarding Marada's death," he said stoically. "My job continues despite what you might think."

  I scoffed to myself but didn't take the bait. "That's what I wanted to speak to you about. We need to set up a memorial service in her honor."

  Cherum sighed on the other end of the line. "Her husband is locked up for a crime I'm more than certain he didn't commit, and no other family had contact with her in the last decade. Who would we be doing this for? I'm not sure posturing for the public is in the World Council's best interest right now."

  The comment struck me as cold, coming from Cherum. "We need to come out ahead of this. I have the Guard under my thumb, but I don't control everyone. We need to bury her quickly and move on."

  "Do you hear yourself?" Cherum asked. The sound of a door slamming shut followed. I heard him breathing heavily before he spoke again. "This is not how I thought you were going to handle business, Tetrim. I expected something a lot less permanent."

  "At least this way we don't have to worry about negotiations falling apart," I said.

  "You're unbelievable. Look, I'll see what I can do, but you know this kind of effort doesn't happen overnight. Besides, I think the memorial will work against your efforts to move past this faster. If anything, it will keep people talking. She will look like a martyr for her cause."