Authors: S. J. Hunter
He was lying on something soft - not a floor - and it was covered with cloth, warm and a little musty. There was total silence. There was light strong enough to be apparent through his closed lids. His ribs hurt, even more than he remembered from yesterday, and he was as sore otherwise as he had ever been in his life. Some rhino must have found him while he was out and stomped for a while, hard.
He remembered leaving Mickey Bedford's, and going over the conversation with Mickey in his mind, feeling fairly confident that he'd been convincing enough. He'd also been worrying about what he should do next. He'd seen nothing suspicious while making his way to the car before feeling three Stinger darts in the back in quick succession, but then he hadn't really been paying attention. Given the situation, that was inexcusable.
He hoped Livvy had been more cautious and was being sensible. Meg and the Chief would be helping her out with appropriate advice. The Chief's hardcore policy of using minimal personnel on every case - detectives working alone or in partnerships - was another reason he was still alive. No one could betray him, if they couldn't get inside on the case, and Bedford might be more reluctant to kill him, if he was one of only two people who knew the weaknesses in his plan. He'd want to ferret out and destroy whatever had given Chris his lead. If he got his hands on Chris' notes, he'd know.
If you'd been darted before, as he had, you knew the sensation. In the split second after being hit and before turning to look for his assailant, he'd already known that it had to be someone in Enforcement. Not only were Stingers illegal and rare outside of the job - they were hard to get and the criminal element preferred the more lethal varieties of weapons - but the use of three darts suggested someone who understood reversal implants. Unfortunately, he'd either blacked out before spotting who had wielded the Stinger, or had a memory loss from the anesthetic. He had essentially figured out who in his unit was in Bedford's pay, but as with Bedford himself, he could prove nothing. He was still way behind Bedford, and it looked now like he would never catch up.
He opened his eyes and confirmed that he was alone. The light was from numerous small sources built into the walls and ceiling. Including the bed he was lying on, the room was provided with a number of comforts, including antique books, lounge chairs, a dining set, a kitchen, and a series of large viewing screens on one wall. There weren't any windows. It was about twice the size of his efficiency, and a lot more richly furnished. After giving it just a little thought, he decided it was an underground bunker created by someone who had a lot of resources, remembered the Riots, and wanted to be prepared for next time.
With an effort, Chris sat up, keeping his back ramrod straight. He'd had fractured ribs before, but not like this. Whatever happened, he wasn't going to make plans to fight his way out. He'd also been kidnapped before, and so far this time wasn't so bad. Except for his ribs.
If it was Bedford's bunker, he could start with a number of assumptions about it: hidden from the outside world; capable of being secured from the inside, although not currently; variable power sources, including a lot of remote sources of power independent from the grid; good supplies of food and water; and, probably, a system for monitoring what was happening out in the world. He suspected there was also a lock on the outside of the door and a system that allowed them to watch him, in which case they now knew he was awake. The system that allowed viewing the inside of the room might well be a new addition, or maybe not. Bedford seemed to take the long view on things.
Bedford didn't waste any time. He came alone, closing the door behind him as he entered, and because he was a secretive man, Chris suspected there was no one watching at the moment although there was undoubtedly some security within easy call.
For the first minute, they studied each other. Chris felt a brief chagrin at the disadvantage of sitting on the bed, leaning back against the wall, but he supposed it was better than lying across it and unconscious.
He had been prepared for it, but it still surprised him to see how much John Bedford looked like Jesse. Chris had been looking in the mirror for almost 70 years taking for granted the immutability of the face looking back, but he had somehow been thinking of John Bedford as an old man. The slim young man with the face of Jesse Bedford and the hard gaze sat down in an antique leather armchair near the door. He was 103 chrono, 33 biol, but looked 21. A difficult accomplishment, even with the blurring of physical ages that Chris now took for granted.
Chris thought he knew what Bedford wanted. He didn't fool himself into believing Bedford saw him as anything but a small bump in the road. To a man who would plan the murder of three members of his own family, someone like Chris was barely a blister.
"You're a self-righteous meddler. First it was your damn pest of a wife whose interference helped make all of this necessary in the first place. Your precious Laws.
You could easily look the other way and no one would even notice. A few simple manipulations by those of us who can afford it, world leaders, the men who really run this country, no one is hurt, and you've preserved continuity for a nation that badly needs it.
"I paid for this life. I built it. Who the hell do you think funded the science that created Longevity? The naturals you pretend to care about?"
"You lived through the Riots, but none of it meant anything to you?" Chris asked.
"So there were a lot of people who had no understanding of the situation who reacted with panic. With a little backbone, we could have won in the streets, and by now, everyone would accept the outcome. They'd get used to it, and they'd stop caring. They would have learned to appreciate having leaders freed from the cares of aging and mortality. Leaders growing in wisdom."
Chris laughed. It hurt more than he cared to admit to himself, but he honestly couldn't suppress it. "You mean, like you? You mean like the slaves of three centuries ago
accepted
their status? Enforced with whips and chains and hunting dogs. Its just one of your fatal flaws, Bedford; you underestimate every one around you and overestimate yourself. You, as one of a master race of immortal overlords?" Chris suppressed his scorn but allowed himself to sound amused.
"And yet here I am, with all the power," Bedford said. He didn't quite sneer. "I'm the one in control."
"Confusing power and wealth with merit is the sign of a seriously
unbalanced
ego. What do you want, Bedford?" Chris asked, suddenly bored. "We're never going to agree, so why am I here?"
"I want you to understand that the only way you're going to get out of here alive is to tell me how you discovered my plans, what you know and what you've reported. And then I want you to go out and forget it, and destroy any record of it. If you want to live, and I know you do, maybe as much as I do, you're going to do all of that."
"Oh, I don't think so. Besides, there are too many other people who already know about it, and too many records."
"I doubt it. I think it's just you and your pretty little partner, and I can deal with her easily enough.
"You think you've had a hard few days? Think hours, days, the rest of your life, which will be very short, for you and for her. And for what; the hypocrisy of trying to enforce some meaningless restrictions that you'd circumvent yourself if you could?" Bedford sounded very sure of himself, and Chris found it annoying.
"You're confused. You are so blinded by your own ego you think everyone else thinks like you do, only less openly. Try to get outside of it, Bedford and understand: some of us have this idea that humanity trumps megalomania. Can't seem to shake it.
"Do you feel nothing for Jesse, your grandson?"
Bedford's gaze flickered, but he said only, "He's my creation, too. He won't even know what he's missed."
Chris stared at the young-old face for a while. It was like staring at a mask.
"You haven't been living all these years, Bedford. You've been dying. You're already in your own private little hell, aren't you?" Chris asked, and smiled.
• • •
By 4 pm Livvy's fifth call to Chris had gone unanswered. She took a break from kicking around her dead-end leads, had something to eat, and tried to concentrate. Without Chris to help her toss ideas around, she was going to have to think it through on her own, but she had reached the point where she was ready to stop worrying about what she could prove - an impasse - and start going with what she knew.
She knew that if Bedford had taken Chris, rather than killed him outright - a prospect that made her clench her hands in frustration - then he had done so to find out what Chris knew and what useful evidence they had. His first attempt at this, when he tried to steal Chris' private notes and Louie mauled his agent, had failed. At that point, Bedford would have been pleased enough to have had them both killed on the train. Now, it looked like he had decided to go straight to the source, or at least she hoped so, because that meant that Chris was probably still alive, somewhere.
At any rate, she didn't dare wait another night. At this point trying to find her partner was her top priority. It was only incidental that it was probably the most productive thing she could do in terms of progressing on her case.
Ever since the Chief had ordered her to keep the case confidential she had been mulling over the possibility he had concerns beyond media leaks. Both Chris and the Chief had suggested it: it was possible that someone in LLE was talking to Bedford, someone other than the person or persons in archives who were destroying and altering records. For now, she was going to pretend she knew this absolutely.
She looked around the room. Williams was in high spirits, tossing a stylus at the back of Best's head, then hooting when he swatted at it. She caught Agnew looking at her. He quickly glanced at his partner and looked away. She was accustomed to men looking at her. This was different.
Meg Dalton came by on her way to the coffee corner and Livvy made a decision. She made and held eye contact aggressively and tilted her head in the direction of the Atrium, then waited a long few minutes before getting up and walking out of the room. She found Meg at the bench with the geese and the predatory fox.
This time they stood, Meg looking back down the hall, leaning back with her elbows on the rail, and Livvy looking out over the Atrium.
"You're looking a little frazzled in there. When was the last time you heard from McGregor?"
"Yesterday afternoon. I'm aware that he's neither a training officer nor accustomed to having a partner but..."
"But this is a little extreme," Meg supplied. "What happened to Louie?"
"He had... an altercation with someone at McGregor's apartment."
"Hmm. LLE tends to be unpopular with a whole bunch of the people we're trying to protect, but you three seem to be getting more than your share of hostility," Meg said.
"An unlucky streak," Livvy said.
"Uh huh," Meg said, and waited.
Chris had seemed to trust Dalton, and certainly Livvy had no reason not to. But orders were orders. She couldn't say anything. Instead, she asked a question.
"How much do you know about this case McGregor and I are working?"
Meg continued to watch the hall as she replied. "Josephson's disappearance? Besides the background I gave you Tuesday, a little more that I can guess, but probably not nearly as much as you do. I suspect that Josephson is with someone who has a lot of money and who is paying for Josephson's special skills. I suspect the Chief has McGregor's notes by now and with time I could piece the rest together. But unless you two are... out of the picture for some reason, I won't be taking an active role.
"It all goes to how LLE..."
"... handles things differently," Livvy interrupted with asperity. "So I gather. Look, I appreciate all of the advice you've been giving me, all the mentoring," here she gave Meg a small nod, "but this still seems wrong. Any other unit, if a member is missing under somewhat suspicious circumstances, they mobilize heaven and earth. It's the way it's always been. And now you're telling me you know something about this case, and the Chief..."
"The Chief wants you to do exactly what you're doing. Work the case as thoroughly as you can. McGregor must have given you a full background Wednesday night..."
"How did you know that?" Livvy asked sharply.
Meg looked at her calmly. "Because it's what I'd do."
"I'm sorry," Livvy said. "Sorry. I'm just on edge."
"It all fits with what I've been trying to tell you, Livvy. We keep these cases under wraps because it's ruinous to allow the anti-Longevity zealots to use them as propaganda. Secrecy and deniability are crucial. You'll never work anywhere with more autonomy, but it comes with a price. The brutal truth is, often LLE would prefer not to take cases to court. That means that to a certain extent we trim our consciences in terms of proper, legal, stand-up-in court police procedures. If that seems wrong to you... I can't help you make that choice, but perhaps you should rethink this career shift you maneuvered. As I said, the Chief can't tell you to do it, and McGregor won't. It's a choice we all have had to make for ourselves,"
Meg said. "And that is probably more than I should have said on the subject."
"In other words," Livvy said, "among other things, deniability is another LLE priority. Another reason for the secrecy. The Chief wants to hold you in reserve in case we fail, and he wants to be able to deny knowledge in case we succeed in averting an LLE disaster but our efforts bring down the wrath of the judicial system if someone in power with some good attorneys takes exception to our methods. We can be the rogue LLE detectives who created a mess independently of the rest of the unit. Tell me, Meg, is there some thought, too, that LLE can better afford to lose me than you?"
Meg turned to look at her and smiled. "Not from my perspective, no, and I doubt from the Chief's. And McGregor would be a huge loss.
"Are you ready for this?" she asked suddenly. "Still want to give it a full week?"
"In terms of my career in Enforcement, I'm starting to feel the truth of what Chris said. But I'm not Alice and I haven't traveled through a wormhole lately," Livvy mused. "I don't care about any of that. He also said that we were initiating a 'private little war.' I need to engage."
Meg smiled but remained silent.
"And the first thing I need is some intel. I asked you to come out here so I could ask a specific question," Livvy said. "I had hints from both McGregor and the Chief that there is someone in LLE that I can't trust. I'm not talking about Archives or Forensics, but someone in the detective squad."
Meg continued facing away from the Atrium and looking back down the hall. Then after a moment she looked down at the floor, put a hand on her forehead and closed her eyes. When she took her hand away, she said, "Let me offer you some practical advice. In LLE, unlike any other unit, the two most important pieces of information you can have about a suspect are their chrono and their allotment. That's true as well for understanding where the derelicts who work in the LLE brain trust are coming from."
Meg shrugged. "It's something you may want to consider doing before working here too much longer. You can do it from here," she added, "and I need to get back. I've got my own minor catastrophe pending."
"Wait," Livvy said. "One more thing. This 'private little war' McGregor described. I need to take that literally, don't I? That's LLE code for a double-or-nothing, take-no-prisoners, tactical action, isn't it? Just deny it if I have it wrong, please."
Meg looked at the polished stone-inlaid floor for moment and then met her eyes. "I have nothing to say about that except that you catch on quickly. And now you can forget I ever confirmed it."
"Confirmed what?" Livvy asked with a blank expression.
Meg was smiling when she turned away to head back to the office.
• • •
As an LLE detective, Livvy had access to ages and family histories for everyone in the city. She sat down on the bench with the topiary fox stalking her and tapped into the files.
Chris, of course, she already knew: 101 chrono, widowed, no children.
Agnew was only 27 chrono, unmarried and a rookie in LLE. It must have been a choice right after making grade, and it was a strange one. LLE was not considered a stepping-stone to anything. One joined it from conviction or sometimes, if one was talented but a little wild one was shuffled into it to save their career. Like Williams, she suspected. She looked a little deeper and saw that Agnew came from a working class family, naturals, and that he had excelled at the Academy. Like every other city employee, he could receive a reset annually as a benefit, if he chose to use them. He had gone in for a reset three months ago. Perhaps he was from one of those ambivalent families that wanted their children to have choices.
Best, 82 chrono, married to his fourth wife, two children from the first marriage and none since, twenty-five years in LLE. A possibility, she supposed, but after twenty-five years in the squad?
Dalton was 83 chrono, married and divorced once years ago, with LLE fifty-five years, like Chris a highly decorated detective. She was the only other woman on the squad.
Toscano, 45 chrono, married, one child, with LLE ten years. Dalton's partner. That alone put him way down on the list.
Best's partner, Wachowski was 34 chrono, unmarried, and the other LLE rookie. Transferred from Tactical at his own request after a back injury that had taken some time to heal, despite accelerated healing. She might find more about that if she called Bruno, discretely.
They were all possible suspects, because any one of them could have some special, hidden need for money. But Meg had more than just hinted to her that chrono and allotment were important clues. She had directed her to these records as though the information would give her a motive and a suspect.
It was Williams, Agnew's partner, whose personal history caused Livvy to straighten up on the bench. Williams was 71 chrono and had been transferred to LLE from Homicide 10 years ago. His wife - his second, much younger wife - had recently given him a third child. His first wife had divorced him five years ago and had custody of their two teenaged children. In such situations, the Law was lenient, although Williams had had his last reset and was required to pay a substantial fine. Williams was the only one on the squad whose chrono and allotment history suggested a motive, but it was a doozy.
Putting her comu away, Livvy walked slowly back to the office. Williams' antics had appeared almost frenetic today. She'd thought Agnew's reaction, which mainly consisted of ignoring his partner, was that of someone who had had their quota for the week and wasn't in the mood for more. He'd seemed in fact slightly embarrassed, as she would be in his situation. Now, she drew on years of experience assessing suspects and playing poker and thought about what she'd really seen on Agnew's face. That was consciousness of guilt she'd been seeing; she'd bet on it.
When she got back to her desk, she spent another minute in careful observation and decided she could raise her bet. She stifled her wave of fury. There had to be a way to use it.
"Hutchins, in here," the Chief called, and Livvy jumped.
He nodded at the door after she stepped into his office and she pulled it closed behind her.
"An IA came in to Homicide. Mickey Bedford was killed on her way to Dulles along with her bodyguard. Looks like a kidnapping gone wrong. They took the boy," he said.
"Jesse," Livvy said, and swallowed.
The Chief rested his chin on his knuckles and sighed heavily, then opened his palms and rubbed them over his face as though clearing cobwebs.
"You want me over there?" Livvy asked. She hadn't sat down.
"No," the Chief said slowly. "There was no one left behind connected to your case and if there is anything useful, Homicide will find it. I'll follow the case reports for you. I want you working on Josephson from what we have here. That probably means, at this point, McGregor's disappearance.
"Dalton says she's given you enough to make you dangerous," the Chief added, watching her steadily.
"I'd say so."
"Do you have anywhere to go?"
"Yes, Chief, but I'd rather not say for now."
"Go with it, then. At this point we're running out of options."
He continued to looked at her keenly and rubbed his hand over his face again. "McGregor said you did well with that incident with Maas, and he gave you his notes to bring in, which to my way of thinking implies a fair degree of confidence in you.
"Sometimes I hate this job. You have this under control?"
"Absolutely not," Livvy said calmly.
The Chief snorted and then grimaced. "Good. I like my detectives to have a realistic picture of the situation. If you need anything special, go to Bruno Morelli in Tactical."
"I'll remember that," Livvy said.