Freedom Incorporated by Peter Tylee (me reader .txt) đ
- Author: Peter Tylee
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They both nodded obediently. Samantha said, âOkay. But whatâs the long term plan?â
âUhâŠâ
âWe canât stay here forever, right? Whatâre we going to do? Whereâre we going to go?â She was the type of person that needed a certain measure of stability in her life, and in tumultuous times needed a plan on which to cling. Sheâd never been good at improvisation; she wanted to know what tomorrow would bring and wanted to prepare for it.
Dan stalled his answer. âWell, that dependsâŠâ
âOn what?â
âOn whether Jenâs alive. If she is, then youâll stay here until I get her back.â He glanced at Simon, silently imploring him to keep Samantha and Cookie safe for that long. âBut if sheâs⊠not alive,â - he couldnât bring himself to say âdeadâ - âthen weâll have to plan where to start a new life. Iâll help you set up wherever you want to go, so maybe you could start thinking about it in the meantime.â
Samantha wasnât stupid, she knew Dan would try to exact revenge for what Esteban had done whether Jen was alive or not. âAnd what if you donât come back?â
An awkward silence suffocated the room. Nobody liked thinking about those things.
âIf you donât hear from me by noon on Monday, and if Simonâs Superintendent wonât endorse your entrance into the protection program-â
âNot a chance,â Simon said unequivocally without emotion. âIâm not due back at work until Tuesday so I can stall until then, but by midmorning Tuesday my boss will reject the petition and a fistful of cops will override the lock on the portal to evict you.â
âI donât need that long,â Dan said. âEither youâll hear from me on Monday or youâll never hear from me again. So I want you ready to leave by noon on the twentieth.â
âFair enough,â Cookie answered. âGood luck, man.â
âThanks.â Dan didnât often permit himself to reflect on the danger of his plans, but it dawned on him there was a decent chance heâd be dead before sunrise Monday. It was a chilling thought and he demanded it leave his mind, whereupon it slunk back to the depths of his psyche.
Simon fished a small pad from his pocket and patted himself down for a pen. âThis is my private number.â He didnât need to add that he only gave it out in exceptional circumstances. âIf you need anything, ring once and then hang up. I donât want you talking on that phone.â He pointed at the telephone on the lamp table. âEchelon and the New South Wales Police Department both monitor it.â Heâd already ensured they werenât carrying cellular phones; they were too easy to pinpoint.
âIâm gonna want that number too.â Dan scratched Simonâs mobile number onto a leaf of paper, and then added the number engraved into the plastic on the safe-house telephone.
âThis place is always well stocked; it should have enough food to last a month. Youâll find dozens of tinned tomatoes, baked beans and tinned corn in the pantry.â A malevolent smile played on Simonâs lips. âYou might even find a cookbook in the drawer, but I wouldnât bother with it, you wonât find the ingredients for any of the recipes.â
âAll right, weâre off.â Dan headed for the door.
âDan?â Samantha stopped him with a delicate hand on his shoulder. âPlease bring Jen back.â Sheâd sealed her emotions in order to cope with the trauma of losing her best friend to kidnap and the threat of murder. But she couldnât control them indefinitely. Fear, anger, hurt, regret⊠theyâd all begun to resurface. Sheâd pinned all her hopes on Dan.
âI will,â Dan promised, though to whom heâd made the promise wasnât clear. It was partly a promise to himself, partly a promise to Samantha, and partly a promise to Jen. I just hope sheâs alive when I find her.
Simon and Dan left, lingering at the door for long enough to hear the bolts sliding home.
âWhat now?â Simon asked, willing to play chauffeur.
âHow about some more coffee?â Dan still had a lot on his mind and couldnât think of a more appropriate setting to ask his friend for another favour.
âOnly if I get to choose the cafĂ© this time.â Simon grimaced.
âDeal.â But Dan was too agitated to wait for the cafĂ©; he opened up in the car. âTheyâre good people you know.â
âI didnât doubt it,â Simon replied. âNot all criminals are bad; theyâre just breaking the law. Itâs my job to stop that.â
âOh, come on, youâve applied the law selectively in the past. We both have.â Dan looked at him incredulously. Has less than a year changed him that much? âTheyâre activists, not rapists or murderers. Theyâre just fighting for the opportunity to be heard. Why shouldnât they have that right?â
âHey, itâs not that I donât agree with you,â Simon said, defending his position. âBut thatâs why weâre cops, we uphold the law no matter how unfair or ridiculous it seems. Itâs not our job to change things, weâre here to maintain order and keep the peace.â It all sat straight in his mind and he didnât appreciate anybody upsetting the balance - his beliefs were too fragile to withstand much punishment. It had taken him a long time to justify arresting people for things that society had considered natural half a centaury ago.
Dan was deathly quiet.
âOkay, youâre right. I apply the law selectively, everyone does. If we have a choice between going after a murderer and a jaywalker, weâre going to pick the murderer. Itâs simple to justify, the murderer does more harm to society-â
Dan cut him off. âThen by that same philosophy we should focus on the people who killed Katherine,â - and maybe Jen too - âinstead of busting people for activism.â
Yes, itâs just a pity theyâre so far beyond our jurisdiction. Police had a love-hate relationship with portals. The technology had introduced a problem that nobody had foreseen and nobody had bothered fixing with legislation. It was too easy for criminals to commit crimes bridging multiple countries, effectively hamstringing law enforcement communities that were still squabbling about jurisdiction and spheres of control, concepts that hadnât changed for a centaury. Simon could see they needed more international cooperation to tackle increasingly sophisticated criminals, but lawmakers were content with things the way they were, possibly because the lawmakers were committing the grandest crimes. And itâs worse in America. Australians couldnât touch Jenâs abduction case because part of the crime had happened in America, but the Americans would consider it an Australian problem.
So that left Jen with Dan as her only champion.
Simon inhaled deeply as he turned a corner. âOkay, so whatâre you planning?â
âSimple. Iâm going to find them and kill them.â
A chill shuddered through Simonâs body, but even more disturbing than Danâs calm was his own willingness to help. âAre you doing this for Jennifer? Or for Katherine?â
The two were inseparable in his mind. He knew he couldnât leave Jen. If his wife were still alive, he still wouldâve done everything in his power to save Jen. But, for the same reason, he would have sought Estebanâs death if heâd never met Jen. Revenge was a primal desire and Dan had no inclination to rein in his feral instincts. He fed from rage; it kept him from collapsing due to grief. âBoth,â Dan finally replied, flaring his nostrils. âTheyâre living on borrowed time.â
âI know.â He remembered how close Dan had come to insanity while weeping over his wifeâs body, and how savagely heâd searched for her killers. He remembered the anguish Dan had suffered when he found nobody to blame, and how heâd thrown away a promising career by repeatedly disobeying orders to leave the case alone. Simon felt a twinâs sorrow for his friend, empathising with him deeply. Heâd seen the determination in Danâs eyes then, and he saw it again now, as fresh as ever. Most of all, Simon knew his friend. He knew what Dan was capable of and thinking about it paled his dark skin. He didnât question whether Dan would succeed, not when he looked at the stony mask of death chiselled on his face. He reminded Simon of a coiled spring that was ready to disgorge its energy in one furious explosion. Simon just hoped Dan could control himself when it happened.
âHow long since her kidnapping?â
Dan didnât take his eyes off the road. âSheâs alive. Theyâll toy with her first.â But even if they start now, sheâll be blind in four hours. He fervently hoped theyâd wait before beginning their satanic ritual of torture and abuse.
Simon sighed. âI know Iâm going to regret this, but⊠what can I do to help?â
âWhat?â Dan peeled his eyes from the road and stared at his ex-partner.
âI canât let you do this alone.â Simonâs soul wouldnât allow it. Lord, if Iâm to be proud of one thing when Iâm an old man, let it be this. âYou need my help.â
Dan felt a wave of gratitude and didnât know how to put it to words. âSlime⊠IâŠâ
âYeah, I know mate.â Simon turned another corner. Their friendship had survived the interlude in fine form. Simon felt just as close to Dan now as he had before Katherineâs death. It was almost as if they were working a case together. And in a way, they were. A quick catch-up conversation and it was as though theyâd never been apart. But Simon was stoic by nature and didnât feel comfortable being that close to emotion; he twisted the conversation back to business. âSo this Valdez guy, any idea which rock he crawled under?â
âNo, but I know where to find out. Look, if youâre going to help then protect Samantha and Cookie no matter what happens to me.â
Simon nodded. âIâll see what I can do.â
âAnd poke around the Departmentâs database to see what you can find on Esteban. It wouldnât be the first time theyâve kept more accurate records than anyone else.â Dan pointed at a portal station they were passing. âCan you let me out here?â
Simon pulled to the curb. âWeâre not getting coffee?â
He shook his head. âNot this time. How about when I get back?â
âYeah, okay. Just make sure you bring your carcass back alive. Whereâre you going anyway?â
Danâs steely eyes burned. âThe belly of the beast.â
*
Saturday, September 18, 2066
19:00 Sydney, AustraliaCookie busily set up his computer and got comfortable for a long stint at the keyboard while Samantha pottered around the kitchen, trying to fix something tasty from the unimaginative range of tinned vegetables stocked in the pantry. He didnât feel safe in the safe house despite Detective Westâs reassurances. It reminded him of a tomb. Police contractors had spent a lot of energy making the house secure, but had neglected the finer touches. I guess there was no money in the budget for fixtures. Tile patterned linoleum covered half the house and a coarse, synthetic-fibre carpet covered the remainder. And they both looked as if an amateur had laid them. The seams were rough and visible, and the carpet was fraying at the edges. Tasteless wallpaper, which was fading in some places and sagging in others, covered the concrete walls. Two layers of bullet-resistant glass protected the windows. Manufacturers could no longer call it bulletproof because, disgruntled, arms manufacturers had developed munitions capable of puncturing it. But two sheets would stop most projectiles that werenât anti-tank calibre.
The neighbourhood was simply frightening. Where Cookie had expected it to be raucous, it was ghostly silent. He couldnât shake the feeling that someone was stalking them and it gave him the creeps.
He focussed on his computer to force the uneasiness into a corner of his mind. The jack hooked
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