The Penthouse
by I.Q. Cameron
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2006 I.Q. Cameron
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Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. No person or event described within this novel is intended to represent any real person, living or dead, or any event in history. It is purely a work for entertainment, and any similarity to any real or fictional person or event is purely coincidental.
PRELUDE
Retired Captain George Samuel limped toward the imposing structure of the Pentagon. The morning was particularly bright and breezy, and he could not help but think it was a great day to be alive. As he walked, his case bumped his metal right leg, where once flesh and bone had carried him into war. He was no longer in uniform, and no longer at the front, but in his mind he was still very much in the fight. War had cost him his leg, but not his heart.
George never tired of the sight of the Pentagon. Like his metal leg, it seemed that the building would be with him forever, always a reminder to all of those who would fight for their country – the veterans he was so proud of.
He gave the young marine guard a brief smile, and the guard welcomed him by name. And just before he entered the building, George glanced along the seemingly endless side of the building, his mind recalling a fateful day when he had seen the aftermath of those who had tried to destroy the American monument to military might. Just for a few fleeting seconds the veteran recalled the awful aftermath of the plane that had careered through, killing so many innocent victims.
George Samuel shook his head, then tapped his case on his false leg once more, this time on purpose. Surely, he thought, there had to be a better way…
CHAPTER 1
Part 1. The Mirage
Shelley Peterson floored the news bus as she reefed the wheel to the left, just missing a particularly expensive looking Jaguar.
Her sudden move caused Eddie Winter to cringe as he held on tight to the edge of his seat in the back of the van, while never releasing the motherly grip with which he cuddled his beloved camera. Eddie cried out in sudden fright, doubting the young woman’s ability to control the lumbering bus at such speed, especially in traffic. It was an involuntary reaction to Shelley’s terrifying pace, and he was immediately ashamed.
Sitting in the passenger-side in the front, just ahead of Eddie, reporter Suzie Anderson lowered her hairbrush just long enough to hold tight to the van’s interior, and then she continued her ritual of preening in the mirror she held precariously in her other hand. She flicked her long wavy blonde hair, then brushed some more, making a cursory effort to check her perfect face for non-existent imperfections as she was tossed about with each of Shelley’s lunging moves.
Suzie puckered her thick red lips, noting that a little more lipstick might have been in order, but dismissed the thought, knowing that any such attempt within the confines of the swaying, lurching bus could only result in causing her to resemble something of a circus clown rather than a serious newswoman.
She glanced sideways at her young assistant as their bus hurtled along a short stretch of vacant lane. The bus accelerated hard, making the most of the short vacancy, then braked and swerved again as Shelley cut off a white sedan on their left. The blast of a car horn somewhere behind them alerted the thirty-year-old newswoman to just how close the vehicles must have come.
Shelley Peterson was younger, just turned twenty-three. She was athletic and fit, with a wild side about her that made the young assistant worth keeping on, especially at times like this – when the team needed to be somewhere in a hurry. No point in having Eddie behind the wheel when speed was required, they all knew. But Shelley – she would get them there or die trying. Suzie screwed up her face at the thought. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
They all braced as the tires of the news bus howled in protest to harsh braking, then the pale blue van lurched once more as Shelley continued the hunt. She leaned forward over the wheel, relishing the action, and taking only cursory glances to ensure the streets were void of police. In Shelley’s mind, she had every right to speed – as much as the police themselves. After all, she and her crew were on the trail of a great news story. She flicked her long auburn hair and shot a quick grin to her boss. Her green eyes flashed with delight at the thrill of the chase.
Suzie Anderson didn’t even have time to respond to the younger woman’s wild and brief gesture before Shelley was glaring forward again, hammering the bus once more. Yes, Suzie decided – Shelley was definitely the right girl for the job.
In the seat behind, Eddie Winter shook his head and checked the tension of his seatbelt yet again. They had worked together as a team for almost two years now, and worked well. Shelley’s driving was the only part of the whole scenario that Eddie had never gotten used to, or enjoyed. Well, he mused, perhaps that and the fact that she had never accepted his offer of a date. Shelley was a fox in Eddie’s eyes, and it hurt him greatly that she had never found him as interesting as he found her.
Eddie ran a hand through his scruffy, sandy hair from front to back to keep it out of his eyes. For just a moment he felt relief that he was behind the camera, and had no need to be continually preening himself the way Suzie did. He was strictly a jeans-and-T-shirt man, and combing his hair was definitely an optional extra – not like his two rather attractive female accomplices. For the most part Eddie was quiet and calm, as relaxed in life as his dress sense suggested. Shelley’s erratic driving was one of the few things that managed to ruffle his calm demeanor.
He stared forward, trying to focus on his two familiar female workmates, rather than look at the busy, veering road ahead. What a contrast they were, these two. Suzie certainly had the looks, Eddie knew, but she was a reporter and sometimes-anchor, and took herself far too seriously to ever date anyone as ordinary as him. She was a hunter in her own right, always looking for a story, and while she had the smooth, sophisticated look of a news anchor, she could be ruthless and brutal in the same breath with which she charmed her prey. She was definitely in the right job.
And then there was the delightful Shelley. Not as much of a looker as Suzie, perhaps, but cute enough in a more athletic, Amazon way. Eddie tried to console himself; between her outgoing, daring personality and her lethal driving ability, perhaps the fact that Suzie refused to date him might help to keep him alive longer. If he could have changed anything about their young assistant, it would have been her driving habits.
“Hit it, Shelley!” Suzie’s words were loud above the roar of the engine, and served to tear Eddie from his brief moment of escape.
“I am!” the auburn-haired girl shot back. “Haven’t you noticed?”
“We’ve only got fifteen minutes,” explained Suzie, glancing again at her wristwatch.
“Do we even know who this Mirage character is?” called Eddie from behind.
“No,” admitted Suzie. She shrugged as though it didn’t matter. “Trust me. I can smell a story and I just know this guy is on the level. Whatever it is, it’s going to be worth it.”
“Worth this?” asked Eddie, motioning with his eyes in the direction of yet another close call.
“Definitely,” called back Suzie. She adjusted her fringe with her fingers.
“So what are we supposed to be reporting on?” argued Eddie. “We’re risking our lives to get across town and we don’t even know what for. Suzie?”
Suzie turned in her seat to view her trusted cameraman. She had never found Eddie to be attractive, but valued him for his loyalty. He was experienced at his job and always tried to make her look good, and to Shelley, that was what counted. She gave a conciliatory smile.
“Please, Eddie, just trust me on this. Okay. I took the call, and I can tell you this guy means business. I don’t know what – but I know he’s the real deal.”
“How do you know he’s not just calling us across Washington to shoot us?” demanded Eddie, far from placated. “This Mirage might be an A-grade fruitcake for all you know.”
Suzie nodded negatively, remembering the softness and warmth of the man’s voice on the phone. He had the kind of charm that seemed to naturally instill trust and respect in her. Sure, he had been secretive, and the meeting to which she sped was cloak-and-dagger to say the least, but something in that wonderful voice had driven her to believe him. This man was authentic, she could tell. Worth meeting at any price.
“Not a fruitcake,” Suzie countered. “You’re just gonna have to trust me on this, Eddie.”
He shook his head, then gave a weak smile as the van lurched again. “Just remember,” he joked, doing his best to salvage just a hint of satisfaction. “If he’s a shooter, they always take out the reporters first. Remember that, okay?”
Suzie grinned, then turned forward to view the wild panorama of Shelley’s driving dogfight. She glanced again at her watch, then snapped the urgency of their quest to her young driver once more. “Fourteen minutes now, Shelley!”
Shelley shot her boss another grin as the bus roared beneath them. “Relax,” she called back confidently. “I’ll have us there in ten.” She leaned on the vehicle’s horn in an effort to clear the way.
On the seat behind, Eddie swallowed, hugged his precious camera to himself once more, and cringed at the thought.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Samantha Drewery led her daughter Trudy by the hand, and together they entered the dazzling maze of majestic crystal towers and archways that was the Chandler Memorial Palace in Washington D.C.
With its glistening, sharpened spires and sweeping curved arches and domes, the structure was a relative newcomer to the city, but a particularly popular one. Made almost completely of clear plastic and smoked glass, the palace looked just as its name suggested, its wonder and beauty accentuated by the fact that it appeared to be truly, a crystal palace. And while it was not tall enough to be accurately described as an addition to the skyline, it was nonetheless a towering monument to modern artistic design, and was remarkably well patronized.
Designed purely as a tourist attraction, the Chandler Memorial Palace served the city with distinction. While other local destinations may have been more frequented by tourists, few settings were more popular for wedding photographs. The four-storey building’s popularity had grown rapidly, with countless couples taking advantage of the large open areas around and within the marvelous structure to immortalize their wedding days. Tourists flocked from across the country and around the world to have their photos taken before the gleaming marvel. It was truly one of the city’s more recent success stories.
Doorman Harold Stein stood tall and proud, somewhat overdressed in his regulation red and blue uniform, which he wore with pride and a smile. The gold braiding gave him almost the appearance of a navy officer’s uniform, and reminded Samantha of the English army uniforms that had invaded her nation some centuries earlier. Still, he looked very smart, she thought, and fitted in with the overall grand experience that was the Chandler Memorial Palace.
Harold Stein grinned broadly at Trudy Drewery, a pretty little girl ten years of age. Like her mother, Trudy sported long, straight fair hair, though hers was tied into pigtails where her mother’s was not. They were unmistakably mother and daughter, both pale and each neatly dressed in pink for their visit to the palace.
“Welcome to the Palace,” Stein offered warmly to the pair as they ambled past him.
Samantha nodded and thanked him for his kind welcome, but like her daughter she could barely take her eyes off the wonders of the tall, transparent archways and hanging chandeliers above and before her. In keeping with the crystal theme and the ornate nature of the palace, almost as many spires hung vertically down as stood tall and upright. Each majestic spire, whether aiming up or down, was sharpened to a point and glistened in the morning light. The entire structure was divided into large rooms, each sporting a myriad of crystal and glass statues or figures in accordance with its theme.
One room represented nature, and comprised crystal birds and animals, and a dazzling crystal river complete with lighting to give it the appearance of flow. Set amid the glistening features was the room’s centerpiece, a life-sized glass lion that sat proudly amid the ornate, semi-transparent world.
The next room was devoted to all things mechanical, and boasted scaled down replicas of an early motorcar, a steam train, an airplane and other advances of the twentieth century. A glass, working computer sat atop a slowly rotating table as the room’s main feature, dedicated to the changes that the device had wrought. Only a few internal components were not made of transparent materials, a feat of engineering in itself.
Not all of the building was transparent. Certain support beams, electrical conduits and other devices were by nature unavoidably opaque, but for the most part, the designers and builders of the Palace had worked wonders. Somehow those things that were necessarily opaque went almost unnoticed amid the miracle of clear and ice-like constructions.
Samantha Drewery watched as her daughter let go of her hand and ran to view the computer up close. Trudy turned and grinned as she beheld the crystal centerpiece, taken by its mix of beauty and oddness. Samantha shook her head, also intrigued by the display, and she cast her eyes upward to view again the myriad of downward hanging sharpened crystals. The entire scene seemed not to be real, just as it was intended, and Samantha imagined it to be an ice cave she had visited as a girl.
Truly marvelous, she mused. The amazing complex was a wonder to behold.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Suzie Anderson glanced at the small screen of her cellphone to gauge the identity of the caller, but the number did not present itself. She flipped open the phone and held it to an ear, announcing herself. The voice that replied was masculine and yet soft, and very calm. As Suzie listened to the enigmatic caller, who by now she recognized as Mirage, she felt strangely at ease. His voice was controlled and firm, and strangely soothing.
“You did well,” he said in a complimenting tone. “You’re four minutes early.” Suzie felt that she could love that voice.
“My driver has a death wish,” she joked. She looked around, up and down the busy Washington street, hoping to spy the mystery-man who had obviously seen the news bus arrive. “You have the advantage on me,” she noted. “You can see me and I can’t see you. I don’t even know your name.”
“Patience, Suzie,” he chided softly. Romantic, she mused. Yes, she would definitely like to meet this secretive man who had so easily gained her interest and trust. “Have your man set up his camera facing the cream building to your south. Quickly now – you don’t want to be late.”
Suzie shot the order to Eddie Winter, who was already setting up a tripod for his beloved camera. Shelley Peterson appeared a moment later with a microphone and small makeup kit, from which she took a mirror for her boss to scrutinize her perfect television-face. While Suzie continued to wait for further orders from her secretive caller, Shelley made small and unnecessary adjustments to the reporter’s face, as Eddie completed readying his camera. A minute later and Eddie was panning in the general direction of the pale building in accordance with the orders relayed from their caller.
“What makes you think this guy is even going to give us something?” grated Eddie cynically. “He could be going to blow up a building or something, but I’m guessing he’s just yanking your chain, Suz.”
“His sexy voice,” she responded, temporarily lowering the phone and clamping a palm over the small mike of the cellphone. “Just trust me, Eddie. Have I ever got it wrong?”
“Well, there was that time when you did the story on the jumper,” he countered. “The stuntman – you remember, Suz. Turned out to be nothing more than a hoax as I recall. You had us speeding all over town to get that guy.” His voice became more sarcastic. “Just like today, if I recall correctly…”
“Hey,” she shot back. “He jumped, didn’t he?”
Eddie snorted and did not bother to answer. They all knew it had been a wasted exercise, but in reality, they also knew that Suzie had always possessed a genuinely accurate nose for a good story. If she trusted this secretive individual who insisted on a cloak-and-dagger routine, then neither Eddie nor Shelley would argue.
“Ready,” Eddie announced. “Tell your friend I’m in position. So what is it we’re supposed to be looking for anyway?”
Suzie Anderson strode in front of the camera, armed with her mike, but she did not bother to face it. Instead she kept her gaze sweeping the busy street beside her, with its constant rush of morning traffic. The sharp blast of car horns continually stabbed the air as a sea of cars and buses jostled for position at the crowded intersection just over half a block down, directly across from the cream building. Suzie held the cellphone to her ear once more.
“What is it I’m supposed to be looking for?” she asked quizzically, her brow furrowing slightly.
“Patience, my dear,” the voice returned. “I told you I’d give you the scoop of the day, and I promise I won’t lie to you. Patience now, Suzie.” Suzie took a deep breath. It was a perfect morning, with the sun shining and a cool breeze to give a crisp quality to the air.
Ah yes, she nodded. It was a very good morning for a story.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Officer Chantelle Connelly leaned back in her seat and spun her helmet in her hands.
She had never managed to find a way to avoid the knot that always rose in her stomach on mornings such as this. She flicked her long brown hair so that it all fell down the right side of her neck, then gathered it up with her left hand and twisted it into a tight bun. She lowered her head and forced her helmet on, holding the brown mass in place as long as possible in a bid to control it. The whole thing was done in seconds, and as casually as possible. Chantelle hated the idea that her colleagues might know just how nervous she really felt.
She hated riot duty.
Sadly though, with that simple task carried out, she could think of little else to do. She longed for some simple habit that might occupy her trembling hands – anything to give her something to do for a few more agonizing seconds. But there was nothing. She was fully dressed and she had checked her automatic three times already. There was simply nothing else to do. Eventually there was nothing left for her but to face her fellow officers.
Ned Bentworth, who sat beside Chantelle, felt little better than she did. But like her, he would never admit to his apprehensions. He smiled when finally his young female colleague was left with nothing else to do but face him, and in a strange way, Chantelle was glad of his gesture. A hint of seriousness in her face told Ned that his fellow officer felt the same dread that he always battled with.
“Not keen, huh?” he asked simply. Chantelle nodded negatively, perceiving that he was genuinely interested, and not making fun of her.
“No,” Ned admitted, leaning closer so that others might not hear. “I never like storm duty either. Don’t worry. Just stay close and we’ll be cool.”
She nodded, then her eyes flitted about the bus. Many of the seats were unoccupied, and Chantelle guessed that there were about twenty officers on the detail that morning. Each, like her, was dressed in full riot gear, complete with batons and helmets, formidable black monsters to those they would face, and yet just as frightened beneath it all if the truth was told. It struck Chantelle as ludicrous – going out to face a very unknown enemy on the streets for the sake of a politician, but that was the job. Some days they would be called upon to do nothing but be present, and other days ended in full running battles with a mob-mentality on the streets.
Chantelle hated the prospect of facing the unknown. And it was the unknown that made it so frightening for her. She could handle confrontation, even open danger. But she had never learned how to deal with what might happen. It was the might that was the source of all her stress.
Should have stayed at the resort, she told herself. Working the bar wasn’t fun, but it was a living – and there were fewer surprises. She touched the comforting bulge of the automatic strapped to her right thigh. Yep. Should have stayed at the resort.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Are you ready?” the soft voice asked.
Suzie closed her eyes, momentarily enthralled by the mix of masculinity and secretive gentleness she perceived within the romantic tones – his tones. Oh yes, she decided, this was a man she would definitely have to meet – in time. She swam in his audible, yet invisible presence.
“I’m ready,” she answered. “But I still don’t know what I’m looking for. It’s not a bomb, is it? You want to tell me?”
“Patience, Suzie. Patience,” responded the dreamy, manly voice. “I promised you.”
There was a pause as Suzie Anderson strained her eyes in an effort to see just what it was that her secretive caller had so persuasively insisted that they record. The next words spoken sent a small chill through the reporter.
“Did I tell you how lovely you look this morning, Suzie?”
She spun her head in several directions, trying desperately to glimpse the man who was claiming to spy on her. Then she called his bluff, running a hand through her crowning blonde tresses.
“Oh yeah,” she whispered. “What am I doing now?” A short silence made her believe the stranger was faking, but then came the stunning truth.
“Oh, Suzie,” he answered. “You’re just going to have to learn to trust me. Now, put your hand down and look at the cream building.”
Suzie’s eyes widened. There was no mistake now. He was watching her. She tried again to see him, but to no avail. With sudden fears that he might be about to harm her, she forced herself to gaze in the direction he had prompted.
“Have your man start filming, Suzie,” came the small voice in the phone. Even amid her sudden fear the voice remained warm and calming. She felt herself trusting her clandestine caller, almost without reserve.
“Roll the camera, Eddie,” she ordered.
“At what?” he insisted.
“Just point it at the building and start recording,” she shot back.
She clipped the cellphone to her belt and pushed a small earplug into one ear, running the thin connecting wire behind her back. She knew she could hear her secret caller’s instructions without her viewers ever knowing, and even speak to Mirage with the aid of a tiny microphone connected to the earplug. Unsure of the reason for their presence, and yet confident as always, Suzie stepped before the camera. With her camera-mike in hand, a slight smile began to dawn upon her lips.
“Ready for your scoop?” the voice asked warmly.
Suzie nodded just slightly, but said nothing, aware that her viewers would not understand if she responded verbally.
“Begin,” the voice ordered. “Trust me, Suzie. I promise, you will not be harmed. This will be your biggest story yet.”
Again she nodded, almost imperceptibly. Then she put on a brave, smiling face, and began her spiel. The story would come, she told herself. She had heard his voice. He would surely not disappoint her.
There was something in his voice she just knew she could trust.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Trudy Drewery struck an exaggerated pose beside the glass waterfall while her mother snapped off another photograph. Quickly, she thought – before that old bearded man comes over and gets in the picture. Quickly! She grimaced. Samantha Drewery was not nearly quick enough. Now her memory of the magic palace would always be marred by the presence of an old man in the picture.
Still, she could not blame her mother. It was getting crowded inside the palace. People were gathering, and clearly it would be impossible to hope for a photograph alone by any of the pieces. Trudy made a face, then skipped toward the wide arch that led to the exit of the crystal structure. Another photo from outside might be nice, she told herself.
“Come on, Mother!” she insisted in a childish, impatient voice, beckoning with a hand as she ran beneath the arch. “Keep up, will you!”
Samantha shook her head, jostling with the crowd and wishing that her impetuous, young daughter would not rush away from her with such abandon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chantelle Connelly let out a sigh as she raised the clear face shield of her helmet. She took another look about the bus and its range of fellow officers, some as subdued as she was, others more verbal and jolly. Some, she wondered, may have actually enjoyed the prospect of a confrontation with demonstrators. It made no sense to her.
Something else made no sense either; like why she was twenty-seven years old and still not married. Married? She couldn’t even manage a steady relationship. Often even a date was too much to hope for. Most men saw the badge and the gun and ran away. Others saw her only as a fantasy. Still others, her fellow officers, were taboo. Dating colleagues could only result in tragedy and trouble, she reasoned. The prospect of working in an environment with an ex-boyfriend was simply too much to face. Chantelle would rather be alone.
She frowned as the bus stopped at traffic lights on a busy corner. From there she knew the bus would turn left, and then it would only be two blocks to their destination – a political rally set to take place later in the day. Her stomach churned once more. She should have stayed on the farm, she mused. Or at the resort… Anything would have been better than riot duty.
Her eyes caught the reflection of some mirrored windows on a pale cream building to her right as the bus began to move away from the traffic lights.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Eddie Winter focused on Suzie Anderson’s lovely face as she announced the lead-in for her story, and he wondered what the reporter was going to say next. He smiled, glad as he so often was that his career had led him to be on the operational side of the camera. Suzie was about to do some serious ad-libbing, there could be no question, and unlike the reporter, Eddie had little doubt that they were all wasting their time.
“Good morning,” announced Suzie, her face metamorphosing with a well-rehearsed smile. “We’re standing here on busy Domain Road in uptown Washington, D.C. It’s a beautiful day, and we just thought our viewers would appreciate a heads-up on some breaking news.”
She looked confident, her experience managing to completely disguise the fact that she had absolutely no idea where the story was about to go, or even if there really was to be a story.
“We’ve been called out here today to…” She trailed off, her left hand rising to her ear to press the device a little harder there, and to try to block out some of the traffic noise. She nodded, forgetting the usual, smooth veneer of an experienced reporter. Instead, still trusting the hidden voice of her secret source, she spoke in open, honest tones to her cameraman.
“I’m not sure what’s…” Again she did not complete her sentence. “Eddie, get the van.”
She turned almost completely away from the camera – something she never did. Eddie managed to keep her in the shot while both of them focused on a pale gray van parked against the curb on the opposite side of the bustling six-lane street. By zooming, Eddie could see the innocuous vehicle considerably more clearly than his reporter could, and noticed immediately that it had no driver. An uneasy feeling began to tease him.
Suzie pressed the earphone tighter into her left ear, completely dismissing usual protocol as she continued to face almost fully away from the camera. “Folks, I’m not really sure what we’re looking for here, but…” Again she surrendered to the overwhelming interest that her secret, hidden caller was evoking within her. She nodded again as she continued to listen intently to Mirage.
“Eddie, the bus,” she snapped. “Get the bus…”
“I’m getting it,” he replied, also forgetting that he should remain silent at all times. “Suzie, I’m not sure I like this…”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Trudy Drewery skipped by the doorman, Harold Stein, and he could not help but smile when he saw her pass by. He turned, drawn by an insistent voice calling from behind, and immediately remembered the girl’s mother from earlier that morning. Something in the mother’s voice prompted an almost involuntary response from the amicable doorman, and he called Trudy back.
“Hold on there, Honey,” Stein called. “Your mother is calling you.”
Trudy stopped skipping through the crowd. Something in the man’s bright red and blue uniform and his authoritative voice halted her innocent escape. She turned back and walked slowly toward the kindly man.
Just five meters back her mother was jostling with the crowd to reach her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chantelle Connelly glanced once more at the pale cream building as the police bus turned into Domain Road.
From her window seat she had a good view of the pedestrians who paced quickly along the sidewalk, all intent on reaching their destinations. It was a hurried life, she mused, and on mornings like this, when she had to face her most despised of all duties, city life seemed to make no sense at all.
They were like sheep, she thought – these scurrying pedestrians. If they were in such a hurry, why didn’t they simply leave for work a little earlier? Was anything really worth all the worry and haste? But then, was her life any better? Not really, if she was honest. She mulled the thought over, desperately wishing that she was not due for riot patrol. Why was she doing this job anyway? She could barely remember. She removed her helmet and scratched her brow. Life on the farm was boring, but was this any better.
Perhaps when she got home later that day it might be time to take a serious look at her life…
They approached a pale gray van, its wheels parked actually on the curb. On the other side of the van an obese man walking his dog on a leash was forced to move off the cement sidewalk to allow another man in a suit to pass by the van. The sight of it annoyed Chantelle immediately, and she suddenly remembered why she had so desperately wanted to become a cop in the first place. It was life’s small wrongs that had driven her to join up. All she had ever wanted, even from childhood, was to right the wrongs, no matter how trivial. If she had not been on the riot bus, but on foot, she would have ticketed that van – just for parking on the curb. Why should pedestrians have to move around it? Drivers like that got all they deserved…
The riot bus crawled closer to the van, moving slowly in traffic, and giving Chantelle plenty of time to survey the situation. She shook her head, first at her annoyance at seeing the van parked as it was, and then at the intensity of her own reaction to it. So petty, she thought. It was hardly a capital crime.
When she got home that day, she mused, it would definitely be time to re-evaluate her life…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Get the police bus, Eddie!” Suzie repeated, her voice somewhat intense.
Something in the hidden voice in her ear had evoked a reaction she might not normally have allowed to be seen – least of all while on camera. Eddie Winter panned from the pale van to the dark police bus as it turned into Domain Road. He zoomed in, then out, to take in the broader picture, leaving Suzie nowhere in the field of view.
Suzie Anderson continued to push the small earplug in tight, straining to hear the soft, soothing masculine voice within.
“Can you see the bus now, Suzie?” the voice asked.
“I see the bus,” she answered, raising her voice for the sake of the combination earphone-microphone connected to her cell, and for the mike she held in her right hand. “I see the bus. My cameraman has it.”
“Good girl,” came the warm reply. Then her caller added in a tone that was almost casual, “We’ll talk again very soon, Suzie. You take care until then.”
Suzie was about to ask him to repeat what he had said, when the world at the end of the block erupted into a massive fireball.
CHAPTER 2
Packed with explosives, the gray van almost completely disintegrated. Mercifully, and as planned, the van was not loaded with extra shrapnel, which would have made the murderous act much more lethal. Such an act would surely have doubled or tripled the number of casualties.
It was, however, of no comfort or consequence to Chantelle Connelly.
Chantelle was directly beside the van, staring at it as her bus passed by within less than two meters. She knew nothing of the explosion except for an awareness of percussion. She saw no shredded metal, though there was ample to see, and she saw and felt no flames. Her young face was torn completely off as the first shards tore through the riot bus, dicing all those on board and tearing their bodies apart. A cop on the opposite side of the bus actually wore Chantelle’s face and a large part of her brain for mere milliseconds before he too was annihilated, physically torn limb from limb.
The pulverized matter that made up their bodies just a second earlier was sprayed across the street and the surrounding vehicles amid the debris. It was as though the police bus suddenly split wide open, vomiting human matter across the passing movement of morning traffic.
From their position over half a block away Eddie Winter gritted his teeth and continued standing by his camera while his two female colleagues dropped to the grass, both screaming in natural reaction to the shocking spectacle unfolding before them. With the riot bus strategically positioned between the bomb and Mirage’s invited guests, the camera was merely rocked by the shockwave from the device, and continued to record as planned.
Eddie watched in disbelief more than fear, as the police bus was hoisted up and sideways, while a large section near its center was torn away and strewn across the crowded street. The bus moved as though in slow motion, lifted by an enormous, invisible hand, vomiting its human cargo as it went. Then both it and its pulverized innards were flung across the top of passing cars.
A massive ball of bright flame accompanied the devastating explosion, incinerating many of those who might have otherwise survived the initial blast. Several passing cars that were not crushed by the hurtling bus were scorched by the intense heat.
Hidden from Eddie’s view on the opposite side of the van, two pedestrians seemed to simply disappear as the powerful bomb shredded their bodies and painted nearby shattered buildings with their blood and body matter. Inside the police bus, all perished instantly, smashed and pulverized, with many of their bodies never to be recovered.
For Chantelle Connelly the evaluation of her life was over. Her body would never be found, nor any piece large enough to necessitate a coffin. She left only scattered teeth and DNA to prove that she had actually been on the bus, and an empty apartment to prove that she had ever even existed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When the Chandler Memorial Palace exploded, the initial destructive effect was not near so instantaneous as the bus. It was, however, equally cruel and callous.
Planted in two areas just above the first floor, the bombs exploded simultaneously, fragmenting the immediate portions of the building into countless shards of glass and plastic, and thrusting them at unsuspecting patrons over an area almost forty meters in diameter. Those closest to the blast sources, naturally, bore the worst of the onslaught.
Human bodies were shredded by the myriad of shattered fragments, each shot forth with sufficient force to puncture or pass completely through the flesh and bone they struck. Almost all those within the actual confines of the palace were killed instantly, their bodies minced and blasted about the structure, transparent shards passing through them like long crystal bullets.
Trudy Drewery actually saw her mother’s chest and right cheek explode as shards passed cleanly and instantly through her. Samantha’s clothing danced about on her body as the projectiles slipped easily through her, a spatter of blood marking the lethal injuries quite starkly. For the young girl, it was like watching the event in slow motion as her mother’s face registered complete shock, and then slumped forward with the percussion of the blast.
Even before the girl thought to scream, the old doorman was falling upon her. Whether intentionally or by pure good fortune Harold Stein moved just slightly to his left, enough to shield Trudy from almost all the shards, except those few which passed right through him. Trudy was unaware of the impact of several thin shards that embedded in her thighs and left shoulder, as the old man’s frame toppled and fell directly on to her. She was pushed down hard, and crashed painfully to the floor as the doorman’s dead body fell over her to form a life-saving barrier while countless, glistening shards danced and ricocheted inside the building and through the open, arched doorway.
Trudy was pressed flat to the floor, and was unaware that her mother’s body, along with several others, was ejected with force from the shattered building. The Memorial Palace spat forth unrecognizable bodies like vomit, bloody hulks shredded and speared through by the vicious rain of glass spears as the building disintegrated.
The young girl tried to lift the old man’s body, her small arms pushing his lifeless form in a natural action even while deadly glass spears were still falling around her. With a mammoth effort she managed to push on both his rosy cheeks, raising his head just enough to peek out from under the large man.
The last thing Trudy saw before closing her eyes for the last time was the entire building caving in on itself, shattering and roaring as it crumbled and died a noisy and brutal death. Then, with Stein’s head pushed away as far above her as she could force it, she saw a falling shard, shattered and razor-sharp, longer than a man’s arm and half as thick as her forearm smash right through the old man’s forehead. The crystal stalactite pierced the doorman’s head from back to front, spraying Trudy with his blood. The glass splinter drove hard into the floor where it turned to powder and small crystals like sugar until the downward plunge of the enormous shard was halted.
As Trudy crunched her eyes shut with terror, and to keep out the blood and glass particles, she was aware of the cruel bite of the shattered, fallen spike slicing her scalp. Then, mercifully, she passed out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Eddie Winter turned away as the percussion of the explosion passed over the three news gatherers. Momentarily deafened by the blast, he could barely hear the instinctive curse that passed his lips. He recovered quickly, checking in one smooth movement that his camera was still standing on its tripod, and that it was still recording.
As Suzie Anderson and Shelley Peterson spun and picked themselves up, each stood dazed and staring at the destruction half a block down. The riot bus was torn wide open from the inside, its human cargo torn apart for the most part, and strewn about in a wide arc. Other cars had joined the horrific display, some upturned and some burning, and all skewed at angles across the asphalt.
“What the hell…?” Shelley did not finish her sentence, the scene before her being so horrific that it stole away her will and ability to speak. She stumbled, then looked about, dazed and unsure what to do next.
Eddie panned, his senses returning, but in the end he could not help but focus on what remained of the riot bus. Where there had been metal mesh over the windows, with faces behind just seconds earlier, now there was a gaping hole large enough to drive a car through. The metal frame and side of the bus were hanging, torn and shredded as though a huge fist had punched through from the opposite side. Moreover, it appeared that another giant hand had reached in from the closest side of the bus and pulled forth every shred of living tissue, and strewn it over the width of the road and beyond. The closest pieces of metal debris lay just meters from their own news bus.
Suzie Anderson’s knees began to buckle, and she was forced to reach down with both hands to grip them, steadying herself before she rose again. She stared about her, not quite sure what to say, or even what had happened. When finally her senses returned enough to prompt her to action, she pressed the earpiece hard into her hidden, left ear once more.
“What…? What have you done?” she cried aloud. At first she could hear nothing, the ringing in her ears so loud that she could not discern Mirage’s soft voice.
“Have I got your attention now, Suzie?” came the soft reply.
She swayed, staring in dismay and disbelief at the horror on the street.
“Suzie, do I have your attention?” he asked again.
“Yes! Damn you, yes!” It was all she could say. It made no sense – she wanted to abuse him, but the words would not come.
“Listen to me, then.” The voice was calm as ever. “You need tell them, Suzie. My name is Mirage, and I have chosen to speak through you. And for that privilege you will have to do what I say – everything I say. Do you understand, Suzie?”
She nodded, struck almost mute.
“Good,” he replied. “I see you are nodding. We will talk again, Suzie. I will protect you, and you will always listen. Do you understand what I am saying?”
The reporter’s head spun as she looked quickly all about her, trying to discern where he was – this maniac. But she could see no one who was not diving for cover or wandering aimlessly toward the carnage.
“You’re mad,” she blurted, no longer thinking like a reporter.
“Maybe,” he answered softly. “And I will strike again, Suzie, but you will be safe – a part of my plan – as long as you do all that I tell you.” There came an eerie silence during which she could still not think of how to respond. Instead, she simply waited for him to finish.
“Now, Suzie,” he demanded. “Are you listening to me? This is your first test.”
“I’m listening,” she answered, terrified. She divided her time between Eddie’s camera and the carnage behind her, her senses returning.
“Very good,” Mirage replied. “Take your time. Record what you see. Remember, you have the scoop on it because I have chosen you. So make the most of it. Don’t talk to the police, Suzie. Not yet! That can come later. For now, record it. Report it. Do what you do best. After all, that is why I chose you. But I want you back in your studio in two hours. Do you understand?”
She nodded, bewildered but obedient. “I understand.”
“Make sure you do,” he said. “Remember, this is your first test, Suzie. I’ll be watching.” Ever soft and charming, the voice seemed warm, and Suzie could not fathom the link between it and the horror she was witnessing.
The line went suddenly dead.
Somewhere down the street she watched in horror as the first injured survivor staggered from the chaos. The man was bloody and disoriented, crawling and falling from within an upturned car. Suzie snapped an order to Eddie Winter to leave the tripod behind and accompany her into the horror. And then, as the ringing in their ears slowly dissipated, they could hear the first screams and groans of agony from down the street.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Suzie Anderson sobbed, her face in her hands as the trio returned to their studio in heavy, somber silence.
The trip was considerably slower than the earlier dash through the city, due as much to congestion and confusion as Shelley’s more conservative manner. For all, shock was beginning to set in, and while none had completely succumbed to it, all were deeply and irreversibly affected. Unable to ignore those who suffered, Shelley bore the blood of several injured victims, those she had helped to limp from the dreadful scene.
A veteran cameraman, war zones were not a new experience to Eddie. He had seen Iraq and other bloodbaths, each with their own form of terrorism. He had seen the aftermath of explosions aimed at human bodies, the arms and legs and other pieces of victims strewn about city streets. But he had never actually witnessed such a thing on American soil. He trembled, no words able to voice his stunned feelings. He knew that America had been attacked, brutally and personally by an unseen and cold killer, and moreover that nothing would ever be the same, either for his team, or for the nation.
Suzie Anderson stared out of the windshield, noticing for the first time that something had cracked it on the passenger’s side. Like so many other things that day, she knew, it had occurred without her even realizing. She watched with dazed eyes as the world changed shape and color through the criss-crossed pattern of cracked glass.
They all listened in renewed fear and disbelief as other reporters relayed the news of the Chandler Memorial Palace via the van’s radio. Eddie shot a long look of dread at Suzie, who did not reply as she shook her head at the news. Having already relayed their coverage of the immediate aftermath of the riot bus explosion, others from their studio had arrived to take over, allowing them to return as directed by Mirage.
With the six-storey building in sight just two blocks away, Suzie was startled by the sound of her cellphone, and with trembling hands she pushed the headset into her ear once more and pressed the button to take the call. Shelley continued to drive slowly, glancing over as much as she dared to take in her partner’s reaction. Suzie swallowed and Shelley saw the deep fear that her eyes could not hide.
“How are you, Suzie?” Mirage asked, his voice soft as always.
“I’m okay,” she lied. Inside she felt like she was dying.
“Good,” he said truthfully. “I value you. I want you to take care.”
She did not respond, but motioned for Shelley to pull over, sensing something.
“You’re going to have to trust me, Suzie,” Mirage reminded her. “It will be very important. Today was just to prove to you that you are my chosen one. My vessel. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said. She didn’t.
“Good,” he repeated. “Since you’ve stopped the bus, I want you to have your cameraman pick up his camera again.”
Suzie glanced about them, searching the street ahead and the mirror closest to her for a hint of where he might be, but she could see no one suspicious. She quickly snapped an order to Eddie, who took his beloved camera in hand once more.
“Not again,” she protested, as much to Eddie as to her callous, mysterious caller. “Please, listen…”
“No, Suzie,” he insisted. “You listen. Now, as my chosen vessel, I want you to know something.” His voice was still calm, and yet now a little frightening too.
“What?” she asked.
“You may go to the authorities. You have my permission to do that. In fact, they are the ones who will come running to you. You may tell them how I had you wait at the scene of the first bomb.” He almost laughed. “Well, they know that already, don’t they? They certainly do if they’ve been watching you on television, anyway. So, you may tell them anything you wish, Suzie – as long as it is the truth. You must never lie about me. Is that clear?”
“I understand,” she answered, fearful and yet completely unable to resist the driving force within her. “Did you blow up the Memorial building too?”
It was out before she could stop herself, the investigative side of her nature exposing her before she could evaluate just how tenuous their ‘relationship’ was. A feeling of relief washed over her as he answered, again in soft tones, apparently not troubled by her impetuousness.
“Well, of course, my dear,” he assured her. “Of course I did, Suzie. Now listen. When the authorities are questioning you, you must tell them the truth about me. Never lie. My name is Mirage, and I am going to bring down great fear on your Western dictatorship. They will all understand more in time. But I will speak with only you – unless you fail me, and then I will replace you.”
He paused, the threat very real. Replace meant kill, she knew instinctively.
“Now, Suzie.” She could tell he was about to hang up again. “Take a look at your employer. Take a long look.” Suzie motioned with a hand and Eddie brought the camera before him, filming through the good half of the windshield.
“Please, Mirage,” she murmured. “I have friends in there.”
“You must have absolute trust in me, Suzie,” he explained. “If you do, I will give you the very best of my stories.” Another menacing pause left her mute with anticipation and dread. “Now,” he continued, “Look at your building and be thankful that you obeyed me, Suzie Anderson, and be thankful that you have obeyed me this day.”
Suzie’s eyes widened as she thought of her friends and colleagues working feverishly within the ANC25 building. Mirage’s line went dead, just as Suzie knew it would, and even while she was still dialing her editor, a third explosion rocked Washington D.C. that day.
Parked strategically on one side of the building, the small white sedan exploded with devastating force. Suzie, Eddie and Shelley watched as a cloud of fire and flying debris rose high into the air, blowing in most windows on that side of the news building, and for half a block in all directions. All those close to the car were killed instantly, with many others killed or severely injured beyond.
Eddie Winter’s camera rocked as he forced himself to record the nightmare unfolding in the distance – an attack on his own workplace. Even at a hundred meters away, the carnage and destruction was obvious and horrific. Among those offices that bore the brunt of the destruction was an open, shared area filled with reporters and other staff on the fifth floor. And among the debris and bleeding bodies that had been shredded by flying glass and other matter, lay a broken nameplate that read Suzie Anderson – Reporter.
Suzie stared in open-mouthed horror, then began to sob at the thought of so many dead and injured colleagues and friends. And when the initial shock was passed, Suzie Anderson was very pleased that she had listened to the soft, soothing voice of Mirage that morning.
CHAPTER 3
FBI Special Agent in Charge Roy Kelly slipped the sunglasses from his face as he strolled slowly amid the debris on Domain Road. It allowed him to better view the scene of total destruction, with pieces of vehicles strewn about the asphalt as though they had been spewed from a volcano. Moreover, he found that he could see the bloody stains of human wreckage more clearly too.
Kelly folded the sunglasses and slipped them into a pocket within his gray jacket, not far from the bulge of his .38 automatic. He rubbed a hand from front to back through his short, graying hair, the deep lines in his face becoming more like crevices as he stared at the horror of what had happened. Despite how hardened and used he was to investigating murders, bombings and other acts of terror, he had never managed to shake off the personal relationship he naturally felt with the victims, or their pain. His eyes narrowed amid symmetrical patterns of lines on his face as his deep blue eyes moved across the scene, trying not to miss anything.
Special Agent Donna Marshal paced slowly at his side, also taking in the scene of absolute carnage. Somewhere in her forties, she was not unattractive, with long brown hair and a pleasant face. Most of the weight she carried was muscle, the result of a rigorous exercise program, though the suit pants and jacket she wore made it difficult to be sure. Like her partner she sported an automatic, holstered out of sight, just inside the left side of her jacket. She too slipped off her sunglasses, revealing piercing green eyes, and like Kelly, she felt deep dismay at what she saw.
Several corpses remained at the scene, some still propped up inside their smoking vehicles, others lying twisted on the hot asphalt. Worse still were the body parts, unmistakable hands and occasional organs and the like. Those were the things Donna didn’t like. As the pair neared the epicenter of the explosion, Donna stared down at something she guessed to be the remains of someone’s knee.
The burned out remains of the riot bus stood still and silent before them as various officers taped off sections of the road to keep out spectators.
“Give me a whole body any day,” she said quietly to Kelly. “I don’t mind a body full of bulletholes or beaten to death, but I don’t like this anatomy-class thing.”
Roy Kelly nodded. To him it wasn’t such a big deal. What mattered to him was catching whoever did it so that they could prevent it happening again. From the news of two other blasts across the city already that morning, he had few illusions about stopping the bombings anytime soon.
“Hmm,” was all the reply he gave.
They stared at the bus. Most of its center was gone or at best hanging by thin twisted metal shreds in unrecognizable, singed masses. No visible bodies remained in the bus, or even body parts for that matter, most having been blasted out in the initial explosion. Long, gnarled metal fingers seemed to reach outward from within the bus where the blast had extruded them in its outward haste. No windows remained, and what little there was to mark the shape as that of a bus was charred black from the resulting fire. Steam rose and hissed in a few places where remnants of heat still occupied the burned-out frame, the fire brigade having moved on to cope with other crises along the block.
“Big blast,” Roy finally noted, stating the obvious. “We need to get a team in here now, and make sure those fire fighters don’t come back and hose away any more evidence.”
He paused, noticing a small chunk of human intestine hanging from a sharp hook of metal not far from where he was standing. “Whoever did this, they’re serious,” he said. “I think we can expect some sort of message or demand real soon.”
“Twenty cops,” Donna noted, casting her eyes about. “I’ll pull out all the stops. There’s gonna be hell to pay for this.” Her partner shook his head in disbelief at the horror.
“I’d say there already is,” he replied.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Less than an hour later Roy Kelly and Donna Marshal arrived not far from the Chandler Memorial Palace to find a similar scene of chaos. Unlike the Domain Road scene, there was little sign of fire, but the devastation and carnage were very familiar. Where resultant fire and metal shrapnel had been the prime causes of death and injury on Domain Road, glass and plastic shards had served to kill and maim as many victims at the second site.