Chapter 2
Under different circumstances, the scene would have made a striking painting. The lovely young woman with tears running down her cheeks, the rain, the yellow raincoat, the green dress, and the crucifix sparkling in the light were an artist’s dream. Unfortunately, the different circumstances included a dozen targeting lasers painting vital parts of the girl’s anatomy. Then there was the grenade she held in her right hand while displaying its safety pin in her left.
“If anyone moves a step closer, I’m letting go of the handle,” she said.
The man the girl was speaking to took a deep breath to steady himself. The girl was terrified to the point she might release the weapon’s safety lever by sheer accident. He needed to tread with caution or things would end badly for him and worse for the girl. The fact he already possessed the information she was willing to die to protect would only compound the tragedy.
“Stand down,” he ordered the men in his command. One by one the laser lights went out. He watched as some of the tension left the girl’s face. Now if he could convince her to safe the grenade.
“Please put the pin back in the grenade, Kassia,” he said, trying to sound as nonchalant as if he was discussing the rain, now accompanied by a brisk wind. “I only wish to talk to you. I have no interest in taking you into custody, nor in the information you’re carrying. And if I wanted you dead, you would already be so.”
The expression on the girl’s face changed from fear to wariness, but she kept her grip on the grenade. “Do Oopsie officers always bring a squad of soldiers along when they want to talk to a woman? And how do you know my name?”
Oopsie was a derogatory term used to refer to members of the Office of Public Security. The man ignored the insult. He had been called worse, and this wasn’t the time for a display of anger. Instead, he gave what he hoped would be an apologetic shrug.
“Would you have stopped if I came alone? And I wouldn’t be much of an intelligence officer if I don’t know who I’m tracking. You’re Kassia Grazyna Maly. Born August 25, 2044. Second child of Eduard and Sofia Maly. Attended Oswego branch of the New York State University from 2062 to 2067, graduating with a degree in journalism. Employed part-time at the Purloined Letter bookstore. Currently living with your boyfriend Victor in a one-bedroom apartment on Autumn Ridge Court. Among friends, you’re known as Ellie due to a resemblance to a character in a classic video game. I never played The Last of Us. Is it a good game?”
As he hoped, the reference to playing the video game did the trick. The sheer incongruity of the statement broke through Ellie’s defiance.
The look of wariness remained on Ellie’s face, but she lowered her hand holding the grenade and waved the other at a coffeehouse across the street. “Send your men away. We can talk there.”
The man nodded in agreement and turned to one of his soldiers. “Sergeant, return the men to headquarters. I’ll return after Ms. Maly and I finish our discussion.”
“Are you sure, Major?” asked the sergeant.
“I’m sure, Sergeant. I’m also sure Ms. Maly will replace the safety pin in her grenade.” His eyes met the girl’s, who after a brief hesitation replaced the pin, her hand shaking so badly it took her several attempts.
The coffeehouse turned silent when the major entered the building. The silence broke when it became obvious he had a companion. An unaccompanied OPS officer was an arrest in progress. One accompanied by a woman half his age had other intentions.
The café was crowded, but not so crowded they needed to wait for an empty table. It was also warm and dry, something the man appreciated. Days like this made him wonder if he was getting too old for field duty.
As soon as they took their seats a waitress arrived to take their orders. The man ordered coffees for the two of them thinking the familiarity of a cup of coffee might ease some of the girl’s tension. Noticing his table-mate making soft sniffing noises and wiping her cheeks, he reached into his uniform jacket and removed a handkerchief.
“Here. use this,” he said, handing over his handkerchief
A flicker of surprise quickly suppressed, crossed Ellie’s face, but she took proffered cloth and commenced wiping her face and blowing her nose. The man resumed his study of his table-mate as she finished her toilette. She reminded him of his wife before cancer took her. The same strawberry-blonde hair and blue eyes, even the same gap between their front teeth. But if pressed, he would concede the girl opposite him was the more attractive of the two. They were also nearly the same age. His wife had been little older than the girl opposite him when she died. He noticed Ellie staring intently at him. “Checking to see if I have horns and a forked tail?” he asked.
“You’re older than in your pictures. Less hair too. But mostly I’m wondering what interest Major Jonathan Kubiac, decorated veteran of the India-China war and now director of the upstate New York Office of Public Security, has in a wanted terrorist if not to arrest her.”
Jonathan clasped his hands around the coffee mug, savoring the warmth. His uniform jacket could stop a bullet from a handgun but it wasn’t waterproof.
“Assistant director. The only thing you’re wanted for is an unpaid parking ticket, and you’re no more a terrorist than I am. If your cell was involved in the civic center bombing, we wouldn’t be sitting here.”
“You’d be sending me to the west coast to be a prostitute in one of your work camps. Or you’d kill me like you killed the others.”
Jonathan’s eyes narrowed. “I killed murderers. Or have you forgotten how many innocents died in the bombing?”
“It was an accident,” said Ellie lowering her gaze to the table. “The bomb wasn’t supposed to go off until midnight. The daycare center would have been empty.”
“That doesn’t make those children any less dead, does it, Kassia?” snapped Jonathan. The sudden display of anger caused Ellie to shrink back into her seat. Noticing her reaction Jonathan switched to a more conversational tone of voice. “Nonetheless, I’m aware your cell refused to cooperate with the bombers. Which is why we’re having this conversation. I have a message I want you to deliver.”
The guarded expression returned to Ellie’s face. “Why contact me? Why not Victor? He’s running what remains of the Constitutionist movement here.”
“Because your boyfriend is an idiot with romantic illusions about being a hero of the revolution. If I contacted him directly, he would start shooting, thinking he would become a martyr.”
A faint smile replaced the guarded look. “You’re probably right. So you chose me to be your courier.” She sighed in resignation. “OK, since I don’t seem to have any choice, what’s the message?”
“It’s simple. Behave. Organizations like yours are like cockroaches. I could step on you, but some of you would escape to start over. And this time you would convince yourselves only violence would change things. My plate is full enough without running down a gang of juvenile delinquents who think they have all the answers when they don’t even know the questions. However, if you cease your activities, the OPS will forget you exist.”
A frown supplemented the smile. “That’s not much of an offer. I can tell you right now Victor won’t accept.”
“Then let me sweeten it,” said Jonathan. He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced at the taste. “If you keep your activities peaceful and don’t advocate violence, we’ll ignore you. I’ll convince my superior it’s not worth the effort to go after you, and he’ll order the local police to leave you alone.”
Ellie’s eyes widened in astonishment. Public demonstrations against the government were illegal. If the OPS was willing to ignore them, whatever was filling the OPS plate must not just be big, but astronomical She told the OPS officer as much.
Jonathan hesitated. How much should he tell her? After a minute he began speaking. “How many homeless have you seen sleeping on sidewalks or in alleys lately?” he asked.
“Almost none. Why?”
“Unusual, isn’t it. This time of year I would expect to find almost as many homeless people as pigeons on the streets.”
“So where are they?”
“For the most part hiding. Approximately two years ago, my office started hearing rumors of street people disappearing. We ignored the rumors assuming the people had just moved to other locations. And technically it was a local police matter, not our concern. But the disappearances became more numerous. And not just street people were disappearing. The police have reports of night delivery men failing to complete their rounds. The trucks were found, but the drivers are still missing. Then a week ago, they received another report of a missing driver. When they located the truck, the cab looked like an abattoir. The same night they received a call from a set of frantic parents reporting a missing daughter. She’d gone out on a date and never returned. The police found her and her date’s bodies, or what remained of them, in Ellison Park, hacked to pieces. That’s when they called us in.”
He picked up his coffee cup then placed it back on the table. “Take my offer to Victor. I’ll expect you in my office within two days. You’ll be free to leave even if he refuses the offer.”
Ellie rose from the table, her cup of coffee untouched. “I’ll tell him,” she said. “And you can tell your spy over there, I don’t need to be followed home.”
Jonathan looked at the man Ellie called one of his spies. He was a complete stranger. “I’ll tell him. And remember I expect an answer within two days.”
As soon as Ellie left, he waved over the waitress who had served them. “Follow her,” he said. “Make sure she gets home safely.”
Jonathan took another swallow of coffee. He wished he could have told the girl the whole truth. The victims hadn’t always disappeared without a trace. In some cases bones were found. Bones that had been gnawed on. He wanted to tell the girl to be careful, very careful. There really were things that went bump in the night, and they were hungry.