The stone flew through the air, defying gravity for barely three seconds. It then began its descent and ended its short flight by bouncing several times on the frozen surface of the Thames. It was Rick’s fourth throw, and it had gone the farthest.
The cloudy midday sky radiated a gray light over the city. Captain Richard Northon stopped on the drawbridge section of the Tower Bridge, between the two massive neogothic towers, and glanced around distractedly. On the frozen surface of the river were all kinds of random objects, and he looked them over with a measure of disgust. Cans, bottles, and a variety of other garbage was spread out over the Thames, offering up a sad glimpse into what would be at the bottom of the river if it weren’t for the ironclad crust of ice.
He leaned on the railing of the bridge, his back to the road, and unfolded a map of London. There were several places marked with a black dot; these were the properties that belonged to the Tech Underground Corporation. He was searching for some kind of answer to the mysterious events he’d encountered over the course of his investigation. Not understanding what the company was hiding was affecting him so much that he had hardly been able to sleep all week. There had to be a rational, understandable explanation for the T.U.C.’s actions; a motive, an objective, something that might throw some light on what that organization was up to. Rick had been unable to find anything out and it was eating him up inside.
Lost in thought, it was awhile before he realized that cars were honking all around him. He turned and saw a black limousine stopped right behind him, blocking the traffic in that lane.
“Move it, moron!” shouted a tall man dressed in a bright red overcoat who had gotten out of his car and was approaching the limousine. “I don’t know who you think you are, driving around in your fancy car, but you need to get it moving right now.”
The driver’s-side door of the limousine opened. “Are you deaf? Clear the way, jerk.” Out of the limousine stepped a humongous, ebony-skinned man with a shaved head and several gold hoop earrings. The man in the red coat immediately shut his mouth when he laid eyes on the massive man, then turned tail and hurried back to his car.
The rest of the once-impatient drivers pulled their hands off their horns when the limousine driver’s eyes swept over the street. Rick watched as a driver in a lane on the opposite side of the road slammed into the back of a truck while gaping at the huge man planted in the middle of the road. The driver of the truck got out, livid, and headed straight for the guy who’d just rear ended him. The limousine driver slowly turned his head and looked at Rick who finally reacted and got into the limo.
“Let’s go before we screw up traffic all over the city,” he suggested as he got in.
The limousine moved forward, leaving behind a slew of angry drivers and complete mayhem on the Tower Bridge.
“Where are you taking me, Big Buddy?” asked Rick.
The chauffeur did not respond. The limousine continued on its way, and Rick leaned back in his seat after ruling out asking again about their destination. He knew enough about his uncommonly large friend to know he wouldn’t open his mouth. It wasn’t like they’d had much contact, but the few times they’d crossed paths the guy had never said a word. Rick didn’t even know what his voice sounded like.
As he looked out the window, speculating silently to himself about where they were headed, Rick was struck by the realization that he had no idea how his silent chauffeur had found him. He hadn’t told anyone where he was and had just been wandering through the streets, trying to decide what his next move would be. Of course, he could ask Big Buddy—as Rick now liked to call him since he still didn’t even know his name—but he knew he’d get the same answer he’d gotten for his previous question.
The ostentatious black limousine parked in front of an office building Rick knew quite well. It belonged to Jack. He walked through the vestibule and took the elevator to the basement. He went straight to the owner’s office and found him immersed in a pile of papers. Disorder reigned supreme on his desk. A fat cigar was resting on an ashtray from which an indecisive stream of smoke was slowly rising. It crossed Rick’s mind that it was only a matter of time before all these papers went up in flames.
“Your overgrown driver picked me up and brought me here. I’m guessing this means you wanted to see me,” said Rick, standing in the doorway.
“That’s right. Come in and sit down.” Jack Kolby pushed a pile of documents with a folder on top off to the side of the desk as Rick closed the door and took a seat.
“I have something surprising to tell you about our friends at the T.U.C. That’s why I’m here, right? You wanted an update.”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“Actually, no,” declared Jack. He was wearing an excessively expensive suit and a gaudy blue tie. His thick black hair was carefully coiffed. “It’s about another important matter. But we have time, so tell me what you found out that’s so surprising.”
Rick had the feeling he wasn’t taking him seriously, but what he was about to tell him would change that.
“Well, like I wrote in my report, those buildings they’re putting up aren’t really buildings. They’re nothing more than shells. I still don’t know what they’re going to do with them but you can bet they’re not going to be offices.” He was speaking quickly, anxious to get through his recap and get to the part Jack didn’t know about yet. “They’re putting them up in a flash; in fact, I don’t think it’s taking more than a week at the most to finish them. You also know about me finding Scott’s body in one of them.” Rick purposefully left out the part about the terrifying animal that sent him packing in a hurry; he’d never believe that. “His insides were completely reduced to ashes. I don’t know how it could be, but the outside of his body looked totally normal.”
“With respect to that detail,” Jack interjected, taking a long drag on his cigar before continuing, “if I remember correctly from your report, you were in a very dark place, with no other light besides your flashlight, and you had to rush off because the guards returned to their posts. Isn’t it possible something else was in that box and you were wrong?”
“No. It was Scott, and his body was filled with ashes,” he categorically assured him. “But I understand why you don’t believe me; it was hard for me to believe it.”
“I don’t mean to doubt you. It just sounds a little farfetched.”
“You think I don’t know that? Just keep listening. There’s more. I know now why Robbie didn’t sell you his warehouse.” Jack looked duly interested by this last declaration. “Do you remember anything about this?” he said as he took out a paper and handed it to Jack.
“Hmm . . . An operation to take out a woman’s—Angela Brown’s—uterus,” said Jack, looking over the medical report. “It happened before the Wave. What does that have to do with this?”
“Angela Brown is Robbie Fenton’s wife. I didn’t realize it at first because she goes by her husband’s last name.”
“Okay. Robbie’s wife had a hysterectomy. And that explains him selling his warehouse to the T.U.C. so they could tear it down and put up another shell of a building?”
“It does when you know that Angela is pregnant.”
Now he’d gotten his attention. This steamroller of a businessman was shocked into silence.
Rick continued, “She’s pregnant and I think a guy I met when I went to check out Scott’s apartment has something to do with it.”
“There has to be another explanation,” said Jack skeptically. “That report must be wrong, or is talking about a different Angela Brown. Brown’s a pretty common name.”
“Listen to me, I know it sounds impossible, but it all fits. I found the medical report at Scott’s place, and when I got there, I ran into a really strange guy—he looked more like a kid, really—that had been in Scott’s apartment. I’m sure he has something to do with the T.U.C. Scott must have found out something and that’s why they killed him. I’ve spoken with Robbie and his wife. They don’t care about money. They’re obsessed with becoming parents and they will be soon, judging by the size of Angela’s bulging belly.” Rick gestured in front of his own stomach to emphasize her girth.
“This is really hard to believe,” said Jack, unconvinced.
“Do you have a better explanation?”
Jack made a face. “Not really. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. We just haven’t come up with it yet.”
“I’m not finished yet. There’s another detail I can’t explain. You need to see this.” Rick got up, took out his map of London and spread it out on top of the papers covering the desk. “The first thing you should know is that the T.U.C. has five buildings, not four. They made another acquisition not too long ago. I haven’t had time to investigate all the associates, but the main one—a guy named Jamison Harvie—was just reunited with his son whom he hadn’t seen since before the Wave. I’m sure that was the payment he received in exchange for selling them his building.” Rick paused to see if Jack was following him. Jack nodded but said nothing. “I’ve marked the five points on the map where the T.U.C. has built.”
Jack leaned over the map and studied the five marks, trying to decipher Rick’s hypothesis.
“I don’t see anything unusual,” he announced.
“Look closer.”
Rick took out a compass. He stuck the pointed end in the middle of the map and pulled the other side out from it, placing it on one of the dots he'd made with the black marker. Then he took hold of the top part of the compass with his thumb and forefinger and started to turn it, drawing a circle. Its path crossed through the other four points that indicated the locations of the other bogus office buildings. When the circle was complete, the perfect distribution of the spots he’d marked on the map was so obvious it was impossible not to notice it, and automatically ruled out the possibility that the locations were randomly selected.
“Impressive.” Jack didn’t know what to say. “Have you figured out the reason for such an exact distribution?”
“No. But there has to be a reason. So now you might understand why I've been having trouble sleeping. I’m kind of obsessed with this.”
“What’s in the center of the circle?” asked Jack, clearly intrigued. “Did you check to see if there’s anything out of the ordinary there?”
“It’s Trafalgar Square. And that’s the first thing that occurred to me, too, so I went there and snooped around all the buildings in the area but didn’t find anything out of place. Honestly, I’m baffled.”
“I don’t doubt that you are.” He stayed quiet for awhile. “I need time to think about what you found. Great job, Rick. Meanwhile, there’s another matter I want you to take care of.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll fill you in when we get together with everyone who’s involved in it. We’re having a meeting in about ten minutes. Head down to the conference room; I’ll be right down.”
