CHAPTER 15
Waking from his peaceful sleep, Locke bolted up in bed. His eyes shot to the clock. 1:08am. He scanned the room. No one there.
What woke him?
He felt fine. No headache. No stomach ache. No pains. But, his heart raced and a layer of sweat covered his entire body.
Locke shed his clothes, leaving on his underwear. Pulling back the covers, he put one leg under them, but stopped when he tasted the dryness in his throat.
In the bathroom, he filled his glass with cold water. Two swallows drained the cup. Turning the light off, he couldn’t wait to get in bed.
A patch of white made him stop mid-step. Something sat at the base of the room’s door, standing out against the brown carpet.
A letter-size packet.
Had someone entered his room? When he squinted at the envelope again, he realized it was thin enough to have been slipped under the door.
Stepping over the package, he peered through the peephole.
Nobody there.
He pushed the packet away from the door with his foot then turned the knob, opening it one degree at a time until a sliver of light infiltrated the darkness. When the opening increased to a foot wide, he slid his torso out until he could peek up and down the hall.
No one. No footsteps. No sounds from the stairwell.
Shutting the door, Locke flipped on the light and focused on the mysterious delivery.
Printed on the white surface was a large U, written in black pen. The shape of the U was unusual. The sides weren’t totally vertical, like someone had pulled them outward.
Picking up the packet, he noticed it weighed next to nothing. He flipped it over, and found no writing on the other side. Was it empty?
Locke brought it over to the table next to the darkened window.
Maybe Hiss received more information and didn’t want to wake him so he slid it under the door. Maybe Wolf remembered some additional info and not only slipped the information under Locke’s door but Hiss’ as well. Or, maybe the front desk obtained train departure information for the Agents and slipped the info under both of their doors.
Those all seemed like possible ideas. But, what did the U stand for? He searched his memory trying to recall if any OWG Department used a singular U as its logo.
He shook his head. He couldn’t think of one.
Inch by inch he ripped the envelope open. Halfway across the short side, he realized it contained only a single sheet of paper. It was unlined and covered with blocky handwriting.
Pinching the paper between his thumb and middle finger, he pulled it out. The words on the sheet caused him to drop it on the table.
Hello Govicide Agent Michael Locke. Congratulations on Jade’s pregnancy!
Like the statues inside the District’s Memorials, Locke couldn’t move. Anger sprouted and began climbing the walls of his abdomen. Its fingers crisscrossed, overlapping each other, working their way inside his ribcage and neck. They came together at his larynx.
“Who did she tell?” Locke screamed, not caring if a sleeping neighbor heard him.
He read the letter again. A hundred times. Every time the words laughed at him a little longer, a little louder. The two sentences becoming emblazoned on his retinas.
Anger twisted itself inside of him until it became fear. Somebody besides himself and Jade knew about her pregnancy. It didn’t matter how somebody knew. It only mattered whom.
And whoever it was had no problem taunting a Govicide Agent.
Did Hiss write it?
No. If Govicide found out anything about Jade’s pregnancy Locke would have been questioned by now. But, here he was. In Dale City. In a hotel. At 1:15am. He’d eaten a great dinner. Ridden in a limousine. Flown here with Hiss in an SST.
If Govicide knew, they wouldn’t handle it this way. Its style was more confrontational than an envelope under a door. They came straight at subjects who ignored mandates.
But if it wasn’t Hiss, then who? The hotel’s registration book would have false names for him and Hiss. Somebody couldn’t just flip through the book and find an Agent’s room.
Out of the corner of his eye, Locke saw his reflection in the window. His legs bent at a slight angle, his arms out in front like limbs on a tree, his finger crooked, the fear now circulating through him.
The image in the window broke him out of his spell.
In one leap, he pressed his nose up to the warm pane. He didn’t know what he hoped to see. Somebody running away. Somebody in the shadows. Somebody jumping onto a bus at the last second.
No movement. Not a bus. Not a subject. Not even a cat or dog. The street possessed as much life as an OWG morgue.
He had no intention of giving up, though.
In seconds, Locke dashed out the door, not caring about his state of undress. His bare feet tore at the carpet as he ran fifty feet to the far end of the hall. He flung the exit door open and stopped to listen. No footsteps. No sounds of shoes on the stairs.
Without hesitation, he retraced his steps past his door to the other stairwell. Closing his eyes, and doing his best to tame his bucking heart, he listened.
He was rewarded.
From above--at least a flight--came the sound of someone on the steps. And the subject was getting closer.
Who was coming down the stairs? Hopefully the subject who wrote the message.
Locke ducked down behind the stairwell door, waiting for the subject to pass the landing. He’d be able to watch them through the window, then make his move and get them from behind.
The clinking sound of footsteps descended toward Locke. He pasted himself against the door, heart pounding the metal, his hands gripping the safety bar that locked it in place. His legs shook, his body on edge, ready to push his frame through the door and into whoever appeared on the other side.
The footsteps were close, so close Locke felt the vibrations. He and whoever it was were on the floor, within yards of each other. Peeking through the window, what he saw made him do a double take.
A female about Jade’s age rounded the corner. White, blond, about five-four, skinny but not rail thin. She carried a large, black bag. Dressed in dated non-black clothing, she didn’t seem in a hurry.
Locke hadn’t expected a female. No matter, he needed to check her out. He pushed the door with enough force for it to bang against its stop, reverberations ascending and descending the stairwell. “Where are you going?”
“Who wants to know?” Spinning on her right heel, she turned to face Locke. Neither the sudden sounds of the door or his voice made her jump.
They stood, seven feet apart, eyeing each other. The stranger dressed in blue jeans, a white t-shirt, and blue shoes. Locke . . . in his underwear.
“I’m Govicide Agent Michael Locke.”
“Really?” Placing her big bag on the floor, she inspected him from the top of his head to his bare feet. “So, I guess the rumor’s not true.”
“What rumor?”
“That Govicide Agents wear black underwear, too.”
He looked at his white boxers and couldn’t help but smile. The fear and anger shrank to half their size. But the female wasn’t getting off that easy.
“This is an emergency. Who are you?”
“Who are you?” She shot back.
“I told you. I’m a Govicide Agent. Let me see your OWG ID.”
“Where’s your badge? Your scanner? Your phone?”
“They’re back in my room,” Locke pointed behind him.
“Uh-huh. Pretty convenient,” she looked down her nose at him.
“I’m telling you . . .” He took a quick step toward her.
She backed up, grabbing her bag. “Don’t make me hit you with this.”
“Okay,” Locke stopped, almost stubbing his toe on the sticky, waxed floor. “Take it easy. I’m telling the truth.”
“You know it’s un-mandated for subjects to pretend they’re Agents?”
“Come with me to my room and I can show you I’m telling the truth.” He turned toward the stairwell door, motioning her to follow.
She shook her head and laughed, “Do you have any idea how many males have tried that on me?”
“I’m not lying.”
“And every Agent is supposed to carry his badge with him at all times. But you don’t have yours. Exactly how long have you been one?” The female leaned against the wall, still holding her bag.
This would be a hard one to explain to a subject. None of the Masses knew about his promotion. “Two days.”
“Two days? You’ve been an Agent for two days? Now I know you’re lying.” She descended the stairs. “You’re a little old to have passed the test.”
“And you look a little young to be all white.”
“Who says? In any case, I’m 32, well beyond the mixed race cut-off line. But thanks for the compliment.” She took two more steps.
“Wait--” Locke grabbed the banister.
She stopped, craning over her right shoulder. “What?”
“Show me your OWG ID and I promise not to bother you anymore.”
“Mr. Locke, or whatever your name is, I’m not showing you my ID. Try to see it from my perspective. If I show you my ID and you are who you say you are, you’ll hunt me down because it’s un-mandated to argue with an Agent, even an Agent dressed like you are and who has no badge.” She took another step down, away from Locke. “On the other hand, if I show you my ID and you’re not who you say you are, then I have broken the mandate saying subjects must only show ID’s to Agents and no one else. So . . . I’ll have to pass on your request.”
The female had a point. She knew her OWG Manual well.
“Then, what are you doing out here this time of night?”
She took one more step down toward the next landing. “Only an Agent can ask me that question. And I don’t think you’re an Agent.”
“Then let me search your bag.”
“Why? So you can take something out of it and get me mixed up in some un-mandated trade scheme? Do you think I’m stupid?” She pulled the bag against her chest.
This female had an answer for everything. And she was correct on all counts. If he were in her position, he’d do the same.
“Let me go to my room. Get my badge and I’ll be back.”
“And how do I know you won’t come back with two or three of your comrades who like to run around in their underwear?”
“I’m here alone,” Locke answered, edging closer to the stairs.
Two more steps and she was on the next landing turning the corner. “Why don’t you just tell me why you’re out here and maybe I can help you, whether you’re an Agent or not?”
“I can’t.”
“Then, I can’t help.” She disappeared from his view.
Locke heard her familiar “clink, clink” steps echoing on the next set of stairs. “Just tell me . . . have you seen anybody out here tonight?”
“No, Mr. Locke, I haven’t. Good night.”
He stood there until he heard her footsteps faded. Not long after, he heard the door at the bottom open and shut. And the female was gone.
Could she have been the subject who slipped the letter under his door?
He replayed the conversation with her. She’d been relaxed. No body language suggesting he caught her doing something she shouldn’t have been. She quoted the Manual with no problem, knowing how she was supposed to act when a possible fake Agent confronted her. Requesting to see his badge, forbidding Locke to search her bag, etc. She handled him right by the book, like any good subject.
No, she wasn’t the subject he was trying to find.
That subject had escaped.
Locke stood there, hoping another avenue would reveal itself instead of him returning to his room.
Nothing came to mind. And plus, what could he do? Confront another subject in his underwear? Without his badge? He’d already learned the hard way that wouldn’t work.
As he returned to his room, a singular question circulated between his ears. How did news of Jade’s pregnancy make it from their Gambling City living quarters to the envelope in his hotel room in Dale City?
If Jade did slip, it seemed a stretch she would just happen to squeal to a subject who could track down an Agent in a different city fifteen hundred miles away.
Maybe she requested something alerting the System to her pregnancy. But, he’d explicitly warned her about that. She couldn’t have forgotten so soon.
He fell into the chair at the table where the letter still lay. The words didn’t sneer at him as much. His nerves still stampeded but at least there was a fence around them. A strong one.
Reading the two sentences over and over, he sensed the sarcastic quality to them. “Congratulations” sounded more like, “Too bad for you, subject. You sure got yourself in trouble this time.”
Why had the writer written out, “Govicide Agent Michael Locke”? Was it so important in this secret letter he be addressed in the proper way? Why not just put “Michael” or “Locke”?
And how about the “Hello”? Locke picked up the letter, bringing it closer as if he would see more. The “Hello” felt so . . . comradely. Why was it not just “Hey”? Or “Dear”? Or forget the salutation altogether and start with “Govicide Agent”? The word felt like it had a happy tone. Who could be happy Jade was pregnant? He and Jade weren’t even happy about it.
Unless the writer intended to blackmail Locke . . .
That would most certainly make the sender happy.
He placed the letter on the table and pulled the chair over to the window. The clock read 1:40am. He didn’t see himself getting any sleep and he hoped Hiss wouldn’t notice in five hours.
The darkness made the hotel window act like a mirror. It reflected the picture on the wall behind him. It was a picture of a male in black armor with the white letters OWG on his chest slaying a dragon with a strange mark on its back. The mark looked like the letters F and E intertwined.
Over the following minutes, the moon crept its way into Locke’s view. A quarter lit tonight. The OWG visited it once several years ago. The project cost millions of credits to get the three astronauts there and back.
Millions of subjects received reduced Goods and Services as a result. Soon after, the Exalted Ruler suspended trips there until the OWG could do both at the same time. Then a few years ago, the new Exalted Ruler mandated the moon was a waste of time and credits. The OWG would never travel there again.
However, the OWG still used spacecraft to maintain its satellites. Without them, Goods and Services couldn’t be provided. Agents couldn’t communicate. Offenders couldn’t be caught.
The clock crawled past 2:30am. Snatching the envelope off the table, he evaluated the U. Why had it been written that way, with the ends out at angles?
Locke grabbed the letter. He held both the letter and the envelope in front of him, comparing the writing. The handwriting for the letter was Grade A. The small u in “Congratulations” was OWG Manual perfect.
Then, why was the U on the envelope so badly written?
Maybe two different subjects wrote them. One subject put the U on the envelope and another one wrote the letter? That seemed laborious.
Plus, both writings were in black ink. Had each been in different colors, Locke could believe the “two writers” theory. Otherwise, one subject wrote this.
The paper and envelope were standard OWG issue. The writer had been smart to not use anything unique.
But, had the writer been smart enough?
Subjects of the Masses acquired paper and envelopes in large packages with bar codes on the outside. What the Masses didn’t know was that each sheet and envelope had a bar code. The bars were microscopic and could be scanned but not seen. Locke remembered hearing something about this during the Hamilton investigation from a Govicide Agent. The bar coding of paper had been very hush-hush so as to catch subjects who might write hate letters to the OWG.
Would this piece of paper and envelope have the bar codes on them?
Locke set them on the table. Aiming his scanner at the bottom right hand corner of the letter, the scanner let out a soft beep. A barcode. Locke pumped his fist and turned the scanner over to read the display.
Nice try the display said.
“Dang it,” He wound his arm back to throw the scanner against the wall. A trickle of sanity kept his grip tight on it as his arm followed through. He didn’t want to explain a destroyed scanner to Hiss.
And, somehow he knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Nobody would leave a message like this for an Agent if it could be traced. At least whoever did it had a sense of humor.
Just in case, he checked the barcode of the envelope, finding the same message.
Locke grimaced, putting the scanner back in his bag.
Maybe he was going about this the wrong way. This required more Detective than Agent. And if this were a murder case, he would arrange the facts.
So, what were the facts?
Whoever did this knew Jade was pregnant, he had gotten recruited by Govicide, envelopes and paper had microscopic barcodes on them, he was in Dale City, and he was staying at this Hotel.
The last fact gave him an idea. He called the lobby from the room phone. The line rang three times.
“Hello, Govicide Agent Locke. How may I be of service to you?” the night worker answered.
“Did anyone ask for my room number today?”
“No, Govicide Agent Locke. And if anyone had, I would never have given it out.I know what the mandate is.”
No one would be stupid enough to ask for a Govicide Agent’s room number and, likewise, no one would be stupid enough to give it out. But, it was worth a shot.
“How about this? Has anybody been in the lobby today? Anybody walk through? Somebody you didn’t recognize? Somebody you don’t think is staying here?”
“No. I am sorry. Should I have?”
“I noticed you have cameras in the lobby. Do they work?”
“They work but they do not record. The OWG has not manufactured tapes for them since it went to the new System.”
Locke rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course. So nothing? No one?”
“No, Govicide Agent Locke. I am sorry. Will I be punished for this?”
Locke heard the clerk’s fear flow through the line. “No. Not this time. But did you happen to see a blond female leave an hour and a half ago? She was carrying a black bag.”
“I am sorry. I did not.”
“Are you sure?” Locke gripped the phone tighter.
“Yes. But there are four different exits on this floor. She could have gone out one of those. Many workers do. Will I be punished for not seeing her?”
“No.” He dropped the phone on its receiver, adding another fact to his list.Whoever did it knew the ins and outs of this hotel.
A subject could go a long way with secret information on an Agent. A blackmailed Agent ignoring a few counterfeit barcodes could help an Offender get around the System. Locke couldn’t remember any reports of Agents being caught for conspiring with Offenders and he doubted it ever happened.
And he didn’t want to be the first.
But, if blackmail was this Messenger’s goal, why not put it in this letter? Why not just come right out and say it? Maybe they wanted him to worry about it to soften him up, allowing Locke to think of all the horrible possibilities. Just to see him squirm.
Well, it was working. He felt like squirming all right.
Locke saw one good point in all this, though. For once, he was glad someone knew more about him than the OWG did.
If the OWG knew about this, he and Jade would be in prison already.