CHAPTER 19
The train’s screeching brakes wrenched Locke from his peaceful sleep as it pulled into the Dale City station. He met Hiss on the platform. The old Agent’s sparse hair was messed and even his suit showed wrinkles. Locke kept his opinions silent.
“Govicide Agent Locke, I made some calls. Somebody is going to check the Cornville area out, but they think it is a building site that never got finished. Thought you would want to know.”
Their limousine driver grabbed their bags, and they were off to the airport.
During the SST ride to Gambling City, Locke planned his talk with Jade. The trick would be doing it without his full emotions showing. He was upset with her for not being more careful. But if he were too accusatory, she’d give him the silent treatment. And neither of them needed extra complications.
But, she’d be at her work when he arrived. For a moment, he debated going directly there to confront her. The unanswered questions would eat him up until he spoke to her.
On the other hand, he didn’t want to cause a scene. He could see no way to have the conversation if others were around. He’d have to wait.
The SST landed with the smoothness Locke began to expect. No limousine waited for them. Instead, Hiss’ automobile was there and a similar one for Locke. Somebody in Govicide Logistics thought it better they drive their own automobiles. But, there was a problem: Locke never operated a vehicle before.
Hiss gave Locke a tutorial on the basics of driving. Locke, palms sweating, gave close attention as Hiss showed him how to start the engine. How to use the gearshift. How to use the turn signals. Everything else Locke would have to figure out himself.
Locke drove--more like steered--around the airport parking lot a couple of times to get a feel for it. He avoided two light poles and a parked bus, coming within inches of both. Otherwise, he did fine.
Hiss squealed out of the lot when Locke proved he could drive at a satisfactory level.
Adjusting his mirrors and looking both ways per Hiss’ previous instructions, Locke pulled out into the street. His nerves made him clumsy with the pedal. His right leg shook. The car accelerated to a point he felt was too fast. Hitting the brake, the car stopped, almost throwing him into the steering wheel. A few miles passed before he found a happy medium.
In the limo, the trip would’ve taken twenty minutes. With Locke driving for the first time, the trip took an hour. Two wrong turns added time to the journey.
The empty streets stood out to him. Once in a while when riding the bus he sometimes noticed it was the only motorized transportation on the streets. But, it didn’t seem odd. Now that he was driving, it was more than odd. For blocks he saw no other vehicles at all.
At the next intersection, the first vehicle appeared. He watched a bus drive right through a red light, not even slowing down. The driver smiled as though he ran lights all the time.
The OWG “overbuilt” the roads to prepare for the future when all the Masses would have automobiles. But, didn’t the overbuilding take away from the Goods and Services that could be given to the Masses now?
So many signs were posted along the streets for drivers but most subjects rode buses and walked. The bus drivers drove the exact same routes every day. The signs weren’t needed. Why hadn’t he noticed before?
But what did Locke know? The Exalted Ruler planned everyone’s future, so there must be a plausible answer.
Pulling into his living quarters complex, he had no problem finding a place for the automobile. Why were there so many spaces for automobiles when nobody drove them? He smiled and shook his head. How could he have lived in this complex for so long and never paused to think about the excess room for them?
Locke left the keys in it. Nobody here knew how to drive anyway. Plus, driving a Govicide automobile without permission was an automatic death sentence.
Lugging his cases inside, he dragged them to the bedroom. Jade wouldn’t be home for seven hours. Until then, he knew how to spend the time: researching the U.
With the vigor of an OWG Ditch Digger, he dug until he found the envelope and letter at the bottom of his smaller bag. A few minutes later, he sat at the computer, waiting for the dial-up connection on the OWG Web.
Using his Govicide ID, he accessed websites off-limits to the Masses. He could retrieve maps, encyclopedias, dictionaries, thesauruses, and history items. All of it was unavailable to regular subjects of the Masses since the information was irrelevant to being a good worker for the OWG. Govicide, however, could use these tools to catch Offenders.
For the next four hours, he ventured through these sites. He concentrated on different typefaces, hoping to find a style resembling the U. He had to be careful, though. Even though he was an Agent, the System would still track his movements.
The System monitored where everyone went on the OWG Web. The Administrators found this a good way to read subjects’ thoughts. The OWG Statisticians determined there was a ninety-eight percent chance an OWG website visited by one of the Masses reflected that subject’s mind. Following subjects’ patterns could do just as well as any mind-reading invention.
In his case, the System would predict Locke was interested in different styles of type. Thus, it wouldn’t raise any attention. Plus, he was an Agent now and would get a fair amount of leeway in his searches.
But, caution was always the concern while using the Web. Agent or not.
Locke leaned back in the chair and blew out a breath. Nothing came close to the U on the envelope and the padlock. Times New OWG, OWG Black, News OWG, OWG Helvetica, OWG Geneva. None of their U’s came close.
After hours of relentless searching and comparing, Locke took a break. A hammer pounded right behind his eyes. His neck ached right at his shoulders, like somebody took a flame to it. His fingertips ached from all the typing.
He stretched, walking to the eating room and back. Staring out the back window, he remembered Stallings standing at the large one in Govicide Headquarters during his interview. For a second, he thought there was something about Stallings during the interview. A kind of disconnection when he mentioned Hamilton.
Maybe Locke just imagined it.
Reinvigorated, Locke sat at the computer and tried a different path. What could the U stand for? Getting a pen and a piece of paper, he wrote down everything he knew about the case, from what Hiss told him, to what Locke knew but Hiss didn’t.
The warehouse. The cash. Hamilton. The Pyramids. The Cornville place. Ames. Wolf. Fourteen Agent deaths. He listed all of these topics and what he knew about each one.
He took a few moments to try to decipher what they all had in common. The answer? Nothing. They seemed to point in one direction but he didn’t know which one. Just reading all the clues made something about all of it feel bigger, even bigger than Hiss imagined.
He made a list of words starting with the letter U, hoping one of them would fit.
Unusual. Unruly. Uncommon. Underhanded. Unpleasant.
None of the words rang true.
A picture of Hamilton formed in his mind. He was only fifteen minutes away. He could ask him.
No, he told himself. That was un-mandated. He’d already been caught with the murderer once.
And even if it were allowed, would he have the courage? Locke remembered how they stared each other down, with Hamilton getting the best of him. Those black eyes, unwavering, daring Locke to punch him. Hamilton sat there in the room knowing there was no hope of escape but it didn’t faze him.
No, he wouldn’t confront Hamilton. If the U meant something important, Hamilton wouldn’t explain the mystery anyway. The murderer talked in riddles.
Maybe there was another side to this. Locke learned early on that every homicide scene was a representation of the killer. Murderers--males and females alike--were no different in their craft than OWG Writers. Different subjects killed in different ways, just as different writers used a variety of words to explain the beauty of the OWG.
Whoever this group was, they liked to leave their mark. There was no reason to put the U on the envelope. There was no reason to etch a U into the padlock. And since Hamilton was affiliated with them, maybe he left a mark? Could U’s be found at the Hamilton’s murder scenes?
The photos of them were available at the Homicide Department. Locke couldn’t access that computer from his living quarters, not even with his Govicide ID. He picked up his phone and began to dial the limousine but then he hung up.
The System would register a Govicide limousine in proximity to Hamilton. And in any case, Locke was sure Govicide instructed the limousine driver to avoid Homicide.
Could the limousine driver drop him off close by? He could walk the rest of the way.
No, too suspicious.
Wait, a minute! Locke slapped the computer desk. He had an automobile. Why not drive himself?
He could get in with an old Homicide key he had somewhere. The computer access would be recorded but shouldn’t raise a flag unless a System operator delved into all the code. He could look through the photos with no problems.
Locke could get into Homicide, find out what he needed to know, and get out without causing a stir.
A noise at the front door broke his stream of thought. Jade.
He met her in the hallway.
“You’re home,” Jade screamed, rising on her tiptoes to kiss him, but Locke shied away. “What? What’s wrong?”
“We need to talk.” Locke marched into the living room.
“What is it?” She followed him but not too close.
He planted himself in the middle of the living room floor, hands on hips. The U was of no concern now. Not Hamilton. Not the cash. She’d better have a good explanation. His fingers dug into his sides like steel claws.
Jade, purse in hand, lowered herself onto the couch as if the cushions were needles.
“Who knows about your pregnancy?” Any louder and their comrades next door would hear.
She jerked her head back, her face distorting. “My pregnancy? No one. Why?”
“Really?” He ripped the envelope containing the letter off the computer desk and handed them to her. “Read it,” he commanded, crossing his arms.
She opened the envelope, not admiring the U on the front. She scanned the words, eyes going wide.
“You still want to tell me you didn’t tattle to anyone?” The comrades next door heard that, for sure.
Jade lifted her eyes to him. “Yes, Michael. I didn’t tell anybody. No one. Where did you get this?”
“No one? No one?” The pent-up anger spewed out of his mouth like lava. “Somebody knows!”
He ripped the letter out of her hand. She flinched, shrinking into the cushions.
“I’m telling you. I haven’t told anybody,” Jade wailed, eyes brimming with tears.
Pacing the room, he did his best to divert his anger anywhere but to his mouth, afraid he’d say something regrettable. “I woke up at one a.m. yesterday to find this envelope with the U on it slipped under my hotel door.” He stopped, eyeing her.
“What does the U stand for?” she stuttered.
Locke pointed at her. “Don’t get me started.” He paused. “What did we say about how we needed to keep this quiet, huh? What did we say? We knew if this got out we’d both be done, right?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Her tears dripped off her cheeks like dew.
“Then tell me how a letter gets slipped under my door in Dale City when nobody anywhere is supposed to know about your pregnancy?”
It seemed every pint of water within Jade found its way to her tear ducts. Locke’s lava cooled. Somewhere down deep he believed her. She’d always been honest with him, even when it hurt. But, if that was the case, how could this letter exist?
He waited a few seconds, then sat on the couch, putting his arm around her. “I’m sorry. I believe you. There’s something going on I can’t tell you about,” he whispered. “I’m beginning to think it’s something huge. That’s all I can tell you. And whatever it is, the Offenders behind it know about our problem.”
“How could they know?” she asked between sobs.
“You got me. They just do. I’m sorry for yelling at you. I have a lot on my mind.”
He kissed her cheek. He wished her could tell her more but he knew she’d be appalled if her told her everything, especially the part about Ames.
Standing up from the couch, his right knee twinged reminding him of last night’s dive. He gathered his belongings.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Homicide. It’s time for some answers.”
No limousine. No driver. No tracking.