CHAPTER 26
It wasn’t a noise that woke Locke but a smell. Familiar. Rich. Penetrating.
OWG Coffee.
Opening his eyes, he squinted at the light streaming through the windows. Hiss’ seat was empty.
Locke pushed the button on his armrest and the seatback rose to the upright position. He yawned once to shake off the remnants of sleep. But, the coffee aroma did more than anything to wake him.
In a few seconds, not the flight attendants, but Hiss brought him a cup of the steaming brown liquid. “I did not know how you like it.”
“Thanks. As long as it’s hot, it’s fine.” Locke grabbed the cup, surprised by Hiss’ kindness. It certainly was out of the old Agent’s character from what Locke saw so far. With suspicion, Locke took a sip. The heat stung his lips.
Locke set the cup on the tray while Hiss took his seat across the aisle.
“Did you sleep?” Locke asked.
“A couple hours. You were out like a light.”
“Long day,” he answered. “When do we land?”
“Another forty five minutes.”
A slight feeling of weightlessness came over Locke and he steadied his cup to make sure it wouldn’t spill. The SST was descending.
Many of the fears that riddled him the night before were gone. He was still alive. The sun was shining and the partner he thought turned on him just served him OWG Coffee. Not bad. Not bad at all.
With a new day ahead of him Locke wondered if he overreacted last night. He’d been tired. Sure, Hiss asked him some pointed questions, but the Agent believed all Locke’s answers, or rather lies. Even the idea that Govicide might watch him a little more closely didn’t phase him. He’d stay in line for the next few days. Let the issue blow over. Be lockstep in line with Hiss. And when they got back to Gambling City, he’d figure out his next move and how he’d manage to speak with Hamilton again.
One point was certain. If he wanted to see Hamilton, he couldn’t drive there.
Locke watched out the window as the SST glided closer and closer to the clouds. He knew under those clouds existed a virtual wasteland. No plants. No trees. Nothing but a tundra of snow, ice, and dirt.
He shivered thinking about his last time there. The long, boat ride from the First Continent. The ice on the decks. Snowfall like he’d never seen before.
The wind would be howling at about 30 miles per hour. If they were lucky, whatever vehicle met them would be equipped with a working heater. The last time, the bus from the train station to the murder scene didn’t have one. He and the other subjects kind of huddled together during the hour-long ride.
He remembered the pictures of that particular murder scene he’d viewed on the computer at Homicide. During the murder, Hamilton wrote the upside down U directly above the murdered Govicide Agent’s head, right in the snow. No one noticed.
The memories gave Locke a daring idea--an inkling in his mind that Hiss might know about the Symbol, even though it hadn’t been a topic of discussion between them. Just as Locke withheld information, he suspected Hiss might be doing the same.
Locke checked to see if Hiss was watching him. He wasn’t. He, too, stared at the clouds as they hovered closer. The SST bounced from the wind swirls and updrafts from these gray fluffs.
Flattening out his coffee napkin, Locke took a pen from his suit jacket. On the napkin, he drew the upside down U.
When the SST entered the next cluster of clouds, he raised his coffee. The jet lifted up and settled in its flight line. As the jolt occurred, Locke acted like it knocked the napkin out of his hand. In reality, he threw the napkin in Hiss’ direction.
The napkin landed at Hiss’ feet.
“Wow, I wasn’t ready for that.” Locke exaggerated the statement, drawing out each word longer than usual. “What was it?”
“Turbulence.” Hiss answered, not seeing the napkin at his feet.
“Pretty strong.”
The SST once again bucked and moved. The first movements were up and down. The next ones side to side.
“Just wind within the clouds.”
“Scared me so much I dropped my napkin.” Locke indicated it with his chin.
Hiss spied the napkin. It had landed with the Symbol facing up. Hiss couldn’t miss it. He bent over and retrieved it. Locke watched Hiss’ eyes for any sense Hiss had seen the Symbol before.
“Were you drawing something?” he asked Locke, examining the Agent’s work.
“Doodling. Just letting my mind wander,” he lied but his eyes locked on Hiss’. “Didn’t have any regular paper.”
Hiss narrowed his eyes. “What is this? A U?” He flipped the napkin over. “A hill? What were you trying to draw?”
“Like I said. I was only doodling.” Locke stretched out his hand for Hiss to pass the napkin back. He placed it back under his cup.
Hiss had no idea about the Symbol. Locke could tell by the Agent’s indifference. Hiss hadn’t noticed the Symbols all over the streets of Gambling City. He hadn’t noticed the Symbol in the Hamilton murder pictures. He hadn’t even noticed the huge Symbol on the front of the warehouse in Gambling City.
Locke nodded but kept his smile of satisfaction inside.
Snow City was as cold and uncomfortable as Locke forecasted. No snowfall this time but plenty of snow on the ground. The wind chill cut through Locke’s layers like a saw. The airport was nothing like Gambling City’s, more like Cornville’s train station. No jet way to go out to the SST. Instead, OWG airport workers rolled stairs over to it.
Locke came prepared with his long underwear, hat, and heavy coat. Last time, he’d under-packed and it cost him. He didn’t know the word “frostbite” before Snow City.
Entering the airport, Locke and Hiss got a small respite from the blistering weather. The building wasn’t warm, but it felt nice to get out of the wind. After taking a few moments to catch their breath, the two Agents exited on the other side. Their limousine awaited them on the curb. The vehicle was a different model, a kind Locke couldn’t remember seeing the last time he was there. It had different markings, appeared older, and gruff sounds came from under the hood.
The driver spoke with a thick accent—the W’s were V’s and the V’s were W’s. He detailed where he’d take them, where they’d stay, and the distance from the hotel to the scene.
Night was already upon Snow City. It was eighteen hours ahead of Gambling City and even with the speed of the SST, they landed here almost a day later than they left. As the limousine maneuvered along the hard streets the sun set for the second time in a day.
This city boasted a remarkable landscape. The horizon couldn’t be seen on three sides of the city due to the encircling mountains and inactive volcanoes. A bay to its south led out to the Western Ocean.
As the limousine turned onto another bumpy street, movement outside caught Locke’s attention. Off to the passenger’s side, a piece of paper flapped in the wind, taped to a telephone pole. The paper was larger than eight by eleven, but smaller than poster size. And on that white piece of paper . . .
A black Symbol.
Somebody taped the paper to the pole.
Was it placed there for Locke to see it?
Hiss had been looking in that direction. If he remembered the Symbol on Locke’s napkin, he didn’t show it.
Their vehicle passed the Symbol and in another block stopped in front of the hotel. The Agents found their rooms, changed into warmer gear, and met at the limousine. It pulled out, right in front of an OWG bus. Twenty minutes later, the limousine slid to a stop along a fence on the other side of the bay.
The Local OWG Authorities, expecting the Agents arrival, had spotlights ready, pointing them onto the shoreline and water. Long concrete docks extended out into the darkness. Each of them, three in all, were about 500 feet long. Another made a semi-circle out into the bay, connecting to the mainland at two points 750 feet from each other. These structures dwarfed the concrete slab in Cornville.
Near their parking spot, someone had cut a hole in the links of the fence. Locke slipped through, barely touching the metal. Hiss caught his coat on the barbed edges and needed Locke’s assistance in untangling himself.
“Didn’t see this the last time I was here.” Locke said once they neared the spotlights.
“Looks like a shipyard. Built probably forty years ago,” Hiss answered.
Down by the water’s edge, two males stood talking in that weird accented OWG language. They saw the Agents approaching and met them halfway, bowing when they got close. “Hello, vee are local OWG Authorities.” The male pointed to himself and his partner. “A young boy playing here. Found hole in fence. Found cash buried in snow.”
The representative reached into his heavy coat pocket and pulled out bills. He handed them to Hiss, who gave one to Locke.
The bill was a “100,” identical to the ones in Cornville. Brittle from being in the snow, it crackled when Locke bent it.
“Thank you. You can leave us now. Govicide is officially in charge of this site.” Hiss’ tone and his hand gesture caused the males to leave the Agents at once.
“Same bills as in Cornville,” Locke stated when the locals were out of earshot.
“I see that.” Hiss started toward the shoreline. Locke followed.
They found a hole at the water’s edge. If Locke was forced to guess, he believed the child slipped through the fence and found a couple of bills. When the child alerted the Local Authorities--since the OWG taught all children how evil cash was, they showed up and dug this hole, exposing a huge amount of cash. The amount was about the same quantity they found flying around outside Cornville.
“If this is a shipyard, where are the ships?” Locke peered out into the bay.
“Ships? Most ships have been dismantled. They use up credits that could generate more Goods and Services. Except for the few the Masses ride, of course.”
“Like the ones I rode following Hamilton all over the world?”
“Exactly. But there are less than twenty of those. Too many in my opinion.” Hiss grabbed a cold stone from the shore and tossed it into the water.
“But these docks aren’t the kind a ship uses. They’re too small.” Locke watched the ripples from Hiss’ stone disappear.
“Thirty years ago when ships were smaller these could have been used.” Hiss pointed out one of the docks. “But now, we have bigger ships. There are fewer, but we carry the same amount of subjects. The OWG is always thinking.” Hiss tapped his head.
The docks were so low, ships would need to be one-tenth the size of a current OWG Ocean Liner to use them.
They took a short walk over to the nearest dock and stopped a quarter of the way out on it. The wind, full of the smell of salt, kicked up, causing them to draw their coats closer up around their necks.
This solid structure spanned about fifty feet across and rose ten feet above the water. Fixed steel moorings were spaced out about every two hundred feet. They were on each side enabling more than one ship to park.
Saying nothing, Locke and Hiss gazed at the water. Locke’s mind fixed on the lonely Symbol, surviving on that telephone pole.
Hiss spoke first. “It is clear what occurred here. These Offenders were moving cash. Had some boats. Brought the boats here and a little cash fell off as they were transferring it from the boats to whatever they used to move the cash on land.” Hiss sounded proud of his deductive abilities.
“Or the cash got here by land and they picked it up by boat,” Locke countered.
Hiss’ head swiveled and stopped on Locke. “I suppose that could have happened, too,” he glared.
“Isn’t the real question, what does the Cornville site have in common with a dock in a city covered with snow most of the year?” Locke allowed the statement to sink into Hiss. “That’s the puzzle. Not how the cash got here then taken away.”
The older Agent didn’t answer. He seemed to ignore Locke.
Locke wasn’t surprised, so he tried a different line. “You really think these subjects are only Offenders and not something more?” Locke kept his voice deliberately casual while studying the bay.
“What else would they be?”
“Well, if we wanted to go by the Manual, a subject could make the point that this isn’t the action merely of Offenders but . . . ” Locke had to try. “ . . . Free Enterprisers?”
Hiss’ chin fell to his chest, rubbing it as his head shook. “I hope you will not be like this every time.”
“Like what?” Locke answered, remembering Hamilton’s Free Enterpriser confession.
“If every time you see a bill of cash or somebody going outside of the System you jump to the conclusion it is the work of Free Enterprisers. It will get old real fast.”
Locke cleared his throat, a mist escaping from his mouth. “We’re supposed to go by the OWG Manual and it says . . . ”
Hiss interrupted, “ . . . Free Enterprisers do not exist. No matter how you may interpret what is in those 1000 pages. What the Manual says is that no one wants to overthrow the System or the OWG. Who would be so stupid? Everything is provided. Everything is given. Everything is covered. And just because a few un-disciplined subjects--Hamilton and whoever else--have some scheme going on, does not mean they are Free Enterprisers.”
“I think you’re missing something here, Govicide Agent Hiss,” Locke felt the hair on the back of his cold neck rise. Easy, Michael.
“Free Enterprisers are theoretical. It is a way to scare subjects with what can happen when the Masses are left to their own devices. That is it.” Hiss chopped his left hand through the cold air. “I wish Hamilton and the rest of them were Free Enterprisers. I would be thrilled. Something that does not exist is suddenly alive. I would make a name for myself in defeating a legend. I would probably get the Director’s Chair like that.” Hiss snapped his gloved fingers. “But look, as bad as the murders of those Agents were, they do not compare to attacking the System, or getting the Masses to protest the OWG. But none of that has happened. Has it?”
Locke couldn’t help but answer, “No.”
“In fact, they have done everything to avoid the System and the OWG. From what we can tell, none of this cash has ended up in a large multitude of hands. And it has been how long? Months? Two years? Nothing. So, let us bring the Free Enterpriser talk back to reality.”
Hiss had a point. There were thousands of Agents. Hamilton murdered fourteen. Hardly a Free Enterpriser revolution. Double that amount died every year from natural causes and accidents.
“Maybe you’re right.” Locke wanted to keep to a three-word answer but he couldn’t help himself. “But what if Hamilton said that he was a Free Enterpriser?”
Hiss invaded Locke’s space. “Why? Did you talk to him? Is that what you were doing at Homicide?” He tried to catch Locke’s glance but Locke did his best to avoid the connection.
“No. Of course not.” Locke retreated a step. He shouldn’t have mentioned Hamilton. Or Free Enterprisers. Either subject was too close to the edge. He needed to back away from those topics. He was on shaky ground as it was.
“Govicide Agent Locke, do you know how many times over the years Offenders claimed they were Free Enterprisers?” Hiss continued to stare at Locke. “It is a joke by now. Everyone has delusions of grandeur. Nobody can be a regular criminal. These Offenders want to be the worst but few—well, really--none have the stomach for it. They do what they can to get around the System, taking a little bit here, a little bit there, and then when they get caught they say they were trying to overthrow the System. Then, after a few torture sessions, they discover how much they love the OWG. It is a joke. And over time, you will get the punch line. There are no Free Enterprisers.”
Locke oscillated between viable but opposite ideas. On one hand, all the evidence pointed toward the idea that the OWG was in the process of being overthrown. This included Hamilton’s own words in calling himself a Free Enterpriser. The Symbols. The cash. The murders of the Agents.
On the other hand, nothing within the System and the OWG had been attacked. And, this had been going on for two years. Wouldn’t something big have happened by now? Maybe Hiss’ position was stronger than Locke wanted to admit. Hiss was the one with the experience, after all. He was correct. Sometimes criminals had delusions that they were more important and bigger than they were. And above everything else, all Goods and Services were getting to the Masses without any problems.
“You’re correct, Govicide Agent Hiss. You have the experience. Maybe I just need some more time under my belt so I can get the punch line.”
“Exactly. I have had enough of this place and I am cold.” Hiss withdrew to the shore.
Waiting for a few seconds before following Hiss, Locke watched the lights of Snow City five miles away. Set against the dark mountains, the city appeared to be a ship on the high seas, not anchored to the continent. Somewhere in that city somebody knew how to break the tie between these two competing ideas in Locke’s head. But, he had no idea how to find him.
Was Hamilton what he claimed or not?
The driver had left the automobile running, so it felt toasty when the Agents climbed inside. He made a U-turn and drove along the fence. The local authorities disconnected the spotlights one by one. Each went out with a bang Locke heard from inside the automobile. Within thirty seconds, the bay faded to black.
Locke regained feeling in his toes by the time the limousine reached the outskirts of town. He waited with anticipation to see the paper Symbol sign he saw before. It would be on their way. He wanted to reassure himself there was something to his idea of Free Enterprisers on the move.
The automobile rounded a slight curve and Locke focused on the left side of the street. The headlights caught the telephone pole for a second. In that second, though, Locke noticed the paper had disappeared.
Locke’s gaze followed the pole past the driver’s side and the rear taillight. Then, the pole vanished into the night. Someone took the sign off the pole while they were out at the docks. Had the Symbol been specifically placed for Locke to see it?
He doubted it. No one knew they were here.
But no one knew they were in Dale City either.
No. The harsh wind ripped the paper off the pole. It was the only reasonable answer.
Locke grimaced, feeling the disappointment radiate from his gut.
“What are you looking at?” Hiss asked.
“Nothing,” Locke answered on the heels of Hiss’ last word.
A phone rang inside the auto. Locke checked his phone, but the ring belonged to Hiss.
Hiss reached into his pocket and pulled his out. “Hello . . . yes . . . is that right . . . really? . . . okay . . . tomorrow? . . . sure . . . where should we meet . . . uh-huh . . . seven in the morning . . . we will be there.” Hiss pushed a button on the phone and dropped it into his pocket.
“Who was that?” Locke cleaned the sad expression from his face.
“A Controller. A satellite picked up a WPS signal north of here. Strange it still works after all this time. We will catch a helicopter tomorrow at seven.”
“We’re not heading back to Gambling City tomorrow?” He felt desperate to talk to Hamilton again. Locke controlled the hint of a whine in his voice.
“It has to be done. May break this case,” Hiss answered.
“How far away?”
“About three hours by helicopter.”
“Three hours? That’s three hundred miles?”
“About that.” Hiss poured himself a drink.
At the hotel, the Agents parted ways. Hiss found a stool at the OWG Bar and Locke ascended to his own room. It didn’t have a street view like the one in Dale City. Instead, the window opened to a brick wall a few feet away. The wall was so close, the room’s light created shadows on it.
Overall, the room was older, and not as nice. The wind penetrated the window seals, forming frost on the inside. Rips and tears populated the couch and chair. The lights, dim. The water, tepid. But, it was nicer than the place he stayed in last time.
Locke reclined on the lumpy bed. His mind time-traveled back to how simple things had been before he heard of Hamilton. The OWG was perfect. The System was perfect. No one was trying to kill Govicide Agents. He didn’t have to worry about Jade’s pregnancy and what it might mean to their future. All their Goods and Services came on time and there was no threat some group might be out there trying to undermine everything.
And he didn’t have to concentrate on every passing building or sign searching for the Symbol.
His brain recycled the thoughts over and over. Each time they came out more muddled.
A half hour crawled by, and he was no closer to sleeping. He needed a walk.