CHAPTER 6
Locke followed the arrows through another deserted airport, giving Megan’s piece of paper one glance on the way. As expected, it was her phone number, seven digits in all. He threw it in the first trashcan he saw.
After getting lost once, he finally stood on the curb face to face with a driver holding a sign saying, “Locke.”
“That’s me,” Locke pointed to himself. The driver, wearing a black suit similar to an Agent’s uniform, seemed unimpressed, putting away the sign and saying nothing.
The limousine crouched in its spot. Black and shiny, long but shorter than the buses Locke rode. But it was out there. Locke guessed between seventeen and twenty feet.
It seemed to belong to another time, like it was too old for the OWG. From the tiny, metal statue sticking out from the front to the wheels with shiny spindles in the center, it gave off an aura opposite of the futuristic SST.
And it grumbled, leaving Locke to wonder what powered this automobile. A jet engine? The Gambling City buses idled without a sound. They came alive when provoked by the driver. This limousine seemed to have a life of its own even with no one inside.
The driver opened the back door to the limousine. Locke stepped down and in, taking his bags with him.
Like the SST’s, the interior of this automobile was nothing like he’d ever seen. Video communication device. Phone, he couldn’t remember the last time he saw a phone outside a building. A refrigerator and a bar with OWG Non-Alcoholic Liquid. The seats, leather . . . again. The windows were so tinted he could barely see The District skyline while they pulled onto the highway.
Locke had never been to The District before. The OWG recommended, but did not mandate, every subject of the Masses to come here at least once. Few could, given their work hours making sure the OWG continued to operate.
But, thousands still managed to find their way there. Many walked from hundreds of miles away, just to see the District once before leaving the World. Locke heard the trip gave those subjects a renewed and stronger belief in the OWG.
Seeing the skyline gave Locke a wholly different feeling. Dread.
Locke imagined the Director sitting in Govicide Headquarters waiting for him. Lining up his questions. His insights. His accusations. He would see every flaw in Locke. What if he read Locke’s mind and found Jade’s pregnancy?
No, not even the Director could do that.
Locke picked at the leather beneath him, thinking this was all a mistake. He couldn’t be a Govicide Agent. They were too tough. Too perfect. Too skilled.
And he was just a detective.
But, being an Agent could be the only way to escape the pregnancy trouble.
The thought steeled Locke.
They came upon the Chamberlain Monument. It was a tall white column, alone at the peak of a small hill. As if a preprogrammed computer, the driver spoke, “The Chamberlain Monument is just over five hundred feet high. Chamberlain was the first Director of Govicide. He said: The One World Government is reason; it is eloquent; it is not force.”
As soon as the Monument was in the rearview mirror, the driver returned to his silence. Locke waited for more words. None came.
“Know your monuments, do you?” Locke asked.
No response. The driver kept his eyes straight ahead.
Minutes later, they passed the Carter Memorial. It was white as well but not tall like the Chamberlain Monument. Pillars surrounded it along the outside with steps leading up to it. A dome capped its roof.
Once again, on cue, the driver spoke. “This is the Carter Memorial. A statue of Thomas Carter, third Director of Govicide, is inside. Carter once said: A wise and lavish One World Government, which shall leave males and females not free to regulate their own pursuits of industry and improvement, and shall take from the mouth of labor the bread that it has earned--this is the goal of Govicide. After that quote, Govicide began controlling all economic functions to make sure the OWG provided everything for everyone.”
Not only did the driver’s mouth seem to turn on and off like a computer, he sounded like one as well.
“That’s interesting,” Locke responded. “What’s your name?”
No acknowledgement.
Was he like this with all his passengers? The driver couldn’t get away with this if an Agent attempted to talk to him.
Maybe the Agents didn’t talk to him?
Locke pondered while the Schultz Memorial appeared in the distance. Built like the Carter, it had a flat top instead of a dome, a bit more rectangular as well.
Locke saw the driver’s mouth open and an idea pushed him in a split second.
“I’ll take this one, driver,” Locke yelled out. “Eric Schultz kept Govicide together through some of its roughest times, those days before the System came online. His quote: The OWG will never be destroyed from the outside. If it falters and subjects lose their entitlements, it will be because a lack of Govicide destroyed it.” He cleared his throat. “That quote in a time of crisis gave everyone hope and allowed Govicide to grow larger and stronger.”
As much as he wanted to, Locke didn’t laugh. Instead, his insides got to feel the joy alone. And his interruption provoked a reaction from the driver. Was that a scowl Locke saw in the rearview mirror?
Just when Locke thought about giving the driver another shot at conversation, Govicide Headquarters appeared in the distance. The view brought everything back into focus. And that steeling of his confidence he did minutes ago began to melt.
This building had a similar construction style to the Carter and Schultz Memorials but dwarfed them. Pillars. Dome. White blocks. Two large sets of stairs climbed straight up the front. Large wings on each side of the dome-covered center extended out at least three hundred feet in opposite directions. The building possessed many windows, even in the dome of the center section.
Locke didn’t appreciate the size of it until the limousine dropped him off in the front. Everyone felt small in the presence of Govicide. Now, Locke felt small in the presence of its building.
The driver walked around the limousine to open Locke’s door but Locke was way ahead of him, exiting the automobile on his own. Noticing this, the driver spun right around and marched back to his door.
“Where am I going?” Locke asked.
The driver didn’t say a word but pointed toward the stairs. He sped away before Locke reached the first step. His confidence melted further upon touching it.
It became a puddle a minute later when he reached the top step.
He looked up to see the tall dome seemingly leaning out over him, looming like his impending interview. This was a mistake, the sweat on his back proved it. He was not supposed to be a Govicide Agent. That had been decided when he failed their test so many years ago. It didn’t matter what the Director said, whether he decided for or against Locke.
Locke searched for someone, anyone. But no one else was there on those steps. Not one human he could talk to. Not one human to ask if Locke had any other choice than to open the door in front of him.
But, their answer would be what Locke already knew. He had to do this. The Director mandated it.
The reception area echoed like the airports, no furniture except for a solitary counter centered under the dome. Had OWG movers forgot it and left it there? Locke leaned his head back. The sun came through the tiny windows and made complex patterns of light and dark on the plaster. The rest of the lobby mirrored all the luxury the SST and limousine possessed. Granite floors, deep red wood for walls, covered by tapestries from OWG artists.
As he approached the counter, much to his surprise, a female sat behind it as if hiding. He couldn’t see her from the front door. She didn’t raise her eyes when he peeked down at her. A magazine, the OWG Enquirer, kept her attention.
“Hi, I am here to see Director Stallings.”
“Sign in.” She pointed to a pen and paper and pressed a button to the right of her telephone. She did this all in one fluid motion. Not once did she look at him.
Locke signed-in, noting no one signed the sheet since last week.
“Not many visitors, I guess?”
Nothing.
He turned when he heard a clicking approaching.
“Detective Locke?” The voice sounded neither nice nor nasty.
The clicking came from the heels of female over six-feet tall, thin with no curves. Dressed all in black—shirt and pants—per Govicide requirements, she wasn’t ugly but she wasn’t pretty. Pure white skin with ink black hair. Locke guessed she was in her forties.
“That’s me.”
She extended her hand. “Welcome, I’m Leona Zell, Director Stallings’ assistant. Please follow me.”
He recognized her voice—the female on Knight’s radio from the day before.
They shook hands and Ms. Zell strode off toward a bank of elevators. Locke hustled to catch up, dragging his things behind him.
“Quite a building you have here. Of course, I have my picture hung in my living quarters as mandated. But I did not expect it to be this--”
“Big? We get that a lot.”
They reached an elevator. Ms. Zell pushed a button, lighting it up.
“And how was your flight and limousine ride?” she asked him. Her tone indicated she already knew the answer.
“Great. I knew Govicide Agents traveled well but what an experience.”
“You’ll get used to it. That is, if you pass the Director’s interview.”
Yes, the interview. Locke backed up against the wall, once again remembering why he was there. It was almost too easy forget with all the elegance around him. The Director sat just a few floors away.
“You don’t do a very good job of disguising your anxiety, Detective Locke.”
“Was it that obvious?” Locke wiped his palms on his dark blue pants, double-checking to make sure the sweat didn’t leave a stain.
She raised a thin eyebrow.
The elevator “dinged” and the door opened. Ms. Zell entered first.
They ascended to floor number three, neither saying a word. Ms. Zell faced the doors. Locke stood behind her, grabbing the railing so his nerves would not crush his legs. The elevator creaked and rocked like a cradle back and forth.
He examined her, not out of attraction but due to curiosity. There was something about this female. Something Locke sensed before but could not place. It wasn’t her posture or her clothes. Nor her perfume, she wore none. Her movement? Her body language? Her--
Ding!
The door opened and what greeted them differed one hundred percent from the lobby. Young males and females, all dressed in black similar to Ms. Zell, scampered to and fro. All of them carried stacks of papers. They seemed on a mission and were late getting there. The sound reminded Locke of a flock of seagulls he heard the one time he visited the beach. Ms. Zell waited a second then stepped into the maelstrom. He was quick to follow, not sure if he could keep up.
She navigated the obstacles with experience. He did not.Several times he bumped into a Govicide worker headed somewhere, apologizing each time. They glared back. Through it all, he managed to keep Ms. Zell in sight. If she had been shorter, he would have lost her. She maneuvered around desks, chairs, wastebaskets, and disassembled computers, not touching one. He hit every object he passed.
She was waiting for him when he reached her, arms crossed.
“Is it like this all the time?” he asked between labored breaths.
“Detective Locke, it takes a lot of work to provide everything for everyone.”
She opened a door and entered. He followed glad to leave the chaos behind
Quiet. Empty. Elegant. The next room lacked any “office feeling” at all. With walls made of dark, reddish wood, it resembled the lobby. Paintings he’d only seen in pictures hung in the center of each panel. Each illustration depicted, in figurative terms, a scene from OWG and Govicide history.
One was a rendering of the OWG coming together, with thousands of subjects kissing three rings with “OWG” etched into them. The title of the painting: Ultimate Control.
Another painting showed Govicide collecting the last piece of cash from an Offender. The Offender smiled, realizing how much his contribution helped the OWG provide for everyone. The artist depicted Govicide as a handsome male, frowning and shaking his finger at the ugly, common subject. This title: We Know Best.
The third depicted the Armies of Govicide in black banishing the green-clothed Free Enterprisers off the World. The painter--Locke couldn’t remember her name--showed the Free Enterprisers—creatures with horns, claws, and big noses--falling off the World while the model-perfect Govicide Army pushed them. This one: Victory.
The Masses could be so artistic when the OWG mandated.
The room was furnished with pieces he’d only seen in books. All of it seeming too beautiful or too delicate to even sit upon. Swirls in the paint. Faces in the carvings. Names of former Govicide Directors and Agents etched on the seat backs. Stained glass replaced the ordinary glass in the tabletops. And all of it bathed in beautiful sunlight streaming in through a bay window on the far left side of the room.
Ms. Zell, unfazed, led him to another door opposite the one they entered. Grabbing the knob, she checked her watch. Her hand let go of the knob.
“We’re early. The Director mandates timeliness. Not early. Not late. On time.”
Hearing the words, “the Director,” Locke’s left foot retreated a half step and his head felt woozy. He steadied himself by leaning against the wall near the Victory painting. He let everything he brought slide to the floor, bringing the OWG Manual was proving more of a pain that he thought.
“Anxiety hitting you again?” She took a step toward him, her hand reaching out.
“I’m alright. It’s been building since I got the call from my Captain.” His stomach didn’t feel good either.
“Well, it’s now or never, Detective.” She checked her watch. “It’s time.”