Twenty-one intermediate range missiles, each carrying two one-megaton nuclear warheads, streaked through the evening air towards twenty-one anonymous locations scattered throughout the countryside. Only those members of the High Council who were watching their screens in their luxurious mobile underground retreats understood the importance of the ludicrous trajectories. A glass of vintage wine fell from Brother Simon’s hand and smashed on his hand-woven silk rug as he sat frozen in his plush leather wingback chair. He could only watch helplessly as the warheads designated ‘track fifteen’ converged on a remote hillside thirty-seven kilometres from the capital. He was powerless to act as the warheads struck, penetrated ninety metres beneath the lush pasture and detonated within one hundred and fifty metres of their intended target. The resulting explosion created a huge underground cave, collapsed all the tunnels under the hill, crushed the luxurious mobile centre as if it was paper, and buried what was left of Brother Simon under a million tonnes of earth.
Within a couple of seconds all twenty-one members of the High Council, who had believed themselves invulnerable in their mobile underground retreats, were dead.
47
On his way back to the Academy, Kaspar checked to see if Voss had been bluffing about the fate of his two ‘tame nerds’, as he liked to call them. A fire had indeed raged in an office at the Analysis Division of the Academy. It had been so ferocious in its intensity that the authorities were still trying to confirm the IDs of the two fatalities. Kaspar didn’t need to wait for confirmation. Voss had been telling the truth. And the worst thing of all was that Kaspar couldn’t for the life of him remember their names. He found himself choking on regret that he’d inadvertently set in motion a chain of events that had cost so many lives.
And what would he say to Mac? Should he tell her the cruel truth about her dad or tell a kinder lie? How was he supposed to tell her that Voss had died by his hand? She’d never forgive him. Kaspar knew this wasn’t about him but he was desperate not to lose Mac from his life.
But that had to be her decision, not his.
Mac wasn’t at her usual desk at Library Services, but then again, Kaspar didn’t expect her to be. He contacted her via his CommLink, using a channel that was supposed to be for Guardian tactical use only. The moment she saw who it was she beamed at him. Kaspar swallowed.
‘Hey, Kas. Glad to see you’re all right. There have been some really strange, powerful rumbles felt right across Capital City for the last hour or so. It felt like underground thunder. Any idea what those are?’
Kaspar had a pretty good idea but he was going to keep his ideas to himself – at least for the time being. It hadn’t taken the Insurgency long to act on Rhea’s information. Kaspar still couldn’t process how he was supposed to feel about that. Too much had happened in a short space of time and his brain was on overload.
‘Can I come to see you or can we meet some place?’
‘What? Now? It’s after midnight.’
‘I know. I’m sorry, but it’s important.’
Mac’s smile faded as she took in Kaspar’s sombre expression. ‘OK. I’ll meet you in the recreation room in ten minutes.’
Kaspar nodded and disconnected the call. He had ten minutes to work out what he was going to say and how he was going to say it.
Kaspar stood up when Mac entered the rec room. He’d taken a seat away from everyone else in the furthest corner away from the door. What he had to say was for Mac’s ears only. He watched as she made her way over to him, curiosity written large across her face.
‘Hi, Kas.’ Mac smiled.
Kaspar nodded and waited for Mac to sit down before he did the same, choosing to sit next to her after an awkward moment spent standing and wondering if he should.
‘So what’s the problem? Akinyeme and Chin are still working on the data we gave them, but it’s looking good so far,’ said Mac.
So she didn’t know about them either. Oh, God!
‘Kas? Why did you want to see me this late at night – not that I’m complaining.’ Mac winked at him.
‘I . . . it’s about your dad.’
Mac sat back, her eyes never leaving Kaspar’s face. Her lips turned down with disappointment. ‘Oh. So you’ve found out who my dad is. I guess it was only a matter of time.’
‘Mackenzie, I—’
‘Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that Voss is my dad, but I didn’t want you acting all weird around me just because he happens to be your boss,’ Mac interrupted. ‘People either run for the Badlands when they find out or they’re all over me like a rash ’cause they think they can impress my dad through me. It drives me nuts. But I never—’
‘Mackenzie, I’ve got some bad news.’ Kaspar had to break in. He couldn’t let her carry on assuming that he was there to accuse her of something.
‘Bad news?’ Mac repeated sharply. ‘What kind of bad news?’
Kaspar took a deep breath. ‘I’m so sorry, Mac, but it’s about your dad. He . . . he died tonight.’
Mac’s eyes widened in horror. Her mouth fell open. ‘Dad . . . ?’ she whispered.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Kaspar repeated.
‘But how? I don’t understand. I spoke to him a couple of hours ago. He was fine.’ Mac’s eyes glistened as she stared at Kaspar. ‘How can he be dead? How did he die?’
Silence.
The truth? A lie? Right or wrong? Which was it going to be?
Choose, Kaspar. Choose.
Only at that moment did Kaspar realize Voss had been right about his feelings for Mac. Somehow, sometime when he wasn’t paying attention, he’d fallen for her. And this was the moment when he was going to lose her.
‘How did my dad die, Kaspar?’ Mac’s voice was choked with tears.
Kaspar’s gaze dropped to his lap but he forced himself to look Mac in the eyes as he spoke. ‘I killed him.’
48
Early the following morning, Kaspar visited the North Wing of the Clinic. He was ready to take out anyone and everyone who got in his way, but the place was deserted. Had the rats felt the ship sinking and fled?
There was a sense of subdued panic in Capital City. When the daily early morning multi-media address by one of the High Councillors didn’t happen, rumours began to abound. When no one from the High Council stepped forward to refute the rumours, speculation took hold of Capital City like some kind of virus. The explosions the night before . . . Could it be . . . ? But that was impossible. Surely the Crusaders couldn’t have targeted all the High Councillors in one night? No one knew quite what had happened, but there was a general feeling of the calm before an enormous storm.
What with the rumours and gossip circulating, and most people glued to their TV sets and the datanet news, no one paid much attention to a lone Guardian walking through the Clinic’s North Wing.
It took Kaspar over four hours to find her. He wasn’t exactly sure of the precise date and location of her ‘death’, only the month and year, so he had to laboriously search the North Wing room by room, floor by floor, and drawer by drawer until he found his mum.
He almost didn’t recognize her. He was about to shut the drawer when some instinct made him take a closer look. He thought he was prepared for the sight of her, whatever she might look like, but he was wrong. Kaspar remembered her as toned and athletic – but now she was small – mere skin and bones, wasted away by years of inactivity. He covered her naked body with his regulation Guardian overcoat, before looking into her eyes. He brought his face close to hers, wondering if any part of her could recognize him, but the lidless eyes just oscillated crazily. She was long gone, driven mad by over eleven years of watching unspeakable horror while trapped in a paralysed shell.
‘I love you, Mum,’ he whispered. Then he switched off the life support to her cabinet and held her dry, leathery hand until her breathing ceased and the crazy eyes stopped moving. Only then did he wipe away his tears with the back of his hands.
Where was she now?
Was she in t
he cottage? With his dad? The end of her rainbow?
Had she finally found her voice? Or was she at last dreamlessly sleeping?
Kaspar had brought her a dress uniform, but he couldn’t bring himself to put it on her. It didn’t seem right. With Janna and Mariska already out on patrol, he called the one other person who could help, the one person who hated him the most in the world. He called Mac.
The moment his call was connected, Kaspar could see that Mac had been crying. Her eyes were red and sore, her hair combed down and smooth against her head instead of the wild, spiky style she usually favoured.
‘Why are you phoning me? I have nothing to say to you,’ she said coldly.
‘I understand that you never want to see me again. Believe me, I get it. And I wouldn’t be troubling you if I had any other choice. But I . . . I need your help.’
Mac’s eyes narrowed as she regarded Kaspar. She certainly wasn’t making this easy for him, but then, why should she? The previous evening Kaspar had tried to explain the what and the why, but Mac had been in no mood to listen. He’d tried to explain that the political tracts written by the High Councillors over the years were nothing but lies. Mac refused to believe him. When he tried to tell her about Tilkian and her dad, she had raised her hand as if to strike him across the face. Kaspar had braced himself for the blow but made no attempt to stop her.
They had both stood frozen, captured images in an artist’s painting. Seconds passed before Mac’s hand had dropped to her side. An expression Kaspar had never seen before settled over her face, a look that made him flinch. It hurt worse than any physical blow ever could. Without saying a word, Mac had turned and left the rec room, her movements stiff and jerky like a puppet’s. She had been trying desperately to hold it together, at least until she left the room.
And Kaspar could do nothing but let her go, feeling utterly helpless.
From that moment, he had waited for the knock on his door or the CommLink call to report immediately to his new Commander’s office at the Academy. Mac held his future in her hands. One sentence from her when the officials came to tell her about the death of her dad and Kaspar knew he’d be locked up, never to see the light of day again – if he was lucky.
That’s why he had to take care of business while he still had the chance.
And the first order of business was to take care of his mum.
‘Mackenzie, I really need your help,’ he repeated.
The silence between them stretched unbearably taut.
‘With what?’ Mac asked at last.
‘My mum is one of the inmates of the North Wing,’ said Kaspar. ‘I need for her to rest in peace. She needs to be washed and clothed and I . . . I . . . can’t do it by myself.’
Silence.
‘I’ll be right there,’ Mac said, disconnecting the call before he could thank her.
Kaspar went down to the ground floor to stand just inside the entrance. He paced back and forth continuously, worried that Mac would bring the military police with her. She had every right.
Less than thirty minutes later she arrived. Alone. The two of them regarded each other as Kaspar searched desperately for the right words to say.
‘Thank you,’ he said softly.
‘I’m doing this for your mum, not for you,’ Mac informed him.
Kaspar led the way up to the eleventh floor and into the third storage room off the corridor. Mac looked around, confused.
‘Is this what you were trying to tell me last night? Is this place full of tortured and paralysed Insurgents?’ she asked, aghast.
Kaspar nodded. ‘Not just Insurgents. My mum is in here too. And she’s not the only one of the Alliance to end up here. Anyone who challenged the High Council’s right to rule or the way they governed ended up here as well. I recognized a few of the faces while I was searching.’ He opened the drawer containing his mum. He didn’t miss the way Mac gasped at the sight of her. She was still covered up to her neck with his coat, and the bag containing the military dress uniform he’d brought sat self-consciously on the floor beside her drawer.
‘Is she . . . is she dead?’ asked Mac.
‘Yes,’ Kaspar whispered. ‘She is now.’
‘Are the others dead too?’
‘Not yet. But they will be if I have anything to do with it.’
‘Can’t they be revived? At least some of them?’
‘No. The stuff they inject into them makes sure of that,’ said Kaspar.
Mac nodded slowly. ‘I’ll call you when I’ve finished.’ Her expression full of compassion, she looked down at his mum, reaching out her hand to stroke her hair.
With tears pricking at his eyes, Kaspar left the room. He paced outside, ready for anyone who tried to question his presence or turf him out of the building. But no one came along. The building was eerily silent. He glanced down at his hands. What would happen to him if he touched each and every living corpse in the North Wing? How many would he need to touch before the shared memories and the horrors they were constantly subjected to drove him insane? That’s what Rhea and the other Insurgents had probably had to live with for years. Kaspar couldn’t understand why she and the others like her hadn’t wanted to wipe out every single member of the Alliance in revenge for the North Wing alone. They had to have a strength of mind and depths of compassion that Kaspar could only just begin to imagine.
Finally Mac called him back. Her faint smile told him it was OK to look now. Kaspar viewed his mum and breathed a sigh of relief. She looked a bit more like herself, except for the lifeless, staring eyes. It was traditional to close the eyes of the dead, but even that was denied to the victims of the North Wing. Kaspar took out his sunglasses and put those on her.
In a moment of awful black humour, Dillon’s voice played in his head: ‘A corpse in shades? Your mum looks totally cool, man.’
Kaspar smiled. He didn’t know if Dillon got an afterlife. He hoped so. He hoped that a lifetime of drinking chemically-laced water every day hadn’t robbed him of that. He bent and kissed his mum on the forehead.
‘Bye, Mum,’ he whispered. Then he closed the drawer that contained her body for what he knew would be the last time. He straightened up to find Mac watching him.
‘Commander Martinez came to see me this morning to tell me about my dad,’ said Mac.
Kaspar forced himself to look at her even though her eyes were once again giving him ice burns.
‘He saw that I’d been crying and wanted to know how I knew about Dad before the news had been officially released.’
‘What did you tell him?’ asked Kaspar quietly. He needed to know how long he had to finish what he’d started. Had Mac told the commander where he would be when he’d phoned her earlier to ask for her help? No. If that were the case, they would’ve already arrested him.
‘I told him I had a premonition that something had happened to my dad,’ said Mac.
Kaspar frowned. ‘And he believed that?’
‘He had no choice.’
‘Does that mean that maybe someday you’ll forgive me?’ asked Kaspar.
Mac regarded him. ‘I don’t know, Kas. I truly don’t know.’
‘Fair enough,’ Kaspar replied. At least it wasn’t a straight-out ‘no’. It wasn’t all that he wanted, but it would have to do.
They left the North Wing together, but apart.
There was only one further atrocity attributed to the Insurgency. It happened the night after the missile strikes. The blowing up of the North Wing of the Clinic was without doubt a job of skilled precision. North Wing was obliterated but the implosion was designed so that no other part of the Clinic was damaged apart from a few broken windows. As the North Wing of the Clinic only housed the morgue, and a skeleton staff who were evacuated due to a fire alarm sounding just before the implosion, losses were minimal. News reports were grateful that the Insurgency seemed to have missed their target, which must surely have been the entire Clinic and not just one wing.
CCTV cameras picked up
the image of one lone, masked figure entering the North Wing with a rucksack on his or her back, only to leave about thirty minutes later minus the rucksack. The perpetrator’s face was obscured but new reports assured the populace that it was only a matter of time before the person responsible for such a heinous act was brought to justice. Kaspar watched the news and hoped fervently that they’d never find the person responsible. He really didn’t fancy spending the next umpteen years of his life in prison.
He took charge of the disposal of Rhea’s body personally. Those supposedly in authority had far too much on their plates to give him any kind of static about it. He found the perfect place to bury her, on a hillside overlooking a lake. He wanted to do that much for her. She deserved more but he had nothing else.
49
A week after the missile strikes, Kaspar walked into Library Services. A man in his early forties sat behind Mac’s usual desk. That’s how Kaspar had come to think of it – as Mac’s desk. Kaspar took a quick look around but he couldn’t see her anywhere so he headed over to the reception desk. Glancing down at the man’s amber security pass, Kaspar said, ‘Hi, Edwin. I’m Guardian Wilding. Is Mac working today?
‘Hello, Guardian. Mac’s up in the reference section this evening. That’s up on the second floor,’ Edwin replied.
‘Thanks.’ Kaspar forced a polite smile, already heading for the escalator.
‘Er, Guardian? D’you mind if I ask you something?’
‘Go ahead.’ Kaspar turned round.
Edwin was nervous, almost uncomfortable, but he looked Kaspar in the eye and asked, ‘Is it true? About the High Councillors and most of the SSG? Are they really dead?’
Silence.
‘Yes, it’s true,’ Kaspar replied at last. ‘Most of the SSG were protecting the High Council at the time of the strikes so . . .’
Edwin gulped. ‘Oh God! So why haven’t the Crusaders aimed their missiles at us in Capital City? Surely we’re the next obvious target?’