City of Broken Lights Read online

  I felt a tug on my sleeve and glanced at Sarah. She didn’t say a word but with eyebrows raised nodded her head at Greg to ask her question.

  “Greg, it’s great to see you after all these years, but, ah, well...”

  The ex-Shore Patrol officer’s smile vanished. “I can’t divulge anything, Sarge. I’m sorry. Orders.”

  “Well, let’s get going then,” I grumbled. “The sooner you deliver us, the sooner we can get some answers.”

  Greg tried to take Sarah’s lone bag from her only to meet with resistance. Scowling, Sarah yanked the bag away, took two steps back, and assumed a defensive stance. Greg looked at me and shrugged. He stuck his tablet in a pocket inside his jacket and at a brisk pace led the way towards his vehicle.

  I gasped as I passed through the exit. The heat and humidity hit me in the face like a bucket of warm water. The smell Sarah had complained of earlier was strong, a cross between manure and ammonia. Whatever it was, it was vile.

  “Winds are blowing in from the refineries in this part of New Paris,” Greg explained. “You get used to it.”

  Nobody spoke as we made our way to the parking area reserved for limousines and other types of transport used by the wealthy, politicians, and celebrities. Alone, parked diagonally across three spaces was our ride, a long black limousine. This time Sarah allowed Greg to take her bag and load it into the trunk. In short order, our luggage was stored, and we were seated in the spacious passenger compartment. Father Nathan and I sat on the rear seat while Sarah reclined on the long bench seat on the left side of the vehicle. With her knees pulled up and her long dark tresses covering her face, Sarah pulled her black greatcoat tight and feigned sleep. A bulletproof wall of glass separated us from the driver compartment. Communication with the driver was possible only by an internal comm.

  With the practiced ease of a professional, Greg had the limousine running and hovering in a matter of seconds. He pulled through the parking space and made his way with haste to the exit from the parking area, joining the road leading out of the spaceport complex.

  I had a distinct feeling Greg knew more than he was telling. I also knew the man was loyal to a fault. If he'd received instructions to tell us nothing about the job, there would be no sense in talking to him as he drove us to our destination.

  Nobody felt like talking, and that was fine with me. I observed the city as we drove away from the spaceport. Like most newly settled planets, the first neighborhoods and industries grew up around the spaceport. As the planet became prosperous, or rather more developed, new settlers arrived — settlers who were not needed for the extraction industries or processing plants.

  The second wave of settlers would be retailers, people who sold goods and services to the blue-collar working class. Lawyers, doctors, and teachers would come in the second wave. Homes would be constructed for these settlers but not in the same parts of town as the original colonists.

  These new colonists had the money to pay their way to Athens II and start their business or practice. The first settlers were little more than contract labor, indentured servants if you will, brought in by the corporations and government responsible for settling the planet and developing it.

  As the years passed, the children of the first settlers took their parents places in the mines and processing plants. The lucky ones got an education and escaped the backbreaking toil of the mines and the plants. Some girls married their way out of the working class. Generations later, like other planets before it, Athens II was prosperous and well developed.

  But the working class remained where it started — living in the rough part of town. Rough because it was old and worn, not because the people lacked character or soul. I liked neighborhoods like the ones we passed through. The buildings told a story of hard work, sacrifice, and determination. The people who lived and worked here were the ones who built New Paris. They were the ones who created a civilization where before there had only been a barren world.

  To the uneducated eye, the rough neighborhoods we passed through were crime havens. True, I spotted drug dealers, thugs, and streetwalkers, pretty much what one would expect to see. But these were honest criminals. They made no bones about the fact they earned their living by breaking society’s laws.

  As the neighborhoods changed and grew cleaner and more modern, all that changed was the type of crime. I still spotted drug dealers, prostitutes, and assorted troublemakers. They were just dressed better, less visible to the uninitiated, and ran a more profitable criminal enterprise. What wasn’t noticeable was the graft and corruption, the white-collar crime. Politicians making backroom deals and executives skimming accounts and engaging in insider trading.

  It was a shame really. Most of the people who lived in these neighborhoods were good, honest folks. They wanted what most people wanted. To raise their families and give their kids a better start in life than they had, if they could have some fun along the way and enjoy life, even better.

  I could see Father Nathan was passing the time in the same manner, watching the people as the shifts changed. Some were going home from a long night. Others were trudging their way to start a long day, criminals and civilians alike.

  When the scenery changed again, I began to get uncomfortable. Upscale neighborhoods make cops nervous. Things look nice. You don't see the poor and ragged of society, the people everyone wishes would vanish. The rough-mannered blue-collar workers and the poorly educated people who work in the cheap diners and retail shops serving those workers would never set foot in the neighborhoods we passed through now.

  There were no drug dealers on the street corners, no prostitutes advertising their wares in the cold of the night.

  The criminals in this part of town passed themselves off as honest, honorable people. They earned their living by cheating people out of hard-earned money. To be sure, plenty of honest people lived in the neighborhood, and just like in any other city, the good and the bad live together.

  I've met my share of people and like most of them just fine. It's the two-faced ones who deceive you that I can't stand. Sort of like the two-faced Roman god Janus I learned about in school.

  “It’s ironic, isn’t it,” Father Nathan mused aloud.

  “What is?”

  He shook his head in dismay. "I'd rather be in the rundown part of town where all the broken lights are than here. You know? Everything's well lighted. You can see pretty much everything."

  Father Nathan’s face turned somber.

  “Except, of course, what people don’t want you to see.”

  Chapter Four

  Our ride lasted another fifteen minutes. Sarah sat up and took notice of her surroundings. I enjoyed watching how she took in everything. There are very few people who observe their surroundings as Sarah does. It had taken some coaching on my part to teach my partner to see things like a cop and not a prey animal trying to spot the predators.

  Greg turned into a narrow street with no lights, slowing the luxury hovercar to a few kilometers an hour. I adjusted my right eye, allowing me to see clearly. Heavy but ornate security fencing lined both sides of the street. Blocking the road at the end was a large gate. The car stopped by a security panel mounted on a steel post.

  After Greg ran a swipe card through the device, the small screen activated, displaying a touch screen numeric keypad. With his left hand covering the screen, Greg used his right hand to enter the security code quickly. He leaned forward and looked into the device. First a red and then a green light scanned his retina. Finally, the screen cleared and reformatted, displaying a generic handprint. Greg pressed his hand on the screen and then started, quickly pulling his hand away and shaking it. The device had taken a tiny blood sample for a DNA test. Our mysterious host took security seriously.

  We traveled slowly down an even narrower lane that wound through the property. In the distance on the horizon, the first hint of Athens II's sun was making its appearance. After an interval of what had to be a kilometer or more the limousine eas
ed to a halt. We exited the vehicle and collected our possessions.

  Before us was a large mansion, I had no doubt armed security watched our approach. I had a good chuckle at the thought. Greg looked at me with a puzzled expression, wondering what I found amusing. Father Nathan grinned at the man’s bewilderment.

  “Greg, it’s nothing,” the priest laughed.

  Sarah shot both of us a nasty look, her cheeks red with embarrassment. It wouldn’t matter how closely we were watched. If Sarah felt the need to do so, she’d vanish in front of the security guards’ eyes. Nor would they be able to find her on most of the videotape if they looked.

  Using his card, Greg opened the secure door and showed us a small anteroom where we were to leave our luggage. From there he led us to an ornate room, decorated with artwork and assorted artifacts. Wood paneling covered the walls, and the furniture appeared to be made of real wood as well. Plush overstuffed chairs and a couch beckoned, covered with genuine leather.

  Greg excused himself and left the three of us in the room alone. After being confined first in the shuttle, then the spaceport, and the long ride in the limousine, Sarah was growing more anxious by the minute and eager to roam about the city. While my partner paced back and forth in the luxuriously appointed room, Father Nathan calmly examined the paintings hung on the walls.

  Time passed slowly, and I grew tired of the power game our mysterious employer was playing. I decided to wait fifteen more minutes, and then we were leaving. I'd find a hotel for the good Father and me. One where we'd get a night's rest and Sarah could explore freely. Our round-trip tickets from Beta Prime were open-ended. As far as I was concerned, the Europa was as good a spaceliner as any to make the trip home. We’d eat breakfast and catch a shuttle back to the Europa and head for Beta Prime.

  “Sully, these are real,” Father Nathan informed me, his nose inches from a painting of some church on Old Earth. “This is Westminster Abbey,” he whispered in awe. My friend looked at me with a smirk, “not that you have a clue how important this place is to believers in the Anglican faith.”

  I shrugged. I was in no mood to argue with my friend about our differences regarding religious faith. He was a good man who was consistent; there was no real difference between the articles of faith of his religion that he preached and his actions. I also liked the fact Father Nathan had no issues with using his fists to protect his flock, many of whom were street kids or the homeless of our neighborhood in Capital City.

  “This paneling is real wood too.”

  “What do you expect, Father? Whoever wants to hire us has deep pockets. You don’t spring for round trip tickets on a first class spaceliner like the Europa for three people sight unseen unless you have money to burn.”

  Curiosity can get you killed. I wanted to know who my potential employer was. Just not bad enough to put up with power games.

  “Let’s go,” I announced.

  "Sully, we haven't been waiting that long," Father Nathan pointed out. I ignored him. Usually as impatient as I am, my friend only wanted to stay longer so he could examine the religious artifacts on display in the room. Sarah stopped her pacing and went to Father Nathan, taking his left hand in hers. She didn't speak, but the frustration and anxiety in her eyes spoke volumes.

  Sarah had a compulsive need to avoid confinement, even in a gilded cage like the one she found herself in now. The priest sighed and smiled at Sarah, patting her shoulder with his free hand. I couldn't understand it, Sarah being a clone, but she was one of the most faithful of Father Nathan's congregation. "Very well; I'll go."

  Enough was enough. I was ready to leave.

  “My apologies for keeping you waiting.”

  All three of us turned to identify the sound of the male voice addressing us. Standing in the doorway of an unnoticed hallway was a distinguished looking man, taller than average but not as tall as Father Nathan or me. His dark blue suit was immaculate, expensive, and hand tailored. His dark brown hair set off grey-blue eyes on a clean-shaven face. His barber was not only skilled at cutting hair but in coloring it as well, the silver in his temples was a perfect touch. Equally skilled was the man's plastic surgeon. Asymmetrical nose, neither too broad nor too narrow, balanced his face. The silver in his hair belied his age as the surgeon's laser scalpel had removed any trace of wrinkles or blemish from his face. The lone imperfection was the man's lips, too thin for my liking.

  I was looking at an expensive, well-polished, and carefully groomed politician.

  “No problem,” I retorted. “We were just leaving.”

  “Leaving?” His voice registered irritation at my declaration. “I’ve gone to considerable trouble and expense to secure your services, Inspector Sullivan. You will stay.”

  My dislike of political types got the better of me, and I snapped back, "I haven't signed a contract, nor has my partner. If you insist, we will reimburse you for the tickets to Athens II. You have no right to demand we do anything."

  Taken aback by my attitude, the man’s demeanor changed.

  "You are correct, Inspector. You and your associates have traveled a long way. It is late, well rather early now, and I have not even asked if you are hungry or would like some refreshments." He smiled politely and bowed graciously.

  It was all a bit too well practiced for my taste.

  "Yeah, well, that's nice," I growled. "Let's get one thing clear this instant. I don't put up with power games. I've had my fill of them in my lifetime. This is not a police job where my partner and I have to put up with some guff. It is a private matter. You might be compensating us if we take the job, but you don't call the shots. If you can't handle that, then you need to find someone else."

  He smiled at me, a practiced smile that was fake, nothing more than a tool to get what he wanted.

  “Do you know who I am, Inspector? Because if you did, you might address me with more respect.”

  “Ambassador Marshall, you need to tread carefully with me,” I informed the man, enjoying seeing the smile on his face vanish. “I’ve dealt with my share of arrogant, corrupt politicians in my life.”

  Marshall's face grew pale, and a thin sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. Nobody talked to him in the manner I had. I waited for the man to recover and his arrogance to reappear. I glanced at Sarah and the good Father. Her eyes pleaded with me to leave. My friend was amused, enjoying the hostile verbal exchange.

  Stirring the pot, my friend politely introduced himself. “Ambassador Marshall, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Father Nathan. My friend here is understandably peeved at the treatment shown to us.”

  Turning his back to the Ambassador to examine the painting of Westminster Abbey again, Father Nathan continued, ignoring the petulant expression on Marshall's face. "Greg, the driver, dispatched to collect us was polite and helpful. You, on the other hand, have not treated us with respect due to people you have asked to help you."

  Father Nathan turned and looked Marshall directly in the eye and continued. "Help you with a matter that is delicate and requires," he paused for a second, "both discretion and confidentiality. My advice to you, sir, is treat this matter as if you were involved in high stakes negotiations to prevent an all-out war. Because if you continue in this matter," Father Nathan laughed at the Ambassador, "I will take great delight in joining Sully on a nice vacation. The life of a parish priest can be a bit dull, even on a world like Beta Prime."

  Not wanting to be left out, Sarah stuck her tongue out. Her bit of impudence did the trick.

  The Ambassador burst out laughing. “My sincere apologies, Inspector, Father, and young lady, I don’t believe I caught your name.” Sarah moved behind me and watched the Ambassador in perceived safety from behind my back. “It’s Sarah,” she said softly.

  A second voice spoke from the entrance to the room the Ambassador had used. “George, you’ve been rude to our guests.”

  I knew that voice.

  “WE NEED TO MAKE OUR demands known.”

  “It’s onl
y been ten days, Josef.”

  "I don't care. Either we tie up loose ends now and get off-world, or we issue the ultimatum to the Chancellor."

  Growing weary of the younger kidnapper, Rondello snapped. "We have a timetable. We will follow it! You need to be patient, Josef. These things take time."

  “How long is enough time?” the frustrated Josef complained. “I have made my feelings known on this matter from the start. Ten days before we make contact with our demands is far too long.”

  "And I'm telling you, stress and worry is a good thing. The longer between contacts, the greater the effects of the stress and worry the Chancellor feels will become. It is to our advantage."

  “I don’t think so,” Josef whined.

  “You aren’t in charge,” Rondello replied. "This is not my first time to do this. It is, on the other hand, your first job of this nature. We will do as we are told. When the job is finished you can complain all you want," the older kidnapper stated. "Until then, shut up."

  “WELL, AREN’T YOU GOING to say anything?”

  I turned in disbelief to face the voice from my past. My reaction was unexpected and elicited a prompt response.

  “Why, Tom, surely I haven’t aged that badly.”

  “Tom!” Sarah giggled in delight while I caught sight of a smirk on Father Nathan’s face. “My friends call me Sully now,” I replied. Pointedly I informed the woman, “You can call me Thomas.”

  Taken aback by my reaction, the woman’s face became devoid of its cheerful display of emotion. “Very well, Thomas. If that is what you would like, then I will address you by that name.”

  “It’s what I want, Chancellor Vanzetti.”

  “You’ve kept up then,” the Chancellor politely replied.

  “Not by choice. Think of it as an occupational hazard. It pays to know things.”