Assured in his concealment among the towering columns, the figure wondered about the scene he observed between Quinn and his staff. He was content up to this point in just following the councilman and his entourage, but the antics of Quinn and his bodyguard were amusing to watch. His only regret was his decision not to bring extra gear. It was a trade-off that allowed him to move freely, but it was a tactical decision he now regretted. His audio enhancer or his buzz-drone could have gleaned valuable intel.

He did hear what Stephanie shouted. The remarks about her father didn’t make sense, having followed her father’s trial closely. He had even supplied detailed information, anonymously, that should have cleared him of all charges. Mr. Long was convicted of sedition anyway and condemned to be Cleansed. He had even attended the ceremonial Cleansing.

He didn’t know what kind of sick game Quinn was perpetrating on Stephanie Long. Whatever it was, it was unconscionable. He was anxious to leave now, but he would have to wait a little longer. He must wait until Mr. Crawford left also. It wouldn’t be wise to chance being recognized.

When Rex arrived at the shuttle the door was wide open. DePalma was sitting at the far side with his head tucked below his knees. As Rex entered, DePalma straightened up, looking embarrassed. He attempted a half-hearted smile. His facial muscles wouldn’t cooperate. All he could manage was a tight-lipped sheepish smirk.

“I can’t believe how badly this morning has gone …” DePalma began.

“Can it-- the boss is right behind me. Get a grip on yourself. You look pathetic!”

As Quinn and Stephanie rejoined the others, Quinn motioned to DePalma to get out of the shuttle. The two of them walked the short distance back to the exit doors of Crawford’s building. While Stephanie secured herself in her seat, Rex’s attention was focused, trying to overhear Quinn’s conversation with DePalma. Quinn gestured wildly with his hands and arms. DePalma kept his head tilted downward, but nodded vigorously. Trying to overhear proved fruitless. Rex leaned back into his seat.

“Quinn’s got him looking like a whipped dog!” Rex directed the comment toward Stephanie, but she ignored him and stared out the shuttle window. It was then he noticed that she was crying, her tears flowing freely down her cheeks. Rex tried to take her hand into his, but she wouldn’t allow it. “What happened? What did that old bastard do?

“Nothing! That’s the problem, he doesn’t do anything!”

Rex snorted. “He does far too much, if you ask me!”

“Never mind. You don’t get it.” Stephanie wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. She stole a sideways glance past Rex. “Don’t worry about it, Quinn is walking back now.”

*********************************************************

“Sir, I’ve been able to secure a shuttle for you. It won’t arrive for fifteen minutes, however, I have been assured by Transportation that, given the importance of this morning’s Council meeting, the emergency mode would be authorized.”

“Thank you Cobble, but you know how much I hate the shuttles. I would rather walk. Besides, the ped-ways move fast enough for me. Print out an updated route for me while I finish changing.”

“You will be late if you don’t take the shuttle, Sir.”

“Then… I’ll be late. It would just incite more panic if I arrived with emergency lights and siren blaring. Maybe by walking, you know--sticking to my normal routine, it might help reinforce my message that there isn’t reason to panic.”

“I will cancel the shuttle. Your route is printing now.”

“Thank you Cobble.”

After changing his torn shirt, Mark stood in front of his bathroom mirror once again, this time to survey the damage Rex had inflicted to his face. The bags of frozen peas he had held to his chin and head didn’t have enough time to help stop the swelling. The back of his head wouldn’t show, he was thankful for that. His chin was another matter. He had a small canister that held a flesh-toned cream for blemishes. The numerous council meetings with bright klieg lights and camera close-ups made every flaw even more pronounced. He had always felt vain when he was forced to use make-up. This was different. Mark used his fingers to rub the cream into the angry red welts rising under his chin. The immediate stinging was intense; it caused him to flinch away, grimacing. He thickly coated over the bruising. It’s coverage was far from perfect, but it would have to do for now.

He placed the two bags of peas back into the freezer. Three pain pills from the cabinet, a stack of notes, and the travel route Cobble printed, and Mark headed for the door.

“Sir, have a good day… and be careful.”

Cobble’s good-bye caused Mark to pause momentarily at the door, his finger ready to touch the opener. Her words sounded surreal after all that transpired this morning. Her well wishing was so innocent. It caused Mark to smile.

“Oh, Cobble-- I just want this day to be over. Thank you for defending me. Rex deserves more than what he got.”

“I know, Sir”

****************************************************************

Still tucked safely alongside a large ornate column, the lone figure was shifting from foot to foot. It had been too long; Mark should have left right after Quinn and his entourage. He looked for the fourth time at his watch. He must have left already by some other way, some way other than Quinn’s. He wanted to kick himself for not being better prepared. He should have studied the building’s layout before now. He should have brought his audio gear. He was starting to feel like an amateur.

It was almost a certainty Crawford had left before now. How much time before the Council meeting would commence? He looked at his watch for the fifth time. The meeting would start in about twenty minutes. He couldn’t wait any longer.

He hurried to within a few yards of the closest staircase when the sound of shoes on marble overpowered the sounds of the fountain. He dove to the floor, only partially hidden by the lower baluster as Mark trotted past the bottom of the stairs. If Mark had glanced toward the balcony, he would have easily been seen. Being late was a mixed blessing, Crawford was too intent on other things to look around.

***********************************************************************

Mark steeled himself upon seeing DePalma just outside of his building. He was in no mood for any more threats, either real or implied. Mark held up his hand and waved him away without saying a word. Mark tried to trot a path close to the building and avoid Quinn’s aid, but DePalma stepped quickly in Mark’s path. Mark, having nowhere to go, surprised DePalma with a violent shove that put him down on his seat with a ‘whump’.

“What was that for?” DePalma gasped as Crawford continued on. “Stop for one minute-- just one more minute. We need to talk!” DePalma gasped for air as he stood.

“I have nothing more to say to any of you. Leave me alone

“We know what’s happening-- Quinn does. We’re being sabotaged!”

Mark stopped dead in his tracks. With his hands now on his hips, he turned to face DePalma. With the help of two trusted aids, they had barely scratched the surface into the rash of system failures threatening Jericho. Nothing uncovered thus far hinted at sabotage. The thought had never even entered Mark’s mind.

“Quinn has information…” DePalma was fighting to regain his breath. The sudden landing knocked the wind out of him. “He needs your help… he doesn’t know how to ask you for it.”

Mark continued to stand and listen. He had never seen DePalma before today, but for the moment what he was saying seemed genuine. He had never known Quinn ask for anything. Quinn only demanded from those around him. Was it possible what DePalma said was true?

“The councilman has uncovered a conspiracy--a group of radicals bent on putting Jericho’s government on its ear. They want us to look bad. They want a complete change of leadership, all at one time.”

Quinn’s shuttle door was open, allowing everyone inside to hear the ongoing parlay between Mark and DePalma. Rex turned to Quinn with a puzzled look. “Is that right? I’ve nev…”

“ No, no, of course not! Mr. DePalma is just now starting to hit his stride.” Quinn twisted around to look Rex in the eyes. “Do you know the beauty of being known as a liar? Your patsy is never comfortable. They somehow always believe that something you say must be the truth. They are self confident that they can discern the difference. It sucks them in. Keep watching; DePalma is one of the best.”

Mark and DePalma talked a few moments longer, but too low to be overheard. Soon, they both approached Quinn’s shuttle.

“Huh,--well I’d never have believed it. I am impressed.” Rex muttered and scooted closer to Stephanie, allowing room for the men to enter.

********************************************************************

He was thankful that the cascading water of the fountain was so distracting, so loud. It alone saved him from detection, from exposure when he dove headfirst to the floor at the top of the stairs. He was lucky. He rose to his knees and saw how very little the baluster actually hid his body. He could have easily been seen. Amateur! The word stuck in his throat like a bitter pill. Concentrate!

He descended the stairs two at a time. For such a magnificent building, it struck him as almost eerie that he saw no one. He would much prefer a busier place; it was safer in a busy place. It would be impossible not to be noticed in these conditions. No matter, he would hurry-- and be more careful.

He crossed the atrium past the fountain at a fast walk. As he turned down the hallway, he was relieved there was no one here either. As he neared Crawford’s door, the hairs on the back of his neck stood erect. A part of him loved the adrenaline rush, or was it the fear of capture? Concentrate!

Stopping at Crawford’s door, he turned and leaned casually against the wall. He pulled a pair of surgical gloves from his jacket pocket and put them on, all the while looking back and forth down the hallway. He reached into the opposite jacket pocket and withdrew a small tube. Within the tube was a latex thumb-cover that he then placed over his already gloved right hand. The pad of the cover was laser-etched to match Crawford’s own thumb print. Out of an inside pocket he withdrew a silver ball the size of an orange, with small apertures equally spaced over the surface. He depressed a small button and the ball emitted a barely audible tone.

Crawford’s door opened without a sound when the thumb cover contacted the entry pad.

He wasted no time entering.

© Copyright 2025 Derek Atkins. All rights reserved.