The bullhorn guy had been shot. The van had gotten away, but the surveillance cameras should have picked up some details. The shooter was in the next room, and so far, hadn’t said anything to the Secret Service agents.
“So why the hell did they shoot him? Were they just that bad at aiming?” the president asked.
I’d thought about it, and since we didn’t know anything about the shooter, or really the victim, we could only speculate.
“It could be they were trying to pin it on you guys. Someone spoke out, and the government swept in and shot them. Could be just enough of a spark to create a fire in the world today. I have to think there are groups out there who want trouble, so they can profit from chaos,” I said, probably on the right path with my thought pattern.
Magnus puffed up, looking angry. “I saw the same kind of thing a lot in eastern Europe. A lot of times, a group would try to get the people riled up about another group, typically government, and then while all the shit was going down, they’d fly under the radar. Weapons trading, financial scams, drugs… whatever makes money.”
Dalhousie nodded. “Magnus. Can you go in there and interrogate that bastard? I wouldn’t hold it against you if you let the perp think he killed that kid out there. I know he only grazed his arm, but let’s make him think there’s something terrible waiting for him after he’s out of here, unless he cooperates.”
“You got it, ma’am. Though I’ve only been on the receiving end of those things,” he said, watching me raise an eyebrow to his statement. “Nothing like that. It was just a misunderstanding,” he assured me. I couldn’t help but snicker and held it back after Mary frowned at me.
“Don’t we need a good cop for the game?” I asked.
“Are you volunteering, Dean?” the president asked.
I wasn’t but didn’t know if I could get out of it. I had no idea what to say or do in this situation.
“I’m not sure I’m the man for the job.” I could already feel the sweat dripping down my back.
“Sure you are, buddy.” Magnus clapped me on the back. “Nothing to it. Follow my lead.”
And just like that, I was heading for my first interrogation as an Earth Defense officer. I still hadn’t had my coffee yet. As if someone read my mind, a page brought in a carafe and a pile of paper cups. Just in time.
With a fresh cup of steaming Joe, I followed Magnus into the small office off the board room. The shooter was sitting on a chair, hands cuffed behind his back, his jaw resting on his chest. His head lay still, and I worried he might not be breathing, but when Magnus cleared his throat, the man’s mouth twitched.
“What’s your name?” Magnus asked gruffly. The man lifted his head but kept his mouth shut, glaring back at the unlikely pair before him.
“I said, what’s your name, soldier?” Magnus asked again.
The shooter’s eye spasmed at the word soldier, and I knew Magnus had struck a nerve.
Waiting a few moments for a reply that wasn’t coming, Magnus continued. “Army?”
Still no reply, but I could tell Magnus was on the right track. The man’s posture went from deflated to rigid and proud in less than a minute.
“Listen, the guy you shot is going to be okay. The president also doesn’t think you’re the brains of this operation, so just play along, and you might just get a slap on the wrist.” Magnus leaned over the small table, half covering it with his wide girth.
I doubted this guy was getting just a slap on anything, and we actually hadn’t heard back on the health of the gunshot victim, but since it was just a flesh wound, the odds were he was going home tonight.
Magnus was getting annoyed, and I could see a little vein start to pulse in his forehead. “Who. Sent. You?” he asked through his teeth.
The man averted his eyes again, and I knew it was time to change gears. I sat down on the plastic flip chair in front of him and quietly spoke. “What number were you on?”
Everyone left on Earth had been on a transport vessel just a year ago. The horrors they went through, and the pain of the losses, were still fresh in our minds. It was a simple question, seemingly harmless, but it would invoke a lot of memories, undoubtedly bad ones.
“Twenty-three. I was on twenty-three.” He made eye contact with me for the first time.
I scanned my memory of the records. I didn’t know all of them, but the American ones had more exposure here, so I’d heard tales.
“I’m sorry,” I said, putting my coffee down on the table. “You want a coffee?”
He looked up at Magnus and then back to me. His eyes then lowered to his hands, which were cuffed behind him, and he shrugged.
“Just give me a second,” I said, and left the room. I returned in a moment with the keys and a black coffee. They had given me a little grief about the tactics but were happy to see he was finally responding to something. They didn’t want to slow down any momentum I’d gained. Magnus just hung back as I undid the cuffs, happy to let me take the lead for now, but I knew he was ready for action should he be needed.
The man rubbed his wrists, just like they always did in every cop show I’d ever seen. For a second, I felt like I was behind the camera of one of those nineties shows where a bald cop with a moustache always caught the bad guys, and then slept with a woman way out of his league.
“Twenty-three was a tough run. Only something like thirty percent made it, I think?” I asked softly.
A shaky hand reached for the steaming black coffee and he took a tentative sip. “Thirty-four,” he corrected. “The third worst out of all of them.”
“Want to tell us about it?”
He looked like he was about to shut me down, but then something changed. His eyes softened, and I saw his shoulders slump ever so slightly. I knew we were all carrying around so much weight from the Event, and not everyone had an avenue to release the pain. Sometimes all someone needed to do was talk about it, and they could move on with their lives. Suddenly, I felt bad for the guy.
“I got back from the Middle East six months before…well...before they came. Wasn’t doing so hot. I tried to get a job, and all I could get was pushing a broom on a crappy strip mall construction gig. My wife was riding me to do better, like her being a hairdresser was this glorious crown-worthy enterprise.” He stopped, and I could see his eyes were getting wet. I assumed his wife wasn’t one of the lucky ones returning to Earth. “Anyway, things weren’t good between us, and when those ships came, I almost wished they would just end it. Blow us up. Make my memories mean nothing.” He took another sip of coffee.
Magnus was leaning in, listening intently to the truth we were witnessing.
“When they didn’t, we ended up being brought to twenty-three. Only then, we didn’t know where the hell we were, or what we were doing. I was in one of those rooms, and some people were in like some kind of coma or something. Stasis, I heard them call it after. Most of us weren’t. In there, we were piled up like livestock, people of every color, religion, and sex. The sick lay among the healthy. Someone gave birth the first day. I heard the baby girl is still alive and healthy. The small miracles.” He looked at me, seemingly embarrassed at showing vulnerability.
“Anyway. Sick people died, we had no food or water, and once we realized there were floor after floor of these cages, some of us explored and tried to find where we were. It was like a sick game. Metal grate floors, sliding hydraulic doors, and no aliens. No threats we could see. Just time. People were fighting, some loved ones found each other, and we tried to have a system where we separated people. The sick ended up on one floor, and as others weakened, they were moved there. Doctors and others tried to help, but there wasn’t much they could do with no supplies. It was terrible.” He took another pause, and I leaned back, taking a sip of my now tepid coffee.