Solve Gorgoni, page 10
Following the Trail
In the dark waters of the surging Potomac, Mooney managed to hold her breath before plunging beneath the surface, but that was all. She felt the water moving about her from the motion of the big paddle wheel as it scooped deep, propelling the big steamboat forward at a deceptive rate of five miles an hour.
Thankful that she chose to wear her jumpsuit rather than a more cumbersome female cut bizsuit, Mooney struggled blindly in the dark, groping upward, hoping to reach air. Instead, her outstretched arm struck one of the blades of the paddle wheel as it passed in the opposite direction. Instantly deciding that going with the wheel would be easier than fighting the suction of the water as it strove to follow the wheel downward, she reached out to take hold of the blade first with one hand, then the other.
Have to hold on, no matter what, she thought, her lungs already near to bursting.
She felt herself being drawn deeper into the water as the wheel dragged her along. She squeezed her eyes shut against the cold, gritted her teeth to keep her mouth shut against the instinct to breathe. She was being keelhauled by the big wheel, her arms feeling as though they were about to be pulled from their sockets as, after a seeming eternity, she felt herself rising, rising...
“Bwaah!” she gasped when she finally broke the surface and was able to breathe again.
Still gulping air, with water streaming from her body, her arms so weak, she was unable to do anything to help herself, she could only continue to ride the upward motion of the wheel to its apogee. There, her lungs filled with air again, she mustered the strength to bunch her legs under her, intending to jump, making a grab for the ship’s railing before the wheel could fall away beneath her.
Hoping for a soft landing, she was surprised to see that Shores was still on deck, having just turned away from the railing after assuring herself that Mooney had drowned, dragged beneath the water in the wake of the wheel’s motion.
Making sure of her footing, Mooney waited until the wheel reached its apex then freed her hands and leapt, using the wheel’s downward momentum to bridge the gap between it and the railing that she’d been shoved over less than two minutes before.
Such was the force of her leap, that she not only cleared the railing but landed squarely on Shores’ back, knocking the wind out of her and throwing them both to the deck with such jarring force, it left Shores stunned.
Thanks to Shores having provided the soft landing she’d hoped for, Mooney recovered first and, reaching into one of the pockets in her jumpsuit, produced a pair of DNA nodules, quickly affixing them to Shores’ wrists. Clicking them together triggered the DNA read in the devices, locking them in place until a signal could be given canceling the read and releasing the prisoner.
By then, partyers on the upper deck noticed the fight and its aftermath and were crowding the railing above, looking down. Suddenly, Mooney became conscious of her appearance.
My hair! She thought, running her hands through her red locks, brushing unruly strands away from her face. She breathed a sigh of relief over her practice of avoiding the use of facial makeup while on business otherwise she’d really look a fright.
She was standing over Shores’ supine form, securing her wet hair in a pony tail when the boat’s security officer in company with the manager arrived to find out what the commotion was about.
“What’s going on here?” the director demanded.
“I’m making an arrest,” said Mooney, impatient after her ordeal.
“An arrest?” repeated the disbelieving manager. “Who are you? Don’t you realize that Miss Shores is one of our residents?”
“She’s also wanted by the authorities.”
“What authorities? I haven’t heard anything about her being wanted.”
Mooney would have held her temper and continued to explain, but suddenly was reminded of the audience both at the railing above and beginning to gather behind the manager.
“This is not the place to be having this conversation,” she said. “I suggest we take the prisoner back to her unit and talk there.”
The officer looked to his manager for guidance.
The manager, on closer examination of Mooney’s athletic figure, her trim jumpsuit, and confident air, decided to heed her advice.
“All right,” he said, signaling to the officer to help him carry Shores to her unit.
Mooney stood by as the two men lifted Shores then led them along the passageway back to her unit, the same passageway that only a few minutes before, she’d been herded and struck until finally flung over board.
At Shores’ unit, the door was still open. Mooney entered first and, retrieving her ion pistol from the floor, slipped it discreetly somewhere into her jumpsuit.
The men deposited the still unconscious Shores onto a pneumacouch, arranging her so that she was comfortable, before turning back to Mooney.
Meanwhile, Mooney closed the door behind them, shutting out the gawking neighbors who had followed them from the deck.
“All right then,” said the manager. “Here we are. Now can you explain what goes on here?”
Mooney nodded. “I’m a government agent in pursuit of an investigation. This woman is an important part of that investigation and as such, I’ve placed her under arrest.”
“That’s all very fine, but under who’s authority are you operating?”
“I have my identification here...” began Mooney, reaching for her telcomm. But she stopped mid-sentence after discovering that it was gone!
“Damn!” she exclaimed. “I must have lost it in the river.”
The manager and the officer exchanged glances.
“Very convenient,” said the manager.
“Let me have your telcomm,” ordered Mooney, holding out her hand to the officer.
The officer, startled at the demand, instinctively took a step back.
“I’m not going to steal it,” chided Mooney. “I just want to use it to establish my credentials.”
“Give it to her,” said the manager.
The officer complied, still with reluctance.
“Thank you,” said Mooney. “Can you shut down the voice activation function?”
She held out the device in the direction of the officer.
“Cancel voice recognition function,” said the officer, speaking in the direction of his telcomm.
With that, Mooney was able to use the device choosing manual data entry to keep the two men as much in the dark as to her MI contact information as possible.
Deftly, she bypassed the public channels as well as those reserved for civil and police use, found the bandwidth meta level, and used her personal passcode to access the dedicated bandwidths reserved for military use. She further refined her accessibility to MI’s bandwidth and then Leclerc’s personal sub-routine.
Leclerc, of course, recognized that Mooney’s incoming message was being made on an unsecure device and replied with caution.
“Mrs. Conroi,” he acknowledged.
“I’ve lost my telcomm and have been forced to rely on an unsecure device,” said Mooney, pointedly avoiding the use of Leclerc’s name. “I’ve apprehended Shores and am awaiting pick up.”
“Noted,” was all Leclerc volunteered.
“But first, I need confirmation of my authorization.”
There was a short delay before the telcomm projected a holo identifying in no uncertain terms Mooney’s credentials.
“Military Intelligence!” gasped the manager. “I never would have guessed...I mean I didn’t realize how high...”
“Never mind that,” snapped Mooney, cutting off the holo and watching as the officer’s telcomm wiped from afar.
“Sorry about that, officer,” she said, handing the device back. “I’m afraid you’ll need to take it in for servicing and reloading.”
The officer took the device back, a glum look on his face.
“Anything we can do to help Military Intelligence in this situation will of course, be done,” the manager was saying.
“Thank you,” acknowledged Mooney. “Return the boat to the New Washington siding and wait there until agents arrive to collect the prisoner. The security officer can be posted outside the unit’s door in the meantime. I’ll remain in here to look the place over.”
“Of course,” agreed the manager, herding the officer out ahead of him.
When they were out, Mooney closed the door and secured it against entry. Her main concern now was to keep Shores out of contact with others. She was taking no chance of exposing her ideology to anyone else in the event she woke up before she could be bundled off.
Looking down at the prostrate Shores, Mooney preferred she remain unconscious in the meantime. The last thing she needed was to listen to more of her ravings.
But in case she did come to, it behooved Mooney to search her.
Quickly, expertly, Mooney patted Shores down from stem to stern. Nothing. Next, she fished in any pockets she could find in her form fitting attire and tutu overlay. Nothing. Next, look for hidden pockets. None of that either. Mooney left the next level of search to the MI experts.
Leaving Shores on the ‘couch, Mooney took up where she left off in her previous visit to the living unit, before she was interrupted by Shores.
Stepping into the bedroom, she swept her gaze around. The bed was disheveled, and like the bathroom, clothes had been discarded on the floor.
Not a good housekeeper, thought Mooney.
She began with the dressers, waving a hand at the showpiece handles, triggering sensors, and watching the drawers slide out one by one. Rummaging through them, she found nothing but dainties, tops, and slacks...all thrown in topsy turvy, not folded. Tsk.
The vanity table had the usual feminine articles, including items from The Ladies’ Handmaid but that was all. To make sure, Mooney employed her poking and dipping trick again, sticking her fingers deep into creams and powders but this time came up empty.
Next came the iso-mattress. The bedside command console again, wasn’t voice keyed so she was able to move the mattress and check underneath, inside, and all around as the child’s game went. But her efforts were all in vain.
No book, no nothing.
“There must be something,” Mooney mumbled. “She had to be at least coming or going from somewhere.”
Next, she checked the floorboards and authentic looking but nonfunctional air vents, heating units, floor drains, all added as part of the historical accuracy of the recreated steamboat. None of that yielded anything except dust.
Mooney stood in the center of the living room, hands on hips, frustrated but not yet willing to give up.
Just then, the unit annunciator indicated visitors.
Mooney checked, recognizing one of the agents outside. She let them in.
The manager accompanied the agents and now was hanging back outside the door.
“There’s your parcel,” said Mooney, indicating Shores, who was just regaining consciousness.
“Where am I?” she asked, sitting up but still groggy,
“No need to worry about that, Miss,” said one of the agents. “It’s where you’re going that you need to be concerned about.”
“This is crazy,” protested Shores. “I didn’t do anything! It was her,” pointing at Mooney. “I found her searching my unit. When I tried to get her out, she attacked me.”
“She could be right,” said the manager, swayed by Shores’ protests of innocence. “Many of the other tenants and guests saw them fighting. Miss Shores’ objections may be well founded. Your agent may have made a mistake, just made the wrong assumption...”
“The matter is out of your hands now,” said the lead agent, cutting him off. “I’m sure it’ll all be straightened out after we have this woman in custody.”
“I did nothing wrong; I tell you,” insisted Shores. “He’s right! I saw this woman searching my unit. What was I supposed to think?”
“Yes, and what about the unit itself?” asked the manager. “What about Miss Shores’ belongings? Her security deposit? What do I tell the owners?”
“You’ll be contacted by social services,” said the agent. “They’ll let you know if your tenant will be coming back. If not, she forfeits whatever deposit you have on hand.”
“You can’t do that,” insisted Shores. “That’s my money! Tell them, Mr. Bandors. Insist on the rights of the owner. This is the real reason why I’m being arrested. Our whole society is rotten. We’re ruled by elites who keep their power by soothing the masses with their stories of religion and morality. In reality, there is no objective morality. Each person is the measure of their own morality. No one can tell them what’s right or wrong. That’s what...”
But Shores was not allowed to finish her rant as the agent in charge quickly gagged her with a speech inhibitor.
“Why did you do that?” demanded Bandors, aghast. “She has a right to defend herself...”
“Yes, in a court of law,” replied the agent, growing impatient.
It was unusual to gag a prisoner, but he had clear instructions from his superiors to silence Shores if necessary. Clearly her vocal protestations had become a distraction at the very least. Worse than that, the content of her protests struck him as bordering on the dangerously radical. Was that the reason for her being arrested? He knew of agent Mooney and her reputation within Military Intelligence and had been given specific instructions to do whatever she asked. Nevertheless, the whole situation had begun to disturb him. Better to secure the prisoner as quickly and efficiently as possible and be on his way.
“Don’t worry,” he told Bandors. “The prisoner will have access to legal representation and all the rights of the accused.”
But was he sure about that? The way he and his men had been assigned to secure the prisoner, with no background. Only instructions to gag her if necessary and deliver her directly to MI under the strongest security measures. It was all pretty much out of the ordinary.
Before the manager could raise further objections, the agents hustled Shores out of the room, still struggling to express herself over the effects of the inhibitor.
Mooney detained the lead agent a moment more, pulling him aside and speaking in low tones.
“Can you get a special retrieval team here as soon as possible? I’m afraid I lost my telcomm in the river. MI needs to recover it as soon as possible.”
“I’ll say,” agreed the agent, looking as though he couldn’t understand how a responsible agent could lose such a sensitive piece of equipment.
“It’ll be somewhere between here and the boat’s next scheduled berthing up river,” said Mooney, slightly embarrassed about the situation herself.
“We’ll get it,” said the agent, following the others out of the room.
The manager and his security officer were making as if to leave as well when Mooney stopped them.
“Before you go, Mr. Bandors,” she said, “can you tell me if Miss Shores had anywhere else that she might have left valuables? Does the boat for instance, have its own bank with safety deposit boxes where tenants can keep valuables? Did Shores have any friends aboard?”
Still shaken by the whole experience of what just happened, Bandors shook his balding head. “No. We don’t offer such services. Every tenant is responsible for their own belongings. The corporate owners of the boat except no responsibility for lost or stolen items.”
“And friends?”
Bandors shook his again. “I have no idea about that.”
“From what I understand,” said the security officer. “She kept pretty much to herself.”
That made sense, thought Mooney. Even if Shores had been eager to spread her false gospel, she had an even more overriding concern in keeping her mission under wraps. Stealing Elements of Humanism was more important to her and whoever she worked with than a few immediate converts.
“All right,” said Mooney. “I guess that’s all. No need to tell the other tenants too much. And I’m speaking now with the full authority of Military Intelligence. Simply tell them Shores was arrested by the local bunko squad. Solicitation under false circumstances.”
Which was true enough so far as it went.
“Give me a few more minutes here,” she concluded.
Gulping, Bandors and the officer left Mooney alone, the unit’s door closing shut behind them.
Alone again, she decided to take advantage of the living unit’s amenities by throwing her soiled clothing into the garment cleanser while she stepped into the steam shower. A few minutes later, she emerged refreshed, her hair dry. Her jumpsuit was ready and after putting it on, she was ready to pick up where she left off. Now, where was that?
Oh, yes, she remembered, I was getting nowhere. Let’s see, nothing in the unit, nothing on her person. But no one was ever without their personal telcomm.
A telcomm was an item of modern society that simply could not be done without. It connected each person to the super cloud. Every single item of business was conducted on it. It granted the user a worldwide reach, even to the Moon. Why, if a person had the patience, they could eventually reach Mars.
It didn’t matter if that business was conducted here on Earth or on the Moon. It all worked on the principle that when messages were sent on the local network, they were shunted into sub-space on the quantum level where pre-positioned nanites picked up the signals and directed them where they were supposed to go.
What the public didn’t know was that Military Intelligence’s Science Division found a way to break the interstellar barrier allowing agents instantaneous communication to headquarters via a dedicated bandwidth through hyper-space.
That, however, was not at issue now. Only how such an essential personal item could not be found either on Shores or somewhere in her unit. Mooney immediately dismissed the idea that she could get along without it. How could she have paid for her living unit, travel expenses, provided identification, rented a ‘car, or...that was it! Her air car. If she owned one, it would be out in the tenants’ lot.
Swiftly, she exited the living unit, and caught up to Bandors, who was just disengaging himself from a gaggle of curious tenants. Mooney caught his eye. The look on his face told her that he was not happy to see her again.
