J. Robb - Loyalty in Death

Peabody looked sadly at Eve's computer. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"Fucking piece of junk," Eve muttered and slipped the disc into a slot. "Computer, engage and run disc."

There was a low buzzing, like a distant swarm of angry bees on the rise. Her screen blinked on, off, then with a whine came on again.

"First chance I get," Eve vowed, "I'm paying a personal visit to those clowns in maintenance."

Disc in text only. Message as follows…

Lieutenant Eve Dallas, New York Police and Security, Cop Central, Homicide Division.

We are Cassandra. We are the gods of justice. We are loyal.

The present corrupt government with its self-serving and weak-stomached leaders must and will be destroyed. We will dismantle, we will remove, we will annihilate as it becomes necessary to make way for the republic. No longer will the masses tolerate the abuse, the suppression of ideas and voices, the neglect of the pitiful few who cling to power.

Under our rule, all will live free.

We admire your skills. We admire your loyalty in the matter of Howard Bassi, known as The Fixer. He was useful to us and terminated only because he proved defective.

Eve slammed another disc into a slot. "Computer, copy disc currently running."

We are Cassandra. Our memory is long. We are prepared. We will make our needs and demands known to you, in time. At nine-fifteen this morning, we will provide a small demonstration of our scope. You will believe. Then you will listen.

"A demonstration," Eve said when the message ended. With a quick check of her wrist unit, she grabbed both discs, sealed the original. "We've got less than ten minutes."

"To do what?"

"They gave us an address.".She tapped a finger on the pouch, scooped up her jacket. "Let's check it out."

"If these are the people who took out Fixer," Peabody began as they strode to the elevator, "they already know you're looking into it."

"Not that hard to know. I've been in contact with New Jersey, I went to his shop yesterday. Run the address, Peabody, see what it is. Apartment, private home, business."

"Yes, sir."

They climbed into the car. Eve reversed, spun into a neat one-eighty, and shot out of the garage. "Display map," she ordered, heading south. "Lower East Side, sector six." When the street grid of the proper area shimmered onto her view screen, she nodded. "That's what I thought. It's a warehouse district."

"The building in question is an old glass factory slated for rehab. It's listed as unoccupied."

"Maybe the address is bogus, but they expect us to check it out. We won't disappoint them. Time?"

"Six minutes."

"Okay. We're going up." Eve punched the warning siren, hit vertical lift, and shot over the roofs of southbound traffic.

She swung east, passed reconditioned lofts where young professionals liked to live and shop and eat in overpriced cafes with bad lighting and good wine.

Barely a block over, the ambiance changed to disuse, disrepair, and despair. Misery walked the streets below in the guise of the unemployed and the unwashed, the failed and the desperate.

South of there, the old factories and warehouses loomed, nearly every one abandoned. Bricks were soot gray from smoke, smog, time. Window glass was in shards and sparkling on ground littered with garbage and straggling with weeds that struggled out of broken concrete.

Eve set the car down, briefly studied the square six-story building of brick closed in behind a security fence. The gate was equipped with a card lock but was wide open.

"I'd say we're expected." She drove through, scanning the building for any sign of life. Then, frowning, she stopped the car, climbed out. "Time?"

"About a minute," Peabody told her as she got out the opposite door. "Are we going in?"

"Not quite yet." She thought of Fixer and his nasty little shop. "Call for backup. Let Dispatch know where we are. I don't like the feel of this."

It was as far as she got. There was a rumble, and the ground shook under her feet. A series of flashes bloomed in the broken windows of the building and had her swearing.

"Take cover!" Even as she started to dive behind the car, the air exploded and gave her a hot little slap that had her skidding on her knees. The noise was huge, slamming against her eardrums, shooting a high-pitched wine through the center of her skull.

Bricks rained. A smoldering chunk smashed into the ground inches from her face as she rolled under the car. Her body bumped solidly into Peabody's.

"You hurt?"

"No. Jesus, Dallas."

A wave of heat swarmed over them, brutally intense. The air was screaming. Debris flew overhead, battering the car like hot, furious fists. This is what the end of the world would feel like, Eve thought as she fought to catch her breath. Hot and filthy and full of noise.

Above them, the car rocked, bucked, shuddered. Then there was no sound but the ringing in her ears and Peabody's ragged pants. No movement but the wild hammering of her own heart.

She lay there another moment, assuring herself she was still alive, that all her parts were intact. There was a burning sensation where she'd met the concrete. Her fingers came away wet with blood as she probed the area. That disgusted her enough to have her bellying out from under the car.

"Goddamn it, goddamn it! Just look at my ride."

The car was dents and scorch marks, the windshield a fancy web of cracks. The roof carried a fist-sized hole.

Peabody crawled to her feet, coughed at the smoke that was stinking the air. "You don't look so good yourself, sir."

"It's just a scratch," Eve muttered and wiped her bloody fingers on her ruined trousers.

"No, I meant as a whole."

Scowling, Eve glanced over, then narrowed her eyes. Peabody's face was smeared with black, making the whites of her eyes stand out like moons. She'd lost her uniform cap and her hair was standing wildly on end.

Eve rubbed her fingers over her own face, studied the now blackened tips, and swore. "Shit. That caps it. Call this in. Get some units out here for crowd control. We're going to have a hell of a crowd once people in this area crawl out from under their beds. And get – "

At the sound of a car, she whirled, one hand on the butt of her weapon. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or annoyed when she recognized the vehicle that pulled in behind hers.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded when Roarke got out of the car.

"I could ask the same. Your leg's bleeding, Lieutenant."

"Not much." She rubbed a hand under her nose. "I've got myself a crime scene here, Roarke, and a hazardous area. Go away."

He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and, crouching down, examined the cut before tying the cloth over the wound. "You'll need that tended. It's full of grit." Rising, he stroked a hand over her hair. "Interesting do, and somehow you."

She caught Peabody's smirk out of the corner of her eye but decided to let it pass. "I don't have time for you, Roarke. I'm working."

"Yes, I can see that. But I think you'll want to make time." His eyes were cold and flat as he scanned the smoldering rubble. "This used to be my building."

"Oh hell." Eve shoved her hands into her pockets, paced away, back, away again. "Hell," she repeated and glared at him.

"I knew you'd be delighted." He took a disc pouch out of his pocket, offered it to her. He'd already copied the disc and secured it. "I received that this morning. It's a text message from a group calling themselves Cassandra. Basically, it calls me a capitalist opportunist – which of course is absolutely true – and states that I've been chosen in their first demonstration. There's some tired and tedious political jargon thrown in. The redistribution of wealth, the exploitation of the poor by the rich. Nothing terribly original."