James Knapp - State of Decay

You know what that is , the voice said.

Yes. A connection.

These two knew each other.

But the other one isn’t a victim.

Yet.

He said, “us.” “Why are you doing this to us?” Who’s “us”?

If I were you , the voice nagged, I wouldn’t inquire too deeply.

Shaking my head, I stepped away from the screen.

“We need the rest of the conversation,” I said. “Everything on this computer.”

“It’s gone,” Shanks said.

“Gone?”

“Either the victim wiped it when she heard the intruder, or the killer did it. Maybe the techs can pull something off of it, but everything’s gone. The message pane just happened to still be up. If you shut it off, you’ll lose that too.”

That’s not the important thing, Faye.

Then what is?

The only living connection we have right now.

“Craigh,” I said out loud. “Or Craig H? He knew. He knew what was happening over here.”

I headed back out to the living room, Shanks in tow.

“Reece, did anyone else call this in?” I asked.

“Someone else?”

“Besides our witness, did you receive any other calls about a possible disturbance over here?”

“No.”

I turned to Roger, the witness, who was still sitting with the officers.

“Does the name Craig mean anything to you?” I asked. “Craig H? Or H Craig?”

“Harold,” he said. “He’s a friend of Becca’s. I’ve seen him around.”

Harold Craig.

He’s in trouble , the voice said. You need to get over there.

Why didn’t he call it in?

I don’t know, but there isn’t time. Go.

“Shanks, we need an address for Harold Craig….”

We’ll get it on the way down. Go now.

“Are you okay?” Shanks asked in my ear.

“We’ve got to go,” I said.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m so tired….” I whispered.

You’re almost there …just keep going …

“I know, Faye,” he said. “We’re going to get him. We’ll do it together, got it?”

He put his hand on the small of my back, guiding me. It was the second time that day he had touched me like that. It felt firm and reassuring. Somehow, it made me feel like what he said was true, and that we would succeed, and that when we did, everything would be okay and I would finally get to sleep.

Heinlein Industries was situated well outside the city limits, taking an hour even by bullet train to get there. It got dark early that time of year. The sky had turned gray already. As the rail approached, the complex was visible in the distance like a huge disc cut out of the suburbs that surrounded it. It was as if a comet had struck there, leaving nothing but black glass. Only when you got closer could you begin to make out the flat, rectangular structures there, but Heinlein was built largely down, not up. It kept low to the ground, hidden behind the security fence and guard posts that surrounded it.

I picked up a car and headed in through the maze of narrow streets. The structures there were tightly packed, built from sturdy concrete that was now weathered and defaced. Businesses tapered off as the main road crossed the perimeter and gave way to VP Industrial, which was Heinlein’s main campus. VP stood for Verhoven-Pratsky, the names of the facilities’ two primary donors, but everyone called it Voodoo Proper. I opened a channel back to headquarters.

I’ve arrived. I’m heading in now.

The whole first half mile was an open expanse that went around the entire park as far as I could see, and from the signals I was picking up, my vehicle was being tracked from several sources as I approached. Warning signs were posted along the way, threatening everything from prosecution to live fire as the inner fence loomed closer. The facility underground was deep enough to withstand a missile strike, and the airspace over the campus was a designated no-fly zone; I had no doubt the guards would shoot if provoked.

Heinlein is instituting a security lockdown , Noakes said.

Looks friendly enough to me.

It isn’t funny, Wachalowski. So far they’re being cooperative; don’t do anything to make them nervous.

I’ll tread lightly.

No communications in or out once you’re inside. As far as both we and they are concerned, this visit isn’t happening—got it? If the media gets even a whiff of this, it’ll be a disaster.

Got it. Luckily, they had enough to distract them today.

The park had a guard station, which wasn’t unusual, but unlike some places, this one had a fence and, from what I could see, it enclosed the whole park. I zoomed in on the warning sign bolted to the nearest pylon; it promised a lethal voltage.

As I approached, I felt my phone go off, but before I could see who it was, the signal cut and the phone went dead. A second later, a message appeared in front of my eyes as the JZI got an override communication.

You are entering a restricted area. No unauthorized communications are permitted in or out from this point forward. No unauthorized scans or visual, audio, or data recordings are permitted beyond this point. No unauthorized personnel or authorized personnel with a security clearance of less than three are permitted beyond this point, by order of the UAC Government. By continuing, you forfeit your right to refuse any and all searches, including your vehicle, its contents, and your person, up to and including full internal scanning. Any property including identification may be confiscated at the guard’s discretion and held for an indeterminate period of time. Failure to comply with security will result in action up to and including lethal force.

“Welcome to Heinlein Industries,” I said to myself as the words faded.

I pulled up to the guard and rolled down the window. He was a thick-necked man in uniform who wore a badge. He peered down at me over the bulletproof shield.

“Can I help you?” he asked. I didn’t dare use the scanner, but I could see a faint bulge under his jacket. I could also see a shotgun racked against the wall next to him.

“Agent Nico Wachalowski,” I said. “They should be expecting me.”

The guard peered down at my breast pocket and scanned the badge through the material. After a couple seconds, he nodded.

“Yes, they are, sir,” he said. “Go right on through. The layout of the place can be a little confusing, so I’ll transmit a marker to your GPS. Just follow it down to the parking area and take the elevator up. A representative will be waiting for you.”

“Thanks.”

The guard arm rose, and I followed the marker toward the collection of squat, rectangular buildings. All things considered, I was glad for the guidance, because the park was huge and nothing was marked. I headed down into a short tunnel, which took me to a parking area.

From the garage, I took an elevator up. The doors opened and I stepped out into a dimly lit lobby that looked deserted. My footsteps echoed lightly as I made my way to a large, curved reception desk with an empty chair behind it.

“Hello?”

I saw several red points of light in the shadows near the ceiling. Cameras were watching me. There were two glass doors with badge readers that led inside, and a phone mounted on one wall.

I was beginning to wonder if I had the right place when a man in a suit appeared behind one of the glass doors. He was about my age, with wavy, graying hair, and dressed in an expensive suit. He noticed me as he held his badge up to the scanner.