John Mackie - Hazardous Goods

“So,” I teased open the box, “I hope I haven’t gotten your expectations up for nothing.”

I pulled the item from the box, unwrapped it from the multiple layers of bubble wrap Kara had insisted on using, and handed it to her. So far so good. She didn’t proclaim me an idiot and swing it at my head, anyways.

“Far from it.”

“Does it look OK? Any damage?”

She rotated the cube in her hands, holding it to the light.

“Well, we won’t know for sure until we use it, but it seems to be in good condition.” Turning, she laid the item on one of the side tables and punched a button on the conference room phone.

“Clair? Would you please ask Emory to come to the Conestoga Room?” Conestoga. Everywhere you go in Ontario you will find references to the native tribes that once dotted the shores of the Great Lakes. Not clear to me whether we were showing respect for those who came before us, or touting our claim over their lands.

The response from Reception was unintelligible, much like the order taker at a fast-food drive through.

She turned from the phone and offered me a drink. “Coffee? Tea?”

“No thanks. I’m fine.”

“OK.” She grasped the item again, as though unable to leave it sitting for more than a moment. “Please, take a seat.”

I pulled a chair out and sat when she did.

“So, Don. Do you mind if I call you Don, or do you prefer-.”

“Don’s fine.”

“Don, then. Anything we should know about how you recovered our package?”

I glanced at her hands, both palms resting on the table on either side of the cube. Long slim fingers tipped with ruby red nails. Not a grain of dirt under those nails, that I could see.

“Nothing illegal, if that’s what you’re worried about. As it happens, I was able to convince the thief to return it.”

“Really? Anything that’s going to come back to bite us?”

“You? No, I can’t see it. I can’t promise they won’t try to steal it again, but I don’t see this as personal for you or your firm.”

“Good.”

I turned to find Mr. Meditation standing behind me.

“Don Elder, meet Emory Quinn, our Senior Partner.”

“Hi, nice to meet you.”

“Good to meet you. Goodness, is that-?” He reached out and Helen Findlay passed it to him.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“Let’s take a look.” He moved to the head of the table and set the cube down, taking a seat before it. Disconnecting the pendulum from the plastic insert, he let it dangle, then took a few deep breaths. As I watched, he seemed to enter the same fugue state I had observed in the adjoining atrium.

Then the pendulum began to move.

Not in the swaying, metronomic way I have seen pendulums move in the past. Instead in a jerky manner, moving to the left, then jerking forward, then back, then forward again. This continued for a few minutes, with the pendulum moving as though directed by a finger. Then it stopped, and Quinn opened his eyes.

“Good! It seems to be just fine. This is a very pleasant surprise, Mr. Elder.” He spoke next to Helen. “It’s definitely been used. We’ll need to put it back in storage. Have they been able to make use of the other object we provided?”

“Yes. Sounds like it has worked well for them.”

“Excellent.”

“So, Don. I have a feeling you went well out of your way for us.”

“For Clay too. Can’t say either of us took too kindly to being mugged.”

“No, I imagine not. How is Clay doing, by the way?”

“Good. He’s back in the hospital for some tests, but the doctors seem confident he’s through all of the rough stuff.”

“That’s wonderful news.”

I looked at the two of them, obviously happy at my success in regaining the cube. Should I tell them about Ruscan? Part of me thought it was better to just move on. But part of me felt they should know.

“Listen, can I tell you something in confidence?”

Quinn glanced at Helen, then back at me.

“Absolutely.”

I pulled the photos from the envelope I had stuffed in my back pocket, laying them out in front of them.

“This man is Nikolay Kuzmenko. He is a colleague of Maxim Legenko. You may have heard of him.”

“Indeed.”

“Kuzmenko was the mugger. From something he said to me, I believe Legenko was the one who used the device.”

“Not his wife?”

Interesting. Seemed Ruscan was known to the Sun Consulting folks.

“Uh — is there some history here that I should know about?”

“No, not at all. We’ve never spoken to them. But they have a bit of a reputation.”

“Other than the trial?”

“Trial? Oh, yes. No, separate from that. More to do with the wife. Elana?”

“Elena.”

“Yes. She had a bit of a reputation in her home country.”

OK . Seemed like there were major undercurrents here. I opted to stay at the surface, hoping that by treading water I could avoid being sucked out to sea.

“Well,” I sensed a courteous boot out the door coming my way, “thank you very much for your help. And please extend our best wishes to Clay. I must say you went way beyond the call of duty here, but we appreciate it.”

“My pleasure.”

I took two steps, then paused. Curiosity, I suppose, though we know what happened to the cat. I turned and faced them.

“If you don’t mind my asking… why were you lending it out?”

Quinn seemed to mull that over for a moment, then answered in a soft voice.

“Missing children. Once a year, one family. I wish we could do more, but the device would be worthless if we overused it.”

Imagine that. Something good might have come out of all this nonsense.

“Well, I’m glad we were able to help.”

We exchanged a few more pleasantries before I exited the room. As we headed out to the elevator bank, Emory and Helen huddled briefly, his voice carrying just enough for me to overhear.

“Let’s open a file on the Legenko company. I’ll ask one of the interns to do the usual background research.”

Seemed like Ruscan had managed to get itself on Sun’s radar screen. Whether that would gain them accolades, or a torpedo aimed at their starboard side, remained to be seen.

While I was meeting with the Sun Consulting folks, Ted was at the hospital with my mother. She had insisted he accompany her to visit Clay, and he had complied. No idea why. He wasn’t the one working at Arcane. But with Mom, your role is not to question why.

A few days later, when things had calmed down, he recounted to me what went down that afternoon.

Ted eyed the monitors warily. He hated hospitals. Hated the smell of antiseptic, the whispers and empty hallways. Had for as long as he could remember.

“Get some ice and fill this up.”

He took the Styrofoam beaker and stepped out in the hall. Maybe he would spot a hot nurse with fishnet stockings and a uniform that could barely contain her luscious bod.

No such luck. One old fellow duck-walking down the hall with an intravenous stand in one hand and his wife holding the other. Really ought to have full coverage hospital gowns. The guy’s butt looked like a shriveled peach.

Ice around the corner, water from the fountain.

“Here you go.”

“Thank you, Theo.”

Old Mrs. Jarvis. She was one of about three people on the planet who had managed to call him Theo or Theodore without getting a shot to the head.

“No problem.”

“Harper and I are going down to the coffee shop to get some drinks and a snack. We’ll be back in fifteen minutes. If he wakes and asks for anything, just call one of the nurses.”

“Grab me a muffin and a pop?”

The look on her face suggested that there was no food heading his way.