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Misdirection in Death - Chapter 21
Posted by
Cyrex
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01 July 2012
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“Go,” Whitney said. “I think I can handle things here, if not Captain Feeney will set me on the straight and narrow.”
Dallas felt Peabody’s eyes, “Uh, sir, do you need me to accompany you?”
Peabody had done an admirable job of keeping her voice steady and professional, Dallas thought. Well, if she wanted to move up, she’d have to learn to play with the big boys. “No, Detective, I’ll take the Civilian, it’s his place.”
Baxter snorted slightly, earning a frown from Dallas. “Something to say, Detective?”
“No sir,” Baxter said, not quite losing the cocky grin.
“I think he recognizes the Civilian,” Roarke said, in his own voice.
Dallas frowned up at him, “Of course, he does. He’s one of my detectives,” she said with emphasis. “If he hadn’t figured it out by now, I’d bust him down to street scooper and let him earn his way back to the shield.”
It had been a filthy couple of days, Baxter thought, but Dallas had a way of hiding a compliment inside a threat that you just had to love.
“Don’t you two have somewhere to be?” Feeney reminded them.
Dallas hesitated...how to get there.
“They called in a successful kill on you,” Roarke reminded her grimly. “Odds are they won’t be watching for you to leave. Let’s take your vehicle.”
What the hell, the damn thing was built like a tank, she thought.
Summerset removed the cord from behind one of the ancillary comps and used it to tie Muldowney to a kitchen chair.
Settling into a more comfortable chair several feet away, Summerset pulled out his link and texted Roarke that Muldowney was here. Someone would be coming shortly. On the off chance that Lieutenant Dallas did not come herself, he angled the stunner so it could be easily hidden if someone unexpected came through the doorway.
“They’re both dead, you know,” Muldowney said, nodding towards the wedding painting Summerset had left leaning against the wall outside the bedroom door.
Summerset did not respond.
“Got the signal of her confirmed kill just before I came over here,” Muldowney murmured, staring at the painting. The artist had done an excellent job of capturing the hope and love in that moment.
“Roarke’s shuttle was blown up just minutes before. If you believe in the afterlife, at least they’re probably together.”
Summerset knew Roarke wasn’t aboard a shuttle. But, if Muldowney was right and the Lieutenant was dead, the man in front of him wouldn’t survive the hour.
“You don’t sound as if you approve of the outcome.”
“I’m too damned old to have fallen for it,” Muldowney said. “Keep up my face, my body...but I’ve got a lot of miles. Maybe I should have been more worried about my brain. They said all the right things and at first …”
“We’d all been chewed up and spit out by the system...but King had a way to use what we had, show up the system and take out the bad guys... “
“Vigilantism,” Summerset said. “I saw a lot of it in the aftermath during the Urbans.” And hadn’t he appreciated Roarke avenging Marlena, what was that but vigilantism?
“Some archetype from my childhood...Batman, Spiderman, the Scarlet Pimpernel...who the hell knows,” Muldowney said. “The image of the man who stands for good when society fails. The ideas stay with us.”
“Why did you come here?” Summerset asked.
“Wanted to know more about Brisbaine. He’s good with a computer, able to track King’s hack back to the warehouse...that took god damn supernatural skills. I thought maybe he could get me in touch with his police contacts.”
“Police?” Summerset asked, showing surprise for the first time.
“Turn myself in...make a deal if possible,” Muldowney looked at Summerset and the full weight of his years showed in his eyes. “I’m a freedom fighter. I fought against restricting the net, the eye of Compuguard. I hacked, I stole, but until this I always felt like I was acting for the greater good.”
“And now,” Summerset wanted to know.
He didn’t answer at first. After a few moments of silence, Muldowney’s eyes narrowed speculatively. “You’re Roarke’s man. What are you doing here?”
Summerset shrugged, “There was an attack on Roarke’s place. The Lieutenant trusted Brisbaine to work with Roarke Industries then brought him into the rest of the investigation. It seemed appropriate.”
“You had a key?” Muldowney asked suspiciously.
“Didn’t need one...it’s Roarke’s building,” Summerset answered with a sniff.
“Now what? Who did you contact?” Muldowney demanded.
“The good news is you will have your opportunity to speak with the police.”
“I told you the Lieutenant is dead,” Muldowney said, pulling on the electrical cord wrapped around his wrists.
“I did not contact the Lieutenant.”
“Her partner...Peabody isn’t it...she’s dead too. Who else would you contact with Roarke off planet?”
“And dead,” Summerset said softly, “according to you.” He sincerely hoped the young Detective Peabody had not been killed.
Muldowney did not respond immediately, “I researched you. Did Roarke create your new identity?”
Summerset did not rise to the bait.
“The work is excellent, but I’m an old hand at creating identities. Yours is a fake.”
He waited for a response, Summerset did not blink.
“You never liked Roarke hooking up with a cop, did you. I monitored those communications with her yesterday morning and the one this morning. There’s no love lost there.”
Summerset allowed his lip to barely curl with disgust, “She has no sense of style nor decorum. She is totally unsuitable to be the wife of a man in Roarke’s position.”
“Past tense now,” Muldowney said. “With Roarke and Dallas gone...who inherits?”
Interesting question, Summerset thought, now why would Muldowney care? Imperceptibly he adjusted the stunner to ensure a clear shot.
“You’ve been with Roarke for years. Even if you don’t get it all, surely you must get a sizeable portion.”
“Roarke has not shared the contents of his will with me,” Summerset said stiffly. He put just a touch of irritation into the comment. Muldowney was fishing, he wanted to know if Summerset thought he was going to be wealthy...irritated he didn’t know or resentful of a small portion.
“Past tense,” Muldowney reminded him.
Contest of wills, Summerset thought. How much did Muldowney really know about him? Did he know how long he had been in the game. Did he understand how that translated into reading an opponent? The other man was definitely looking to manipulate him.
“I would not keep bringing that up,” Summerset said. This time he put just a hint of anger into the words. “I have been with Roarke for many years.”
“As a servant,” Muldowney pointed out. “Bet he let the cop give you orders.”
Resentment and disgust crossed Summerset’s face for just a second.
“Now you have...” Muldowney threw himself sideways in the middle of the sentence. The stunner stream Summerset fired missed him by mere inches.
Muldowney came up, holding the electrical cord taut between his two hands and leapt towards Summerset.
Peter King surveyed the rows of young people working diligently at their systems. Presenting the destruction of New York’s cyber infrastructure as a new game test had been a stroke of genius. Everyone here was a top gamer who thought they worked on a Beta online game. Little did they know their opponents were the elite of NYPSD EDD.
Muldowney had pointed out this resolved problems caused by their loss of computer systems. If the hack was tracked down to this location...and each gamer was creating their own block or multi-hop route … this internet cafe was, entertainingly enough, owned by Roarke Properties.
It also got them out of the brownstone, King suspected that location might be identified soon. The failed attempts to destroy his foot soldiers had provided an opportunity for the enemy to trace the kill command back to the source. He had decided to consider the brownstone a lost site.
If he was right, he had sacrificed several of his top people. If he was wrong, he could collect them and they would never know.
The one thing he had determined...he had gone too broad with New York. For financing, he would keep up the proven contract kill program. For the larger scale weapon demos, he would need to reconsider the best way to give demonstrations. Putting the two together had proven too unwieldy. It reminded him of a saying his aunt had...something about the fancier or more complicated the plumbing, the easier to clog the drain.
He heard the bell going off...the young woman in seat 12 had just crashed the New York Stock Exchange. The impact was cascading worldwide.
King smiled broadly. He glanced at his wrist unit. The world would be on its economic knees within a half an hour. When Roarke’s death was confirmed, what was left of the world’s market would be in an uproar.
He started moving money from the NYSE funds into his own account. He vaguely wondered what was keeping Muldowney. He could use an extra set of hands.
Muldowney had indeed been taking care of his body, Summerset thought as he fought the older man. Should he survive, he would have to take greater advantage of the mansion’s work out room...providing there still was a mansion.
So far, Summerset had avoided two solid face blows, received one glancing blow to his shoulder that had resulted in the loss of the stunner. He had in turn rammed his elbow into Muldowney’s solar plexis and delivered an uppercut that would have his hand aching for days.
He had learned to fight for survival during the Urbans. Before that, his life had been more...genteel. After the Urbans, with a daughter to raise and no reasonably safe means to generate a sufficient income, he had gone on the grift. The nature of that life had required he hone those skills.
Those first few months after taking the young Roarke in, had been harrowing, to say the least. Patrick Roarke did not like losing his perceived control of his son. Still Summerset had bested everyone he had sent after him, until the night the bastard had cornered him in the alley.
He had survived that too...he would survive this.
Then he tripped over the ruins of the kitchen chair and went down hard. Muldowney was on him instantly.
How long, Summerset wondered, before someone came through that door. If Dallas had indeed been killed...would Roarke have even seen the text?
An unholy screech sounded from the direction of the bedroom. Galahad leapt onto the chair arm, then launched himself onto Muldowney’s back, all claws extended.
Distracted Muldowney lost his grip on Summerset who rolled quickly away. Muldowney shifted onto his back in an attempt to crush Galahad. With grace that belied his size, Galahad squirmed around and landed on Muldowney’s face, raking bloody tracks across one eye and down a cheek.
Cursing, screaming, Muldowney dislodged the hissing, spitting clawing feline, taking blood and skin with it and threw the cat across the room.
Dallas felt Peabody’s eyes, “Uh, sir, do you need me to accompany you?”
Peabody had done an admirable job of keeping her voice steady and professional, Dallas thought. Well, if she wanted to move up, she’d have to learn to play with the big boys. “No, Detective, I’ll take the Civilian, it’s his place.”
Baxter snorted slightly, earning a frown from Dallas. “Something to say, Detective?”
“No sir,” Baxter said, not quite losing the cocky grin.
“I think he recognizes the Civilian,” Roarke said, in his own voice.
Dallas frowned up at him, “Of course, he does. He’s one of my detectives,” she said with emphasis. “If he hadn’t figured it out by now, I’d bust him down to street scooper and let him earn his way back to the shield.”
It had been a filthy couple of days, Baxter thought, but Dallas had a way of hiding a compliment inside a threat that you just had to love.
“Don’t you two have somewhere to be?” Feeney reminded them.
Dallas hesitated...how to get there.
“They called in a successful kill on you,” Roarke reminded her grimly. “Odds are they won’t be watching for you to leave. Let’s take your vehicle.”
What the hell, the damn thing was built like a tank, she thought.
#
Summerset removed the cord from behind one of the ancillary comps and used it to tie Muldowney to a kitchen chair.
Settling into a more comfortable chair several feet away, Summerset pulled out his link and texted Roarke that Muldowney was here. Someone would be coming shortly. On the off chance that Lieutenant Dallas did not come herself, he angled the stunner so it could be easily hidden if someone unexpected came through the doorway.
“They’re both dead, you know,” Muldowney said, nodding towards the wedding painting Summerset had left leaning against the wall outside the bedroom door.
Summerset did not respond.
“Got the signal of her confirmed kill just before I came over here,” Muldowney murmured, staring at the painting. The artist had done an excellent job of capturing the hope and love in that moment.
“Roarke’s shuttle was blown up just minutes before. If you believe in the afterlife, at least they’re probably together.”
Summerset knew Roarke wasn’t aboard a shuttle. But, if Muldowney was right and the Lieutenant was dead, the man in front of him wouldn’t survive the hour.
“You don’t sound as if you approve of the outcome.”
“I’m too damned old to have fallen for it,” Muldowney said. “Keep up my face, my body...but I’ve got a lot of miles. Maybe I should have been more worried about my brain. They said all the right things and at first …”
“We’d all been chewed up and spit out by the system...but King had a way to use what we had, show up the system and take out the bad guys... “
“Vigilantism,” Summerset said. “I saw a lot of it in the aftermath during the Urbans.” And hadn’t he appreciated Roarke avenging Marlena, what was that but vigilantism?
“Some archetype from my childhood...Batman, Spiderman, the Scarlet Pimpernel...who the hell knows,” Muldowney said. “The image of the man who stands for good when society fails. The ideas stay with us.”
“Why did you come here?” Summerset asked.
“Wanted to know more about Brisbaine. He’s good with a computer, able to track King’s hack back to the warehouse...that took god damn supernatural skills. I thought maybe he could get me in touch with his police contacts.”
“Police?” Summerset asked, showing surprise for the first time.
“Turn myself in...make a deal if possible,” Muldowney looked at Summerset and the full weight of his years showed in his eyes. “I’m a freedom fighter. I fought against restricting the net, the eye of Compuguard. I hacked, I stole, but until this I always felt like I was acting for the greater good.”
“And now,” Summerset wanted to know.
He didn’t answer at first. After a few moments of silence, Muldowney’s eyes narrowed speculatively. “You’re Roarke’s man. What are you doing here?”
Summerset shrugged, “There was an attack on Roarke’s place. The Lieutenant trusted Brisbaine to work with Roarke Industries then brought him into the rest of the investigation. It seemed appropriate.”
“You had a key?” Muldowney asked suspiciously.
“Didn’t need one...it’s Roarke’s building,” Summerset answered with a sniff.
“Now what? Who did you contact?” Muldowney demanded.
“The good news is you will have your opportunity to speak with the police.”
“I told you the Lieutenant is dead,” Muldowney said, pulling on the electrical cord wrapped around his wrists.
“I did not contact the Lieutenant.”
“Her partner...Peabody isn’t it...she’s dead too. Who else would you contact with Roarke off planet?”
“And dead,” Summerset said softly, “according to you.” He sincerely hoped the young Detective Peabody had not been killed.
Muldowney did not respond immediately, “I researched you. Did Roarke create your new identity?”
Summerset did not rise to the bait.
“The work is excellent, but I’m an old hand at creating identities. Yours is a fake.”
He waited for a response, Summerset did not blink.
“You never liked Roarke hooking up with a cop, did you. I monitored those communications with her yesterday morning and the one this morning. There’s no love lost there.”
Summerset allowed his lip to barely curl with disgust, “She has no sense of style nor decorum. She is totally unsuitable to be the wife of a man in Roarke’s position.”
“Past tense now,” Muldowney said. “With Roarke and Dallas gone...who inherits?”
Interesting question, Summerset thought, now why would Muldowney care? Imperceptibly he adjusted the stunner to ensure a clear shot.
“You’ve been with Roarke for years. Even if you don’t get it all, surely you must get a sizeable portion.”
“Roarke has not shared the contents of his will with me,” Summerset said stiffly. He put just a touch of irritation into the comment. Muldowney was fishing, he wanted to know if Summerset thought he was going to be wealthy...irritated he didn’t know or resentful of a small portion.
“Past tense,” Muldowney reminded him.
Contest of wills, Summerset thought. How much did Muldowney really know about him? Did he know how long he had been in the game. Did he understand how that translated into reading an opponent? The other man was definitely looking to manipulate him.
“I would not keep bringing that up,” Summerset said. This time he put just a hint of anger into the words. “I have been with Roarke for many years.”
“As a servant,” Muldowney pointed out. “Bet he let the cop give you orders.”
Resentment and disgust crossed Summerset’s face for just a second.
“Now you have...” Muldowney threw himself sideways in the middle of the sentence. The stunner stream Summerset fired missed him by mere inches.
Muldowney came up, holding the electrical cord taut between his two hands and leapt towards Summerset.
#
Peter King surveyed the rows of young people working diligently at their systems. Presenting the destruction of New York’s cyber infrastructure as a new game test had been a stroke of genius. Everyone here was a top gamer who thought they worked on a Beta online game. Little did they know their opponents were the elite of NYPSD EDD.
Muldowney had pointed out this resolved problems caused by their loss of computer systems. If the hack was tracked down to this location...and each gamer was creating their own block or multi-hop route … this internet cafe was, entertainingly enough, owned by Roarke Properties.
It also got them out of the brownstone, King suspected that location might be identified soon. The failed attempts to destroy his foot soldiers had provided an opportunity for the enemy to trace the kill command back to the source. He had decided to consider the brownstone a lost site.
If he was right, he had sacrificed several of his top people. If he was wrong, he could collect them and they would never know.
The one thing he had determined...he had gone too broad with New York. For financing, he would keep up the proven contract kill program. For the larger scale weapon demos, he would need to reconsider the best way to give demonstrations. Putting the two together had proven too unwieldy. It reminded him of a saying his aunt had...something about the fancier or more complicated the plumbing, the easier to clog the drain.
He heard the bell going off...the young woman in seat 12 had just crashed the New York Stock Exchange. The impact was cascading worldwide.
King smiled broadly. He glanced at his wrist unit. The world would be on its economic knees within a half an hour. When Roarke’s death was confirmed, what was left of the world’s market would be in an uproar.
He started moving money from the NYSE funds into his own account. He vaguely wondered what was keeping Muldowney. He could use an extra set of hands.
#
Muldowney had indeed been taking care of his body, Summerset thought as he fought the older man. Should he survive, he would have to take greater advantage of the mansion’s work out room...providing there still was a mansion.
So far, Summerset had avoided two solid face blows, received one glancing blow to his shoulder that had resulted in the loss of the stunner. He had in turn rammed his elbow into Muldowney’s solar plexis and delivered an uppercut that would have his hand aching for days.
He had learned to fight for survival during the Urbans. Before that, his life had been more...genteel. After the Urbans, with a daughter to raise and no reasonably safe means to generate a sufficient income, he had gone on the grift. The nature of that life had required he hone those skills.
Those first few months after taking the young Roarke in, had been harrowing, to say the least. Patrick Roarke did not like losing his perceived control of his son. Still Summerset had bested everyone he had sent after him, until the night the bastard had cornered him in the alley.
He had survived that too...he would survive this.
Then he tripped over the ruins of the kitchen chair and went down hard. Muldowney was on him instantly.
How long, Summerset wondered, before someone came through that door. If Dallas had indeed been killed...would Roarke have even seen the text?
An unholy screech sounded from the direction of the bedroom. Galahad leapt onto the chair arm, then launched himself onto Muldowney’s back, all claws extended.
Distracted Muldowney lost his grip on Summerset who rolled quickly away. Muldowney shifted onto his back in an attempt to crush Galahad. With grace that belied his size, Galahad squirmed around and landed on Muldowney’s face, raking bloody tracks across one eye and down a cheek.
Cursing, screaming, Muldowney dislodged the hissing, spitting clawing feline, taking blood and skin with it and threw the cat across the room.
