The Peace Proxy: Part 1 (10 page)

“Garrett, this is big news. Sometimes the
tough
ones can seem daunting before all the
facts are in,” Charlie coached.

Garrett turned back to Charlie, his
face
grim. “Don’t take on the
sage-editor-guiding-the-neophyte role with me. I’m not wet behind
the ears,” he seethed.

“I know, Garrett. I didn’t mean it like
that. It’s just…” Charlie trailed off.

Garrett turned back to the city skyline.
“Just what?” he shot back, feeling the turmoil of his decision rise
to the surface.

“Come on, Garrett.
This
could
be the story of a lifetime,” Charlie encouraged.
Garrett did not respond, so Charlie continued his attempt at
coercion. “Well hell, a few years ago you’d have been champing
at the bit
to break something like this. If
you’re lucky, you may get an opportunity to cover a story like this
once in your entire career.
This could
put the
Rimes debacle behind you for good,” Charlie counseled.

“Right, get the story,” Garrett muttered.
The words were
detached
as if spoken by
someone across the room. He sensed he was
being
led
down a path he did not want to
take
but was powerless to alter his course.

Charlie jumped out of his chair and slapped
Garrett on the back. “That’s my boy. I thought you were fading on
me there for a second. I understand your concern. Garrett, we’ve
been through a lot together. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you
or Katherine, but if
you’re not fully
committed
, this thing could get away from us.”

Garrett turned back to the office, his lips
drawn into a thin line. Bubbling with energy, Charlie sat down
again, ready to return to business. Garrett slowly returned to his
chair.

“When are you meeting Mike?” Charlie
asked.

“Tomorrow morning, outside Penn Station,”
Garrett responded unenthusiastically.

Charlie’s eyes narrowed as he studied
Garrett. “Hey, are you all right?” he asked.

“
Yeah, I’m fine
. I just
don’t know if I like where this is going,” Garrett admitted.

“Garrett, stay focused here.
This doesn’t
have a bow on it. It looks like it may hold
water, but I need a tiger out there to bring this in. Of course, if
it
actually
bears fruit we could be talking
Pulitzer.”

“I’ll get the story, Charlie,” Garrett
responded with resigned acceptance. “I always do,” he
concluded.

“That’s right. You always do. I’m going to
call it a day. Are you finished here?” Charlie asked indicating the
remaining holographs.

“Yes.”

Charlie shut down the computer. “You sure
you want to go it alone tomorrow?”

“Yeah, Mike is going to be
nervous,
and I don’t want him to change his mind if he
sees me there with someone else."

“Be careful, and this is for Mike,” Charlie
threw Garrett a credit chip.

“If this pans out, Mike is going to need
some
running
money as well."

“I threw in some extra,” Charlie
chuckled.

“What’s so funny?”

“It came out of your expense account,”
Charlie joked as he walked out.

Garrett slowly followed him out of the
office, his emotions still at odds with his decision to pursue the
story. He felt as though he had left behind part of what some would
call his soul, and
he
was not sure he was
satisfied with the sum of what had emerged.

Garrett checked the time. It was Five
o’clock. There was a reasonable chance Katherine’s mood had cooled
to a light simmer. He had his comband request a cab as he made his
way to the aerial port on the ninetieth floor. The aircar was
waiting when he arrived. Once inside, he began parsing through his
inner turmoil. A cloud was blotting the normally inviting vista of
his mental landscape. The origin of the shadow was
simple
guilt, but due to Garrett’s
rare
exposure to the emotion, its source was elusive. One
of the advantages of carefully pruning relationships was the ease
with which one could act. Why should he feel guilt over Katherine’s
tangential involvement with his case? He could not be held
accountable over
an inconceivable
coincidence.
He had not violated their pact. Of course, he had not told
Katherine about the meeting with Mike at the party, but that did
not constitute a breach of trust. They rarely spoke of work.
Perhaps Katherine wanted him to open up more about his day-to-day
regime. That was not an unreasonable method of drawing them closer.
By the time he arrived at the apartment, the issue was
resolved,
and he felt
right as
rain.

He entered the apartment to find it empty.
Jacob, the house computer, indicated there was a message from
Katherine. Garrett had a sinking feeling he was not going to have
an opportunity to present the reconciliation speech he had
rehearsed on the ride home.
He
poured a scotch
and retired to the comfort of the sofa. He took a long drink before
having Jacob play the message.

“Garrett. I'm at the hospital with Greg. I
need some time away to think about our situation. I'll probably
stay at Sharon's.”

It was hard to discern whether the source of
the burning sensation spreading through his body was the scotch or
Katherine’s message. Well, that went as planned, Garrett bitterly
concluded. They were both career people. It seemed something like
this would happen eventually, he conceded, but a not-so-small part
of him rejected that assessment as decidedly one-sided. As he
considered their interaction of late, it seemed that only one of
them was talking about careers. He elected not to follow that line
of reasoning and turned on the holograph, scanning various programs
and pausing at the few that showed promise. He settled on coverage
of a recent fad called morphing. Garrett had seen a little of it in
some of the gangs he had reported on, combining various animal and
human attributes: fangs, hair, horns, among other oddities. Lion
manes were particularly
popular
. Garrett could
not understand the interest, but according to the program, reversal
was turning out to be more difficult and painful than originally
advertised. Garrett switched to the local news channel as he
settled deeper into the sofa.

As per its programming, Jacob woke him at
nine. He had drifted off to sleep watching the monotonous drivel.
Resigned that none of his endeavors could be advanced until the sun
rose again, he turned in for the night.

A barely perceptible movement in the room
interrupted his slumber. Startled, he woke instantly, straining to
determine the source of the compelling impression that he was not
alone. Someone was stealthily sliding into bed with him. To his
relief and surprise, it was Katherine.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Me, too. I wasn’t working on your security
breach,” Garrett responded, pulling together the tendrils of the
dialogue he had rehearsed earlier.

Katherine put a finger over his mouth.
“We’ll talk about it later,” she insisted as she climbed on top of
him with a long kiss. Later, Garrett acknowledged her approach to
reconciliation was decidedly superior to his.

The cold morning air whipped at the loose
folds of Garrett’s coat as he stood next to a bench on the
southwest corner of Penn Station. He checked his comband; ten
minutes until seven. His breath escaped in large white plumes.
Despite the wind’s intentions, only his exposed face was subject to
the chilling temperatures. His clothes automatically compensated
for environmental conditions to keep their occupant wrapped in
relative comfort. A figure slept on the bench closest to him. For
the homeless, enviro-clothing made the New York winter almost
survivable. There were more than enough free shelters in the city
to feed and clothe the dwindling number of people living on the
streets, but the recipient had to submit to a drug test before
receiving aid. Not all were willing. Garrett sat on a bench across
from the slumbering individual, counting each minute as it passed.
The tone in his earpiece startled him. He stood up reflexively and
answered the incoming call. His comband projected an expanded image
of Mike across his palm.

“Mike, what’s going on?” Garrett asked
quickly. He was anxious.

“Easy, Garrett. Are you alone?” The light
from Mike’s screen illuminated his face. It made his head appear as
if it were floating, disembodied. Garrett considered his dark
clothing and imagined his face probably looked similar.

“Yeah, I’m alone. Well,
someone is sleeping
on the bench across from me, but
other than that, I’m alone.”

“You sure he’s asleep?” Mike asked
skeptically.

“Yes. Come on, let’s get this over
with.”

“Okay. Okay. I’m just a little jumpy. This
may be bigger than I thought when I talked to you before. There may
be aliens among us already. The information is on the chip. It’s
encrypted so you’ll have to...” Mike trailed off, turning from the
screen to address some unseen activity.

“Mike, what chip?” Garrett questioned
emphatically.

Mike’s attention was still focused
off
screen; something Garrett found
increasingly disturbing. He was struck with a primal urge to
flee
but steadied his
resolve
. He still needed information only Mike could
provide.

“Mike!” Garrett was yelling. “What
chip?”

Mike turned back to the screen. “You have
the chip. I put it in your…”

A flash from a stunner cut Mike off in
mid-sentence, an explosion immediately followed. Garrett stood
motionless, mentally cobbling together what he had just seen: the
flash from the stunner too bright, the noise from the explosion too
loud. His faculties desperately tried to fit together pieces of a
puzzle that did not support Garrett’s perception of reality.
Understanding snapped into place with brute force. The flash had
not just been transmitted through his comband screen. It had
briefly illuminated Madison Square Garden. The noise had awakened
the figure sleeping on the bench across from Garrett. Mike had been
on the northwest corner of the building. He had used the call to
ensure Garrett was secure.

An aircar was rising from the location of
the explosion. The sound stirred Garrett from the surreal moment.
He ran along the south side of the building, keeping it between him
and the rising vehicle. As he arrived at the corner of Penn
Station, he heard the vehicle land in the direction of the bench he
had just vacated. That homeless person was in for a surprise.

The sidewalks were already beginning to fill
with people starting their week.
It was easy to blend
in.
He slowed to a brisk walk, just one of the masses
trudging to work. Not willing to risk the time it would take to
hail a cab, he made his way through the throng of commuters
plodding toward the Penn Station entrance. Aircars were moving
overhead.
Normal
traffic, but he flinched
involuntarily each time one passed. Several police vehicles were
already responding to the incident with lights blazing, and their
sirens screaming angrily.

Garrett settled into a subway seat that
could only be considered comfortable by someone endowed with an
excessively rigid spine. The seats were originally designed to
conform to the passengers’ physique, but the days when they were
still capable of performing that service had long since passed.
Still, increasing the distance from Penn Station allowed him to
relax. He considered what Mike’s reference to him having the chip
meant. He had not received any packages at home. It was possible
the item was still in transit. He reexamined the scuttled meeting
with Mike. He could not set aside the disconcerting impression the
timing of Mike’s apprehension was significant. He examined that
prospect, probing it from various angles, considering who would
have benefitted from the failed exchange, certainly not Mike. The
realization struck him like a lightning bolt. He sat up rigidly and
instantly the seat fit like it was custom-made for his current
posture. They could have taken Mike at any time, but they wanted
his conspirator. If they had Garrett’s identity, they would know
where he lived. He frantically directed his comband to call
Katherine and waited nervously for her to complete the connection.
She did not. He selected the apartment.

“Please answer. Please answer,” he repeated
in the manner of
unrecognized
prayer. To his
relief she did.

“Garrett?” The surprise in her voice was
evident even through the small earpiece.

“Katherine, are you all right?” Garrett was
talking fast. He knew he sounded frantic, but every second
counted.

“Of course. What’s wrong?” She responded,
mildly amused by the suggestion she would be otherwise.

“You didn’t answer your comband,” he
accused.

“It was on the counter. I just missed your
call,” she explained.

Garrett could not get the words out fast
enough. “I think someone killed Mike, the guy I was meeting. Are
you still in the apartment?”

Katherine took on a serious tone, “I’m
leaving now. Do you want me to meet you?” Garrett had a car that he
and Katherine kept for trips through the countryside. They never
used it in the city and he could probably walk back to the
apartment before she could cover half the distance trying to
negotiate traffic.

Garrett responded without giving the offer
any consideration. “No, go to work. It’ll be safer.”

“Do you think they would come here?” Her
quick response gave way to concern. “Do they know who you are?”