We awoke on the floor of a deserted warehouse. Of the small storeroom back in P.T. there was no sign – not so much as a bag of pork scratchings. The bare concrete was cool and hard against my cheek. A shard of sunlight from a greasy skylight pierced the mote-laden air. All was quiet and still. I had that vile metallic taste in my mouth again. Once they get that fixed teleportation will be a breeze. As usual Gwen was first to her feet, gun drawn, scanning for danger.
‘Let’s go, cowboy. Best not hang about.’ She made for a half-open set of roller doors thick with graffiti.
I hastened to catch up. ‘No Gatekeeper this end?’
She shook her head. ‘There’s no infrastructure to maintain. This spot is just a focal point, a nexus of standing waves.’
‘A teleportation landing pad?’
‘If you like.’
‘A node for ley lines?’
She flattened herself against the prefab wall next to the doors. ‘You been talking to any druids lately?’
‘Not if I can help it, those guys freak me out.’
‘You’re not alone.’ Gwen checked the parking lot outside. I could see a loading ramp and behind that stacks of disused shipping containers, piled high like shabby Lego. Faded grass grew from cracks in the crumbling concrete.
‘No one about. Let’s split.’
She made for a hole in the fence behind the nearest crates. The whole place had a derelict and run-down air. It felt like we were ten years into a zombie apocalypse, just without the shuffling extras. The thick undergrowth made me wary as Gwen led us along the line of the tatty fence. We emerged onto an equally shabby street, the only movement a scrawny dog hurrying across the shimmering tarmac halfway down the block. Gwen took a deep breath, holstered her gun and began moving briskly down the sidewalk.
‘Mind telling me where we’re going?’
‘To find a bus stop. Walking’s not the best idea in this neighbourhood.’
I struggled to keep up. ‘And after we’re on the bus, what then?’
‘We have an appointment downtown, with my contact.’
‘He’s the guy who wants to meet me?’
‘No – enough of the questions. Just walk.’
I knew better than to push my luck. From the faded bullet-riddled signs we passed I learned we were in Allendale, a suburb on the western edge of Jacksonville. It was five miles into the city. The air was scorching hot and I needed a drink – I’d have even settled for a leek daiquiri. When I stopped to peer at one of the squat, gloomy houses set back from the street, thinking I’d seen movement behind the shuttered windows, Gwen snapped at me to keep up. This neighbourhood gave me the creeps. I didn’t sense the locals were friendly.
Five minutes later we were on the bus. I say ‘bus’ as that’s the best analogue for the cobbled-together contraption we were riding. It had no wheels but wobbled two foot off the ground, as if unsure of the laws of physics. That was about as far as it went in terms of similarity with the high-tech tacsis we’d used back in Wales. The bus moved like a drunk whale, slewing across the litter-strewn highway whilst emitting a tired groan. It was piloted by a surly human driver. Gwen handed him a single banknote and he motioned us into the hold with a grunt. It seemed everyone accepted Welsh currency.
The bus was only half full. The other passengers shifted out of our way avoiding eye contact. The smell was less than ideal, and the bars on the windows were not putting me at my ease. Some empty seats seemed to have sustained bullet holes and blast damage.
‘Is this the best they’ve got over here?’
Gwen’s head held still but her eyes scanned our travelling companions. ‘What do you expect? We’re not in Pax Cambria anymore.’
‘But they’ve got J-Drives?’
‘Everyone’s got J-Drives. Cheap as chips and twice as useful. Watch out for that roach.’
We soon left the shabby neighbourhood behind, but the view from the grease-smudged windows didn’t improve; if anything it got worse. Shortly we floated through what looked like a South American favela, but not the friendly, jovial kind full of plucky community spirit and limbo dancers. This place was a teeming shanty town of tin shacks and ramshackle hovels, cobbled together from anything the inhabitants could find to hand. What mostly seemed available was rusty corrugated sheeting, sun-bleached driftwood and burning barrels. Suddenly there were people everywhere, dressed in jumble sale profusion. Grubby children sat crying at the roadside, the main sewer running at their bare feet. There were a lot of dogs that looked scrawnier than the people. We wobbled past a plethora of street food stalls which seemed intent on curing the dog problem.
Several times we stopped to let on more passengers. Quite a few seemed to lack the required fare, pleading with the driver until he waved a brutal shotgun at them, chasing them away. Soon it was standing room only. A forest of armpit hair sprouted next to my face. At one point a kid in a faded Ospreys rugby shirt and mismatched flip-flops clambered up the bars outside our window shouting something about cheap watches. The driver seemed to intentionally swerve into the bush to brush him off. The youngster’s cries faded into the distance as he cartwheeled through the humid air. At the next stop passengers scrambled onto the roof. I thought the bus’s straining motors might give out at any moment. This was my first trip to North America, and I was feeling a tad let down – not what I’d been expecting at all.
‘Who are all these people?’
Gwen looked sad. ‘Refugees from the Confederacy, mostly. We’re close to the border. This is where the lucky ones wash up.’
‘And the unlucky ones?’
She shrugged. ‘There are a lot of alligators between here and Georgia. They rarely want for a meal.’
‘Unlike these poor sods.’ This wasn’t the Florida I’d seen on Miami Vice. The locals weren’t wearing socks, but I didn’t think it was a fashion statement. It looked more like desperate poverty to me.
‘And they’d prefer to live like this than stay at home?’
Gwen shook her head. ‘I guess what they’re escaping from is worse. Apartheid 2.0 is not for everyone. Those charming funsters north of the border are busy building their utopian ethno-state – these folk didn’t pass the melanin test.’
I gulped down the ball in my throat. Suddenly my empty stomach didn’t feel half so bad. I’d lost my appetite. Downtown Jacksonville was a major improvement. I mean, it wasn’t Aberdare, but at least the streets looked clean and they weren’t barbecuing family pets to ward off starvation. These things are relative. There were people dressed in suits and normal-looking cars. Flying craft too, but far less than back in Wales. The buildings looked like they might withstand a strong breeze. We stopped at a busy intersection. The lights changed to green and we were about to pull off when a wail of sirens blared from our right. A column of police cars and SWAT trucks hurtled past, a neon light show hurtling at full speed.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
‘Riot, most likely,’ said Gwen in explanation.
As we arrived in what looked like the financial district, passengers started getting off. Gwen told me they were employed as cleaners and servants – low wage service workers holding up the tottering pillars of civilisation. All possible thanks to the massive workforce on hand night and day. Every cloud had a silver lining, and this one was buffed to a high shine by cheap immigrant labour. The favela dwellers cost less than robots and were less prone to psychosis. The final stop was outside an impressive tower block of glass and steel. We were the last people on the bus; I was glad to get off. Gwen turned to our host as we climbed down.
‘Thanks Drive.’
I guess old habits die hard. He just looked at us in wonder, spat out a wad of tobacco juice and cycled shut the doors.
We strolled across a wide tree-studded plaza, sirens blaring in the distance. Business people hurried past, paying us no heed. As usual I was full of questions.
‘So what happened to the USA?’
Gwen’s eyes never stopped checking the square. ‘Balkanised to within an inch of its life. But with none of the quaint folksy charm of the original – just the ethnic cleansing and internment camps.’
‘The US split up?’
‘Split up and fell apart. It was one messy divorce. California got the music collection and Texas got the kids – shame they’re all psychos. Just as well the nukes were sold off to pay the legal fees. Those are the last things you want clanking round when you’ve got two hundred mutually antagonistic micro-states arguing about where the money’s gone. There’s a lovely religious dictatorship in the Midwest. New England’s nice, if you’re a billionaire. Don’t ask about Nevada.’
I wasn’t about to enquire. Besides, we were already at the tower’s massive main doors. Above the entrance a camera on a spherical gimbal slewed to scan us up and down. It seemed to contemplate us for a moment, before the smoked glass doors glided open with an impressive swish. This was more like it – the cool air was a welcome relief after the heat of the streets. We entered a spacious atrium decorated with tropical plants. A fountain bubbled somewhere nearby. Two of the biggest men I’d ever seen stood before us, kitted out in dark suits and darker glasses – like a couple of testosterone-filled black holes. They had the same air of deadly wariness that seeped from Gwen’s every pore. I thought it best to let my companion take the lead.
We halted before the pair of gorillas, who inspected us as if we might be trouble. Gwen carefully raised her arms to head level and showed them her open palms, and then very slowly reached into her jacket and removed her gun. She held it between finger and thumb, as unthreatening as could be. One guard held out a clear plastic bag, into which Gwen dropped the weapon. I realised I’d stopped breathing. We were all professionals and it wouldn’t do to have any misunderstandings. Gwen went through the same rigmarole with her smartphone. Then they scanned her head to foot with a beeping baton, which sounded the all-clear. I was ready to get searched the same way, but they didn’t even bother. I guess I have an honest face – either that or they knew who wore the trousers. Scowling, but a fraction more relaxed, they led us over to the lifts.
Next to the buttons was a series of burnished copper plaques. Apparently ‘Sentinel Private Security LLC’ took up the first five floors. ‘No conflict too big or small. Combat air support available. Tyrants toppled, democracies stabilised (or combinations thereof).’ Above that was the consulate of the Welsh Republic, this one with special responsibility for ‘Cultural Affairs’. I guess Gavin and Stacey reruns weren’t going to syndicate themselves.
Gwen saw me reading this last plate. ‘Just a local branch office; the main embassy is down in Tallahassee.’
I didn’t know what to say, so read the final plate instead. ‘Holden, Holden and Finch – Attorneys at Law’. There were no offers of air support, combat or otherwise. I was past feeling any relief. The lift arrived with a ping. We got in and Gwen pressed the button for the top floor. The gorillas watched us depart and got back to their guard duty, as impassive as ever.
I’ve never been that keen on lifts, even when they don’t lead to alternate dimensions full of psychopaths trying to kill me. Maybe that’s why I was sweating profusely. ‘So you’re handing me over to these lawyers? They’ll keep me safe?’
Gwen looked at me for a long time. I could hear the gears turning behind those brown eyes. ‘These lawyers represent my clients. This is just to ensure you’re the right guy.’ She seemed to think for a moment. ‘I won’t be handing you over today.’
I sighed with relief. The thought of saying farewell to Gwen left me strangely empty inside. ‘That’s good news. Anything else I need to know about these jokers?’
She tilted her head from side to side, stretching tired neck muscles. ‘Only that to them I’m known as Wanda Sevastopol – don’t even ask.’
I was beginning to suspect there was more to my multi-talented kidnapper than met the eye. And what did meet the eye could have kept you busy for weeks. Interrupted by that familiar surge of weightlessness the doors pinged open. We exited into a plush lobby where a nervous underling ushered us to a well-appointed conference room. The handful of functionaries we passed fell back and stared in awe. The atmosphere in the place seemed thick with tension.
Inside the conference room stood a couple of corporate types – suits so sharp you could have used them to shave. An open medical case lay atop the long table in front of them. The man on the left was staring at me with an intensity bordering on fanaticism. He had an oily face and wet, bulging eyes. He motioned for his companion to close the full-length blinds masking us from the outer lobby. Whatever was going down they had no desire for an audience.
‘Ah, Mr Jones, you have no idea what a privilege – no, an honour, it is to meet you at last. You can’t possibly know what you mean to our organisation.’ With an excess of enthusiasm he pumped my hand up and down, until, fearing he might damage the goods, he stopped in a panic. Goggle eyed, he checked my arm was still in one piece.
‘Er… thanks. I think. And who are you?’
‘My name is Finch, I’m the senior partner here. But at the moment I’m the happiest man on earth.’
‘Really – why’s that?’
‘We’ve hit the jackpot with you, Mr Jones. We just need to confirm your identity. A formality I’m sure.’ He turned to his companion. ‘Doctor, please administer the test.’
The other half of the reception committee retrieved a small plastic cup from the case and came round the table to join us. He seemed less enthusiastic than his boss, not that it was hard.
‘We need a sample of your genetic material.’
I unbuckled my belt and eyed the container sceptically. ‘You’re going to need something bigger than that, chief. And a bit of privacy wouldn’t go amiss. There’s a lady present.’
‘We only need you to spit in it.’
‘Of course, I knew that. How stupid do you think I am?’
The doctor looked to be preparing an answer, before Finch bundled him into a seat with a menacing glare. My host was all smiles when he turned back to me, nodding for me to continue. I hacked up a good one and slid the cup over to the doctor, who pulled a beeping probe from the case. The sensor was linked by a long curly wire to the apparatus; he plunged it into my offering and swirled it round. The machine whirred for a moment, as whatever strange magic it contained weaved its spell. After a few seconds it beeped, and several coloured lights flashed. The doctor looked up at Finch, adjusted his glasses, and nodded. The lawyer had been bobbing from foot to foot, but now hooted and raised both fists in triumph.
‘Hit the jackpot! We’re going to be rich! Well, richer than we are already.’ Finch performed a strange little dance of joy.
The mood of jubilation was interrupted by Gwen clearing her throat behind us. She lay sprawled over the conference chair nearest the door, outwardly relaxed but as menacing as a lounging tiger.
‘Maybe we are – but I’ve still got to get him to your boss first. And need I remind you, gentlemen, the first instalment of my fee is now due.’
Finch waved his hand as if this was a mere trifle. ‘Of course, of course. This is a momentous day. When the analysts get to work we can start taking back control from those jumped-up sheep-worriers across the pond.’ He turned to Gwen. ‘No offence, Ms Sevastopol.’
‘None taken, I’m sure. We’re just the Irish who couldn’t swim.’
Finch’s smile didn’t get anywhere near his eyes. ‘A true professional – you’re the best there is. Our employers have authorised me to make the first payment.’
‘And the rest of the fee?’
‘– will be paid when we hand him over. I need to speak to you about that.’
A dark cloud seemed to gather over Gwen. ‘We agreed I’d handle that end of the deal. Right up to handover.’
Finch licked his blubbery lips. ‘The situation has changed. Our masters are keen to begin work on the subject right away – very keen indeed. You can’t imagine what’s at stake.’
Gwen’s eyes held a hint of steel. ‘You’d be surprised how good my imagination can be. I’ll keep hold of the subject until the rendezvous, thank you. Like we agreed back in Langley.’
The pair glared at each other for an uncomfortable moment. It fell to me to lighten the mood before bones got broken.
‘Can we get anything to eat around here? I’m sure you don’t want the subject starving to death.’