‘In any case,’ continued Kenny, ‘you were at the briefing about the political status in Ord City leading up to the First Wave.’
‘I know,’ said Conan, holding his hands up in surrender.
‘You know this bloke’ll be HT, don’t you?’
‘I assumed he was,’ admitted Conan, ‘… which is why I wanted to follow him back to base.’
The population of Ord City were overwhelmingly devotees of Habal Tong – a synthesis of the various Asian religions which had grown strongly since the City was established in 2020.
‘You were told,’ insisted Kenny, ‘… any chance to clamp down on radical HT sects must be taken and must be publicised.’
‘I know. But I seriously didn’t think he’d get away and he could have led us to a senior confederate.’
‘But he did get away. Meanwhile, the reffo newspapers are accusing us of looking for an excuse to renege on their visas. A public arrest might have cooled ’em down a little.’
Conan was perfectly familiar with the political situation in Ord City, but that didn’t stop Kenny teaching him to suck eggs.
‘It’s Habal Tong, of course, stirring up trouble … saying the government won’t honour the seven year visas.’
‘Why shouldn’t they?’
‘They will. They wouldn’t dare do otherwise when two and a half million people are watching their every move and ready to explode. Some of their leaders are already complaining we don’t provide adequate resources up there … especially policing.’
Something in Kenny’s voice warned Conan that the conversation was about to take an irritating turn.
‘What policing resources should we be providing?’ asked Conan, as Kenny finished his donut and licked his fingers.
‘Murder investigation,’ said Kenny, and Conan groaned with impending boredom. Murder would normally be the responsibility of the state police but Ord City, within the Temporary Citizenship Zone, was covered by a Commonwealth Act which brought all serious crime under the jurisdiction of the AFP.
‘Double murder to be precise,’ continued Kenny. ‘Gangland execution by the look of it. That used to be your forte, didn’t it … gangs?’
‘But surely I need to stay on this present case,’ objected Conan. ‘If he’s downloaded specs then clearly there’s a potential sabotage situation up there.’
‘Which will be monitored by someone else with a bit more responsibility,’ said Kenny. ‘Virtual investigation is a privilege … an expensive privilege … and when you let arseholes like FENG 9 access critical information and get away you breach the trust the community has placed in you. Maybe next time you’ll appreciate your responsibility a tad more keenly.’
‘Kenny … you know exactly why I held back,’ said Conan, who really needed to stay in Sydney. ‘If we’d caught this prick … big deal. Whoever’s running the operation would simply have passed the baton on to someone else. I wanted the head honcho.’
‘How do you know he’s not the honcho?’ demanded Kenny, reaching for another donut. ‘Or a lone wolf? Ever heard of interrogation?’
‘He won’t talk if he’s HT,’ said Conan, ‘… they never do. That’s the other reason I held off.’
‘There, you see,’ said Kenny, grinning, ‘… you’re already an expert on HT culture. Perfect.’
‘Are you kidding? I don’t know the first thing about HT or Ord City. Surely this is a job for a local.’
‘It’s been deprioritised … overflow. They’re too busy with other stuff, like First Wave security, and I’ve been asked to send one of my people. You’re suddenly the most expendable.’
Conan groaned again sensing politics, and gangland murder was non-political and non-virtual investigation – definitely a demotion.
‘If it’s any consolation,’ said Kenny, ‘no one expects you to find the killers. Just get your arse up to Ord City and fly the Sydney flag for a few days. Think of it as a holiday.’
• • •
‘Hey Lucia.’
‘Hey Conan.’
Conan fell silent – wondering how to breach the subject safely.
‘What’s up?’ she asked, a hint of unprofessional doubt in her voice.
‘Wrong number,’ he said, then hung up – knowing she’d call him back. Sure enough, about six minutes later, a withheld number flashed up on his phone.
‘I can’t do tomorrow night Lucia … they’re sending me to Ord City. Bloody murder investigation.’
Lucia worked in data and logistics and there was an uncomfortable friendship between the two – not least because of the time they’d ‘done it’ after getting pissed at a rare work party. Social functions were discouraged in the modern AFP and intimate relations outright forbidden. Lucia had shyly suggested, once or twice since, that if he wanted a relationship she might be willing to resign. But Conan didn’t want another relationship.
At least, he didn’t think so, and he couldn’t have borne the guilt of letting her leave her job and then breaking up with her at any point later.
‘Why are they sending you?’
‘Because I fucked up a virtual investigation and … where are you calling from?’
‘Don’t worry, it’s safe … as long as …’
They both knew all phone conversations were monitored in real time by the Quantum computer – listening for words like ‘heroin’ or ‘gun’ or ‘crimson’ – or any other combination of words that might need closer attention from an AI algorithm or even a human agent. As long as they kept it vague and banal and didn’t both use work numbers they were fairly safe to talk.
‘Okay … I’m going tomorrow and there’s stuff I need to do tonight. Can we catch up when I get back?’
‘Sure, Conan,’ she said, and he tried not to hear the pain under her carefree manner. It had taken them six weeks to arrange a date. ‘But don’t you think it odd they’re sending you? You don’t do murder.’
‘Not since I was a state Dee … I guess I’ve had experience.’
‘Plenty of others with more experience,’ she said, and he could picture her shrugging.
‘Maybe they’re busy? In any case, Kenny said no one expects me to solve the case.’
‘Then why go?’
‘God knows … politics. Something to do with keeping the non-natives happy.’
‘Ord City’s a weird place, Conan. You look after yourself … I better go.’
‘Okay … I’ll see you when I get back.’
‘Sure, Conan. Maybe.’
• • •
Three people – two men and a woman – sit before a huge picture window looking over a vast city, with an ocean to the north under a pink sky fading to purple. A servant pours tea and departs silently. None of them speak until all have savoured the tea and replaced their cups.
The first to speak is a large man dressed entirely in black.
‘It has begun then. There is no turning back.’
A woman in a pink and grey power suit with a necklace of black pearls responds: ‘It began some time ago … the preparations have taken years.’
‘The irrevocable step has been