A Question of Will (11 page)

He paused. “But I doubt that any bodies will be found, regardless of the state of destruction of the house. You see, The Assassin cannot be harmed by fire. If they find
no
bodies, it means the Assassin wasn’t in the house when you left right before that bomb went off. They’d find everything else in ashes, save for one man’s body, dead or unconscious, and unmarked by fire. If we hear reports of something like that, my opinion will change, but until then, my conclusion is simply this: the Alliance has everyone that was in that house, living or dead. Stark was pulled from our grasp, The Assassin hasn’t contacted us, and a body hasn’t been found. He wouldn’t hide from us, even if he thought he’d failed. No, the only explanation is that the Alliance has him. And they have Stark. More than likely, they have Stark’s family as well, living or dead.” He shook his head. “I’ve no ideas yet of what technology or Energy skill the Alliance used to make Stark seem so
human
, but it’s clear that everyone’s abilities here are still working correctly.”

He pounded his fist into the table. “I don’t like this at all. It makes me feel so...
human
.”

The Hunters shuddered.

“Sir?” Athos said. “With this new technology...what do we do now?”

“Continue to seek them out. You will need to travel more, move around frequently, and try to catch them unawares. There is no need for subtlety of action now. The order to avoid harm to fugitives is revoked; subdue first, harm to render unconscious as needed. We need our people to see these people return and admit to their wrongdoing, however it is that we get them back. We cannot sit back again and wait for them to make a mistake, or for our previous detection systems to work. We must seek them out, and stop them immediately. Their technological gains are troubling.”

He glanced at the men, whose faces were full of determination mixed with concern. “Go.”

They vanished from his sight.

The Leader pulled out the scrap of paper he’d retrieved outside the Stark house and sat at the desk in the hotel suite. He glanced at the photo of Hope in her wedding dress, her blue eyes radiant. Hope’s joyful expression did not carry over to the Leader. The man looked sad, as if he might shed a tear. But then he slammed the photo down on the desk.

He’d verify later the news the photo seemed to convey, but the evidence seemed clear.

“You
lied
to me, Will Stark.
No one
gets away with lying to me.”

VIII

Cleanup

It had been a long day, and Gena Adams was exhausted.

Despite that, she was happy to have a job in this economy. It gave her the opportunity to earn her own way, no matter how meager those earnings might be. Still, working twelve hour shifts at The Diner had a negative impact on her feet and legs; she felt like an old woman instead of a twenty year old engaged to be married.

Gena limped into her apartment building on the outskirts of Pleasanton, outside the Dome, having walked the final mile here after the bus dropped her off. She was grateful that the bus ran as late as it did, and more so that the owner of The Diner always ensured that she caught the final bus, even if they were still in the midst of their final closing rounds. It was another reason she was happy to have a job; her boss took a personal interest in her, though thankfully not
too
personal. Mark wouldn’t like that one bit. She smiled. Mark was possessive and protective of her in that way, and it was one of the many reasons she loved the man.

The apartment wasn’t much, but they needed to save money for their wedding, and an eventual down payment on a house. They were willing to live more simply now so that they could reach those goals in the future. They had only one older car as well; Mark’s job as a security guard required it as the bus lines didn’t go near the private community where he worked. She supposed the rich people who lived there didn’t want to see the poor folk go by on public transportation.

She walked to the second floor landing of the building and unlocked the door to their apartment. She was surprised to find that the lights were out, as Mark usually arrived home before she did. Only then did Gena realize that she hadn’t seen his car in the parking lot. Perhaps he’d gotten stuck at work; he occasionally got some overtime when his shift replacement was running late, and she figured that was the situation here as well.

She flipped on the old television set, switched to the twenty-four hour news channel for background noise, and looked for something to eat. Most people found it odd that she worked at a restaurant and came home to eat, but after being around that particular cuisine for such a long period of time, Gena needed the variety.

“Our top story tonight: America’s billionaire philanthropist, along with his wife and son, die in a massive fire at their home in southeastern Ohio. More details just ahead.”

Gena froze. There was only one man who would be described that way, and that was Will Stark. Mark worked as a security guard in the neighborhood where the wealthy man lived with his family. Gena wasn’t partial to rich people in general, but the Starks had been exceptionally kind and generous towards Mark, and she found herself tearing up a bit at the news of their deaths.
That must be why he’s late
, she thought.
They’re probably doing interviews of everyone in the area to try to figure out what happened
. She checked her phone, but didn’t see any texts. That was odd; usually if Mark knew he was running late he’d let her know.

“Authorities say that the home, located in an exclusive gated community outside the domed city of Pleasanton, Ohio, burned rapidly and trapped the occupants inside. Also killed in the fire was the suspected arsonist. Police aren’t sure if arson was the primary motivation in the attack, or if the arsonist used the fire as a means of enforcing other demands, including potentially demands for a portion of the Stark family’s massive wealth.

“Regardless of the motive, the nation has been deprived of one its few true bright lights in recent years. Stark famously started his medical data mining company as a means of showing insurance companies where fraud and double billing were occurring, and provided true actual costs for medical services, devices, medications, and other supplies. After the insurance industry began using the data to reduce payments to medical practitioners, Stark made the data available to everyone, and the forced transparency of actual costs dramatically cut the price of medical care in the country, making Stark a wealthy man in the process. He later invested in other businesses, including the building materials company which popularized creating panels of all sizes, shapes, and colors with nanomaterials, building components which are smaller than human cells.

“After several attempts on his life and aborted kidnapping attempts in his home town of Chicago, Stark relocated himself and his business headquarters to the small southeastern Ohio town of Pleasanton. Finding the city nearly deserted and bankrupt, Stark bought the town, razed and rebuilt its aging infrastructure with new technology, and enclosed the entire city in a dome created from nanotech components. The explosion of innovation, growth, and entrepreneurship in the once-bankrupt town has energized the entire nation.

“A well-known philanthropist, Stark is famous for giving away hundreds of millions of dollars in and around his local community, and he and his wife, Hope, have traveled the world seeking to aid and inspire others to success and prosperity.

“Will Stark was thirty-five years old. His wife, Hope, was twenty-eight. Their young son, who suffered from various developmental disabilities, was only six. Our thoughts and prayers go out to his grieving friends and community.”

Gena allowed the tears to flow during the on-air eulogy. Stock video showed the massive walls encircling the community of mansions, and the buildings housing the two on-duty guards looked small in comparison. Live video, taken as darkness had fallen, showed still-glowing embers where the home of Will and Hope Stark once stood. Gena wondered how the arsonist could have gotten inside.

Unless...no, it couldn’t be.

The phone rang.

Gena picked up the phone, her hand trembling. “Hello?”

“Is this Gena Adams?”

“Yes, it is. May I ask who is calling?”

“Ms. Adams, my name is Michael Baker, and I am with the Pleasanton police department.”

No, no, no! Please, no!
“Is something wrong, Officer Baker?” Gena tried to keep her voice steady, through some misguided notion that if she pretended nothing was wrong, then nothing
would
be wrong.

“Ms. Adams, have by chance heard the news about the fire earlier today that took the lives of the Stark family?”

“I just got home from work and saw it on the news. It’s awful, isn’t it?”

“Unfortunately, Ms. Adams, they weren’t the only ones who perished today. I’m very sorry.”

No, no, no! “I...I don’t understand. What are you saying?” Say that it’s a joke, a sick, twisted joke. I won’t even be mad. I promise.

“I’m very sorry, Ms. Adams. The perpetrator killed both security guards on duty at the time in order to gain entry. One of them was Mark Arnold. I’m very sorry for your loss, Ms. Adams.”

Gena choked back a sob. “No. It can’t be him. We’re getting married next month. He can’t be gone! You’ve got the
wrong man
! I’ll come down to the police station or the morgue or wherever and
tell you
you’ve got the wrong man! It’s somebody else!” She was sobbing now, shouting in an attempt to hide the tears and shock and horror at the news she’d received.

The police officer let her finish her rant, and then spoke in a calm, quiet voice. “I wish that were the case, Ms. Adams, but it is not. I’d strongly advise you not to come identify him; remember him as he was. There are others who can handle the official identification.” He paused. “Goodbye, Ms. Adams. I truly am sorry for your loss.” He hung up, leaving Gena with her tears and overwhelming sense of loneliness.

Mark was gone. She’d known it the moment the news story had ended. There was no way into that fortress of a community except through the gate, and that’s what Mark guarded. He took his job seriously, and while he didn’t care much for the other residents of the fortress community, she knew that Mark adored the Starks. He would do anything to protect them if they were in danger, even take a bullet if he thought it would protect them. In her grief, she experienced a brief sensation of pride at his bravery and heroism.

What possible motive could there be for killing Mark and then going after the Starks? The police had no leads in the matter, according to the story on the news. She figured it had to be money. Why else would they go into that community? Over the past fifteen years, with the Second Great Depression in full force, the inevitable envy and anger towards those not suffering through the miserable job markets had its most common expression in the form of armed kidnappings of members of wealthy families. It seemed from her perspective that about half of the kidnappings ended with the death of the victim, and the other half with the ransom being paid. From that perspective, she completely understood why Will Stark had built the massive walled community and developed such strict security. He didn’t want anyone coming after his family.

Unfortunately, though, the walls had failed to protect them. Somebody had been willing to
kill
to get inside that fortress. But why? Surely it would be easier to get at the family
outside
the community, without the walls, gates, retinal scanners, and guards in the way. She didn’t know if the Starks traveled with any type of bodyguards, but it still seemed to her that it would be easier to attempt a kidnapping-for-ransom in a location that didn’t require entering a military-grade security system. Yet this criminal hadn’t done anything of the sort. Perhaps the Starks had something on hand that the arsonist wanted, something valuable enough to risk the security gauntlet.

Oh no.

The man had come into The Diner just a few days ago, ruggedly handsome, with his long brown hair pulled back. He’d been wearing a cloak like she’d commonly seen in old science fiction or fantasy movies, complete with an over-sized hood. The mystery of the man started with his name, a nickname which he said he’d been given by his boss. It was the name of a character from a well-known piece of literature. Something with a P. Pinocchio? No, that wasn’t it. Poseidon? No. Gena snapped her fingers. Porthos. That had been the man’s name.

They’d chatted, and he’d told a story of a powerful amulet, likely to explode with disastrous consequences in only a few days. It had been buried decades ago, and his team of explorers had positively identified the underground location as being just inside the walls of the Estates. His search was for a TV show, he told her; they were filming a pilot for a new series about professional treasure hunters, and she’d be on TV telling them about the current community situated on the ground covering this dangerous amulet. They’d talked about the need to dig this trinket up to prevent a disaster, though Gena didn’t think the man truly believed that part of his research. He just wanted to dig the gem up because it would do wonders for the ratings of his fledgling program.