Angel Of The City (11 page)

“
Your
knowledge? Don’t tell me you’re starting to believe your own propaganda? You don’t run this organization, I do. You’re just a symbol on a wall.”

Her head snaps back imperceptivity
—a millimeter, no more. But the blow struck home.

“
You want a popular uprising against the government?” he continues. “You want to feed the starving poor? Well how do you think that’s going to happen? Wake up, Abby. There’s no such thing as a peaceful revolution. There never has been.”

She pulls up one corner of her mouth in an attempt at a sarcastic smirk, but she
isn’t fooling anyone. The blow hurt. The flush of her cheeks gives her away. “Is that all you think I am?” she asks. “A symbol on a wall?”

He ignores her and turns to me. “What exactly does he want?”

“
Fifteen rifles and ten thousand rounds of ammunition.”

His eyes widen and for a second he
’s apoplectic. “That’s a third of all the weapons we have,” he finally sputters. “He’s out of his mind.”

“
There’s been talk. But I’d give him the guns anyway.”

“
No. Not if I had five times as many. The man is a drug dealer and a pimp, not to mention a cold-blooded killer. His involvement in all of this was unauthorized and I won’t be blackmailed into giving up what we’ve fought so hard to get. This was all Faisal’s idea. Where is Faisal anyway?” he asks. “Why isn’t he here with you?”

“
He found driving difficult with the back of his head blown off.”

Kingston glances quickly to Abby, who only closes her eyes and nods. He struggles back to his chair
before falling heavily into it and slamming a crutch against the top of the desk. “Dammit! This proves my point about Devon.”

“
Yes it does, but we’re talking about Pen,” I say.

“
There’s nothing I can do.”

“
Sure there is. Give him what he wants.”

“
The man is a psychopath.”

“
And you’re a gun-runner and I’m a thief. No offense, but sanctimony seems a little out of place given the present company.”

He scowls. “Gun-running, is that all you think this is about? The guns are only a means to an end, the first step in a plan to wrest power from the Ministry and give it back to the people, where it belongs.”

“
Is that right? And who will head this new, ‘people’s government’?”

“
It’s all ready been discussed. Once the Ministry and the Council have been eliminated, a committee will be formed from the leadership of the movement to govern the city, but only until a more democratic system can be set up. Our first order of business will be to end these food shortages.”

“
And you think you can do that?”

“
Please. Everyone knows the Ministry channels most of the food to the Delphi and Garden District, leaving the rest of us with the scraps. I will make certain the distribution is fair and that everyone is treated equally.”

“
You? I thought we were talking about a committee?”

He flushes.
“None of this concerns you. Maybe you just can’t understand what we’re trying to accomplish here.”

I want to tell him that yes, I know exactly what he
’s trying to accomplish, just as I know exactly how it will end. I helped crush an earlier “resistance movement” that had the conceit to call themselves a revolution, one that neither he nor anyone else has ever heard of.

We kept close surveillance on them for six months. When the Council was certain they had enough information; had infiltrated them thoroughly, we went in. In a single evening, every nest, every meeting place, every home that was even marginally associated with those involved was raided. The operation was as silent as it was efficient. The following morning the city awoke to a day just like any other. The only abnormality was an unexplained spike in the number of missing person reports. The ovens burned hot for two weeks after.

But I don’t tell him any of that. He wouldn’t believe me anyway. An incidental consequence of methodical extermination is that each subsequent resistance thinks they’re the first. They each think they’re breaking new ground, when in reality all they’re doing is following in the footsteps of the damned.

After the Council finishes with this group, there won
’t be anyone left alive who even remembers Kingston or Abby or sadly, Pen; Pen, who isn’t a revolutionary at all and only wants her old life back. There’s nothing I can do to change that, but at least I can save her from Devon.

“
You do realize all weapons are tagged, don’t you?” I ask.

“
We aren’t idiots. They were found and removed.”

“
Good. Can I see one of the weapons?”

The request takes Kingston by surprise.
“Why?”

“
To prove a point.”

Jace grips the assault rifle more firmly.

“Take out the clip if you like. I just want to examine it. Trust me, this is something you want to see.”

Kingston looks skeptical but finally nods to Jace, who pulls out the clip and clears the bullet in the chamber. Slipping the strap from off his shoulder, he hands me the weapon.

The rifle is short and squat, a design known as a ‘bull pup’. Breaking it down is as easy as pulling the take-down pin and separating the barrel assembly from the stock to reveal the firing mechanism. I do it quickly and lay the parts on the desk.

“
Anyone have a compass?” I ask.

Jace looks to Kingston for guidance, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a simple metal compass. Taking it from him, I run it along the barrel assembly and firing mechanism, circling each several times. The compass needle doesn
’t move.

“
And this proves what?” Kingston asks.

“
Only that the metal and composites aren’t magnetic. Now watch.” I move the compass to the front end of the one-piece stock and the needle swings instantly toward it. “There’s a radio-controlled mechanism in the receiver, buried in the stock near the firing pin. Each weapon has its own unique code. The mechanism can’t be reached without disabling the weapon. When the correct signal is sent, the magnet is engaged and the firing mechanism shuts down.”

I put the weapon back together and hand it to Kingston.
“Did you really think they would allow anyone to use their own weapons against them?”

Kingston stares at the rifle in stunned silence before looking up at me.
“We’ll find a work-around.”

“
No, you won’t.”

Jace steps up, his eyes staring angrily into mine.
“How do you know all this? Who are you?”

“
What does it matter,” Abby says. “He knows.”

“
Give Devon the rifles,” I say. “You can’t use them.”

Jace is still glaring at me, but Kingston
seems subdued. “It will have to be discussed.”

“
Two days; three tops. I wouldn’t wait much longer,” I say.

“
Yes, thank you. We’ll be in contact with you,” he says, which I take as my dismissal.

No one escorts us out and Abby follows me to the lobby.

“Come with me,” she says.

I shouldn
’t. All my instincts are screaming at me to put as much distance as possible between me and her. There is no way those weapons left the Ministry without notice. Kingston is being set up. But what is the Council hoping to accomplish? Why haven’t they shut him down yet?

My
guess is Kingston got lucky. Whatever the Council’s plans, they couldn’t have anticipated the guns being held in a leaded room. It’s just possible they lost contact when the weapons were moved here. If so, then they’re operating in panic mode. Maybe that was the reason for making a show of Abby’s arrest, to coax Kingston out of hiding. Since that obviously didn’t work, they’ll have redoubled their efforts to find the guns. Counselors are nothing if not thorough. I doubt it will be more than a few days before they finally have Kingston—lead walls or not. And once they have him, Abby is of no further use to them.

But I know I’m not going to run. Besides, I don’t have a nest anywhere close by and the nearest tunnel I know of is ten long blocks away through a gauntlet of Blueshirts and Counselors.

“
The streets will be full of Counselors. You won’t get far tonight,” she says, as though reading my thoughts. “I know a place we can stay; some friends of mine. It’s where Pen and I went after we left your nest. Just a few blocks west.”

She leads us past several
rubble-strewn streets to an area dense with row houses. There are no streetlights and most homes are dark, their drapes closed or the buildings abandoned, it’s difficult to tell. The only light comes from a thin sliver of moon and the constant bluish glare of the scanners.

She knocks on a door and it opens just slightly. A man
’s face appears: balding, sallow skin, noticeable epicanthic fold of the eyes. His expression shows fear until he sees Abby, then he smiles and flings the door open, embracing her. “It is so good to see you,” he says. Turning back into the house he calls out, “Compatcho ekay Abby toto Meki.”

Metrolect. An amalgamation of several dead languages and centuries of slang all jumbled into a verbal shorthand understood by just about everyone in the
Chojo quarter.

A slightly younger woman comes to the door.
“Abby! Oi kay! Oh how good to see you. Please come in.” She steps out onto the porch and sees me, her smile freezing.

“
It’s all right Meki, he’s a friend,” Abby says. She gestures to the couple. “This is Jirou and Meki. They can be trusted.”

The man smiles.
“If you are a friend of Abby’s then you are welcome in our home. Please come in before the neighbors become suspicious.”

We enter into a small
paneled room, crowded with well-worn furniture. A coal heater burns with a reddish glow in the corner. Abby takes a seat on the couch while I sit across from her on a wing-backed chair, the upholstery tattered and worn almost through in places.

“
Are you hungry?” Meki asks. “Let me get something for you both.”

“
Thank you, but we’ve just eaten,” Abby says, even though I haven’t eaten in hours and I have a suspicion neither has she. She looks at me for confirmation.

“
Yes,” I add. “Couldn’t eat another bite.”

“
Tea, then?”

This time Abby thanks her and nods.

With the tea comes idle conversation: the weather (unpleasant), Jirou’s work (he’s employed by a small plumbing parts business. Business is poor, but he can’t complain), the children (there are two).

At the mention of their children, my mood sours. I find myself fidgeting and gla
ncing frequently at the door.

After a short while, Jirou turns on the
DVL and adjusts the volume up.

“
I don’t want to turn it too loud,” he whispers, almost apologetically, “the children are sleeping. But if anyone has been listening, they should be placated by now.” He smiles. “Just friends enumerating on the dull and uninteresting accounts of their lives.”

Meki takes Abby
’s hands in hers. “When we heard you were taken, we thought we might never see you again. Then when we learned of your escape, it seemed like a miracle.” She glances at me. “Is this him?”

Abby nods
.

Jirou
smiles. He’s obviously kind and trusting. There’s nothing but gratitude in his eyes. Meki is grateful as well, but in her expression I sense something else—wariness. She seems to instinctively understand that no one raids a station house and lives to tell about it. No one the mother of two children should completely trust, anyway.

“
We are thankful to you,” Jirou says. “But how did you manage such a thing. Who are you?”

Meki holds up a thin hand.
“Perhaps such questions should not be asked.”

Jirou nods.
“Of course.”

“
And Pen,” Meki says, “she too is safe?”

The question
obviously flusters Abby, but she forces a smile. “Yes, but she can’t be with me just now.” She quickly changes the subject. “I don’t mean to inconvenience you, but Counselors will be out in force tonight. May we stay here until dawn?”

“
Maybe we should just leave,” I say, beginning to stand, even though I’m not familiar with this area and have no idea where else we would go.

“
No, no, you must stay here,” says Meki, firmly. “We will move the children into our room. You can have their beds.”

“
No, please, don’t disturb them,” Abby says. “This is fine.” She pats the couch.