The Road to Hell (16 page)

It had been a rough night, but, as always, the sun came up again and life rolled on. Even though he was still in pain, Kane had a duty to perform and he knew it.

He stood there silently for a few seconds in front of yet another door, flanked by two officers in formal parade dress, their uniforms resplendent with ceremonial colour. Gold buttons ran up the centre of their Prussian blue jackets, up to a high collar wrapping around the neck. Strands of scarlet and gold formed an ornate insignia on their cuffs. Not a fleck of dust or lint could be seen on the stiff, starched trousers, while their shoes reflected the light around them off their spit-polished, black leather surface. Some things never change, thought Kane, especially military pride. Both officers stood to attention, chins raised, eyes forward, hands clenched in white gloves.

Kane raised his hand to the door knowing this was the toughest part of the job. He could take everything else, but this, this tore at his heart. Gently, he knocked. For a moment, there was no reply. Then he heard the muffled sound of voices, a mother and child. As they approached the door, the child’s voice grew louder. A girl, or was it a boy, calling out, “Daddy, daddy. Daddy’s home, Mummy.”

The officers stiffened beside him.

On the other side of the door, Kane knew he was being watched, monitored by a standard keyhole surveillance system.

Slowly, the door opened and there she stood. With one hand she held her daughter back, a young girl of maybe two or three, with the other she tried to arrange her hair as though somehow she had an obligation to look presentable, like she was somehow out of order compared to their formal dress. She was embarrassed when it was they who should have felt embarrassed.

A lump formed in Kane’s throat. It never got any easier.

Her eyes, he thought, her eyes said more than words could ever express. She probably hadn’t slept last night, but he had. He had to. Life goes on. The rhythm and routines press on. But for her, last night was hell.

His mouth went dry.

She didn’t say anything. She just looked at him, staring at the beige envelope in his outstretched hand. Kane tried to speak, but he stumbled over the first few words. And this was, what? The fifth or sixth family he’d visited this morning.

“
No,” she said softly, in almost a whimper.

“
What is it, Mommy,” asked her daughter. “Is it about Daddy? Is he coming home now?”

“
No,” she repeated, just a fraction louder, slowly building in both volume and intensity. “no, No, NO!”

Kane’s hand shook, trembling. This was always the hardest thing to do. Yet as much as he hated it, he knew he had to do it, he had to be here in person to honour the dead. To send anyone else would have been easy, far too easy, but Kane was no coward. This was the only fit and proper thing he could do.

“
I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“
No, you bastard,” cried the woman, stepping forward and lashing out at him with her hands, pounding him on his sore chest, still tender from the night before. “No, he’s not dead. Please tell me he’s not dead.”

Her blows softened, struggling against the futility of it all as she realised she could never bring back her husband, that this man before her was just a symbol of the government her husband had served.

“
It,” Kane began, still choking on his words. “It is with the deepest of regret, that I have come to officially inform you of the death of your husband in, in-”

As often as he’d spoken these words, they never came any easier. These were real people, real lives, real feelings. In the back of his mind he knew this was where the real measure of courage lay, not in facing plasma rounds or in running down criminals but in facing up to reality and responsibility. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat.

“
In service to the country he’d sworn to protect.”

The distraught woman was sobbing, burying her head in his chest, her hands resting on his shoulders. Kane placed his arms around her, holding her tight, comforting her. And beside him, the two officers stood inert, still staring straight ahead, impervious to the pain, still standing to attention, a testament to the immovable pillar of the state.

“
Your loss is a loss to us all,” Kane continued, reciting the official statement of grief from the council, one seared into his memory by far too many visits to grieving widows.

“
The dedication, commitment and sacrifice your husband has made is counted as the very strength and fibre of our society.”

His hands touched her hair. So soft, he thought, so smooth and tender and yet wracked by such torment. She sobbed, still holding him, clinging to something, anything now that all hope had gone.

Kane paused. Deep inside he felt helpless. His efforts were always going to be futile, at best. And through it all, the officers on either side stood to unwavering attention as they affirmed the supremacy of the state.

The woman continued to weep, burying her head in the bosom of this stranger, trying to find comfort when there was none to be found.

“
The government will honour your husband with a state funeral, honouring all those that fell in this unprecedented massacre.”

Slowly, the woman regained her composure. It was only then it struck him. He didn’t know her name. He wanted to call her by her name, to show her he wasn’t here just out of some sense of duty, that he was here because he cared, that the loss of an officer meant something to him. This was a loss that ran deeper than a day, and he knew it. For him, life would return to normal. For her, life would forever be fractured. But he didn’t know her name. He knew her name was on the envelope, he'd even glanced at it before walking up to the door, but his mind was blank. Try as he may, he simply could not call it to mind.

And each is so different, he thought. Some women just stood there with tears in their eyes. Others sent someone else to the door, a neighbour or a friend. Some even matched the pomp and ceremony, standing to attention as the declaration was recited. Rarely did they speak. Never more than a few words. It only ever lasted a few minutes, which was all Kane could handle. As tough as he was in the field, as hard and disciplined as he was in his service, the reality of personal grief was harsher, harder.

“
Would you come in?” asked the woman.

Kane didn’t know what to say. This had never happened before. He didn’t want to, but the word that came out was, “Yes.”

The two officers turned, standing on ceremonial guard outside the door as the special agent stepped into the apartment.

Walking down the hall behind her, it struck him how this could have been any home, the home of a technician or an engineer, a teacher or an accountant. Even for him, it was easy to forget that police officers were human, that they had a life outside the force.

“
Please, have a seat,” she said softly, still composing herself.

“
Where is my Daddy?” the little girl asked, tugging on the side of his coat.

Words failed him. The loss didn’t get any more real than this.

“
Daddy’s not coming home,” the woman replied softly, running her hands through the little girls hair. “Can you go and get some of your dolls for me? I think the officer would like to see your best dolls all dressed up. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

With that, the young child wandered off to her bedroom.

“
Sorry about that,” the woman said.

“
No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t be the bearer of good news.”

Kane looked around. An interactive photo on the mantle above the holovision set caught his eye. He recognised the officer. It was Captain Johnson, the man he’d bullied and intimidated in the Astor hotel on the night Olivia died. It all seemed so easy back then. Just part of the game. A pissing competition to see who was toughest.

“
Did you know my husband,” the woman asked, seeing a sense of recognition in the softening lines of his face.

“
Yes,” replied Kane. “Ordinarily, I don’t have the chance to serve with every officer, but in this case, yes, I knew your husband, David Johnson. We were on a stakeout together.”

“
He never spoke much about his work,” the woman replied. “I guess police officers never do.”

“
We’re the garbage collectors of society,” said Kane. “There are times you can’t help but get your hands dirty. I don’t think anyone’s ever proud of it. We just do what needs to be done. Your husband was a good man, a fine officer.”

“
I guess you say that to all the widows,” the woman replied. Her words cut through him like an Arctic wind.

“
In truth,” Kane began, struggling to counter her blunt rebuttal, “we wouldn’t be here today without men like your husband. There are those that would destroy all we’ve built. Your husband is one of the few, the brave, the truly courageous that fight to make a difference, that value the rule of law above all else.”

“
I’m sorry,” the lady replied. “I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just... It hurts. It hurts so bad, and there's nothing I can do about, nothing I can do to make the pain go away. I feel empty. It’s hard to see this as anything other than a futile, pointless loss.”

“
You have no need to apologise.”

Kane tried hard not to look at the floor, but it was difficult to look her in the eye as he spoke.

“
Does it bother you?” she asked.

Kane paused, not sure what she was getting at.

“
The moral dilemma. The questions on the news about right and wrong, the debates on what justifies the use of lethal force, the discussion panels talking about the rebels fighting for democracy. Does any of that bother you? After all, you're on the sharp edge of this debate, you're the action behind all our words.”

“
Sentiment is a luxury I can’t afford. In my line of work, a conscience gets you killed. Honestly, it’s not about right and wrong, good or evil, it’s about enforcing the law. The law is the will of the government. It’s about doing whatever it takes to secure stability for the nation.”

As he spoke those words he realised how hollow they sounded. He'd never really been this honest about his own motives before and it scared him a little to think like this. Kane rubbed his chin. His own comments left him feeling empty, left him considering the vanity of this man's death and the heartache it caused this woman and her daughter. He knew he'd walk out of there in a few minutes, forget all about them in a few hours and be right back where he was before, charging headlong through life, but for them, nothing would ever be the same again.

“
Your eyes,” the woman asked. “Why do you wear sunglasses?”

Kane reached up and removed his sunglasses, revealing his eyes beneath. Where the eyeball should have been there was a smooth, chrome globe reflecting the light. Kane blinked rapidly in the bright light, trying hard to avoid squinting so she could see his eyes for what they were, cyber-optics.

“
They’re hyper-sensitive,” he said. “They scare most people. I guess it’s unnerving to not see the pupil or something. Looks too harsh and inhuman.”

He put the glasses back on.

“
How?” the woman asked, not quite able to finish the sentence, still in awe at the sight of Kane’s robotic eyes.

“
About six years ago, I was involved in a drug bust. There was a tip off. They were waiting for us, they were heavily armed. We walked into a trap. A gun battle broke out and four officers died. Those of us that survived retreated into one of the port offices waiting for reinforcements to arrive. They had us cornered. We were up against the ropes, ready for a knock-out punch and they knew it.”

“
One of the drug-runners tossed in a phosphorus grenade. There was no time. We were dead to rights. I kicked it into the corner and knocked over a desk trying to smother the grenade, trying to force it up against the wall, trying to protect my men. Flecks of phosphorus burnt out my eyes and scarred most of my face. Nano-bots work fine repairing burns, but not with a complex organ like an eye.”