The Road to Hell (6 page)

Looking out through the one-way mirror, the interrogation room appeared empty. Occasionally, wisps of smoke seemed to hang in the air, darting in one direction and then another, trailing off like leaves blowing on an autumn breeze. No one had ever seen one of the daemon this close before, at least no one that had lived to tell the tale, no one except Kane, that is.

After a few minutes Senator Johannes asked, “Is he gone? Has he escaped?”

“
No,” replied Kane, “He hasn’t gone anywhere. He just wants you to think he has. He’s bluffing, waiting for someone to open the door.”

Still, there was no movement in the room.

To the casual observer, there appeared to be no one in the adjacent room at all. A rough metal desk sat in the centre of the empty room with two chairs chained to it, one on either side of the desk. Torture was not uncommon in this precinct; a not-so-subtle means of persuasion always guaranteed a confession of sorts. Dried blood marred the walls and floor, faint splatter patterns crying out of untold misery. Soundproof panels set in the walls ensured no one would hear the screaming. Not that anyone on this level would care anyway.

“
How long was he unconscious?” asked Kane in his deep, resonate voice, his hand resting on a small control panel.

“
At least three hours,” replied the precinct captain standing between the Special Agent and the senator. “We called for you as soon as we knew we had a confirmed capture. As per your instructions, he’s been locked in that room since then. No one has gone in. No one has come out.”

“
How long has he been awake?” asked the senator.

“
Only for a couple of minutes. He awoke just before you arrived.”

“
This is astounding,” said the senator staring out into the empty room, “Truly remarkable. You have done well, captain. I will make mention of your dedication to the Council.”

With a traditional Greek robe over the top of a dark business suit, the senator looked like the judges and barristers of old, but with a cream robe instead of black. A fine gold ribbon ran around the collar, cuffs and hem, but, other than that, the robe was plain and unadorned, almost pious in its appearance. Although it symbolised the founding of democracy in ancient Greece, the religious overtones were clearly intended to stir up Biblical references to robes of white linen and the purity of the saints. And yet the senate was anything but pure, as Senator Johannes knew all too well. As for democracy, that hadn't existed for decades, but still the institution of the senate stood, a testament to raw power, if nothing else.

Religion had been outlawed after the civil war, deemed a relic of the superstitious nature of man, an artefact from the times of ignorance. But the nature of man was not so easily changed as thousands of years and countless similar efforts had attested. Like the pharaohs in ancient Egypt, the senators took on an almost god-like role in a society devoid of deities, starved of democracy. Although senators outwardly shunned any talk of worship, on the inside they loved the sense of mystique it brought them. All men love power, especially those that deny the craving.

Bright neon lights saturated the interrogation room, flooding even the shadows with white. The senator strained to see any movement at all through the one-way mirror.

“
There,” cried the captain, pointing to the far corner.

A thin wisp of smoke darted along the wall for a second before disappearing completely from sight.

“
He can’t hold his breath forever,” said Kane, “Sooner or later, he’ll tire.”

__________

Down on the landing pad, hover cars followed a carefully choreographed approach pattern, streaming in and unloading passengers at the steps of the Supreme Council complex before pulling away and disappearing back into the moody clouds.

Floodlights lit up the landing pad, turning the late evening into noonday. Remote cameras scanned the forecourt for any sign of trouble as crowds of people moved about the platform, coming and going, selling hot dogs, begging for money, protesting for civil rights or just passing through on their way to one of the other administrative buildings in the complex.

One lady in particular caught the attention of the guards manning the security monitors.

“
Hey, Phil, get a load of this,” said John Davies sitting in the comfort of the security control room beneath the landing pad.

Team leader Phil Hansen wandered over.

“
Oh, bring that up on the main screen,” cried Hansen as he leaned down to take a good look at the surveillance camera feed.

Heads turned all around the control room as the main screen flickered briefly before bringing up the image of a beautiful woman dressed in fire-engine red. With stiletto-heeled shoes and a skin-tight silk dress, she looked completely out of place at the headquarters for the Department of Justice.

Usually, the Supreme Council building only attracted judges and lawyers, ageing solicitors, over-paid legal counsel and the ever zealous youth protesting about issues their parents had long since forgotten. The state police used floors 400 through 450 for holding cells and interrogation, but other than that, this complex was purely for administration.

Davies zoomed in closer, increasing the magnification. The dress was strapless, showing the woman’s soft cleavage in full bloom. Locks of long, jet-black hair floated on the breeze behind her. The slight bounce in her step resounded through her breasts as she sailed up the broad marble staircase toward the building entrance.

“
Oh, man, I’m in love,” cried one of the security operators.

“
In lust, more like it,” replied Lisa Smith, the only woman working that shift.

“
You’re just jealous,” said Davies, “Damn, she looks fine.”

“
Men,” replied Lisa. “You’ve got two heads, but you’re only ever thinking with the little one.”

“
Well, you know what they say,” countered Davies. “Two heads are better than one.”

The other men in the control room laughed.

Lisa was distinctly unimpressed.

“
Well… it’s definitely the small one that’s in control,” she said, trying to ignore them, trying to get back to work.

No one noticed a small flashing light on the main console, alerting them to a face-recognition match. Hansen spotted the alarm flashing out of the corner of his eye, but face-recognition was overrated. It had been useful once, but now every man and his dog had an entry. She probably had unpaid speeding fines, he figured, and before he could hit the button to check he was again distracted by the cajoling.

“
How tight is that dress?” cried one of the other operators.

“
She is so hot.”

“
There ought to be a law against that.”

“
Shrink-wrapped and vacuum-packed, that's the way I like my women,” cried Hansen joining in the testosterone fest, forgetting what he was thinking about, forgetting he was just about to look at the face-recognition alert. Over forty police officers would die within the hour, all because he’d missed pushing that one, small, little red button.

Davies panned, following the woman’s movement toward the door, switching from one camera to another.

“
Are you recording this?” asked Hansen leaning forward to take a better look at Davies' screen. The face-recognition alert was now the furtherest thing from his mind. The blinking light just seemed to fade into the background.

“
Oh, yeah,” replied Davies.

Hansen punched several buttons on a handheld control pad activating an automated computerised camera-tracking sequence. Within seconds, the cameras surrounding the hover pad, the main entrance, security checkpoint and lobby all focused on this one woman dressed so beautifully in red. Without taking his eyes off the screen, Hansen zoomed in on the woman’s cleavage using his control pad. The soft curves of her pale skin filled the main monitor.

“
Oh, baby,” cried Davies.

Forty or so monitors set around the control room all displayed various angles of this one lady walking through the portico. Davies had his head down, madly punching buttons, pulling up a three-dimensional holographic image reconstructed from the various camera shots. The hologram appeared in the centre of the room, above the situation desk.

“
Now this is more like it,” said Hansen, walking over toward the glowing image and running his hands through the air, seemingly caressing her virtual legs. Wolf whistles and cheers deafened those in the room, drowning out Lisa’s protests.

The hologram seemed alive as the woman’s chest rose and fell in time with her breathing, swelling and settling with each step she took.

No one caught the slight turn of her head. Dark sunglasses hid her eyes, but she definitely glanced sideways as though she were looking to make eye contact with someone.

The guards watched as she walked inside the building and stepped through the detectors in the lobby. A flashing light went off. Flustered and confused, she stood there with her arms slightly raised as a security guard ran an electronic wand over her, looking for the source of the alarm.

“
Oh, that’s not fair. That is so unfair,” cried Hansen. “The lucky bastard.”

Davies pulled the camera zoom back so they could catch all the action.

The wand drifted across her body and up, over her breasts, moving as though it followed some invisible contour curving around her.

“
Ten bucks says she’s not wearing a bra,” cried Davies.

“
You’re on,” replied Hansen.

Lisa had had enough. “Men,” she said as she got up in disgust and left to get some coffee. And still the face-recognition switch flashed in the background, unnoticed and ignored.

The security team watched as the woman stared straight at the closest camera. She knew they were watching. She licked her lips slowly, showing her pearly white teeth as she ran her tongue over her glossy red lipstick in a slow, provocative motion. To those inside the control room, watching the hologram, she appeared to be staring right at them.

“
Oh, she knows. She knows,” cried Davies.

“
Yeah… Now that’s what I’m talking about,” laughed Hansen.

“
Frisk her, frisk her.” A couple of the other men in the control room began shouting. “Pat her down, search her.”

The security officer with the electronic wand couldn’t find anything. There was nothing to search. It wasn’t like she was wearing loose fitting clothing or anything in which she could conceal a hidden weapon or an electronic snooping device. This gal left nothing to the imagination, the officer thought. The dress was so tight it looked like she was about to split out of it at the seams.

“
Aw, come on, body search, check for weapons, get your hands on her,” cried Hansen jesting.

Waving the wand back over her body, the officer scanned down her trim, athletic legs toward her feet. Instinctively, she stepped apart, allowing the officer to run the wand around between her legs. A thin split built into her dress ran up her thigh to her hip, revealing her soft, pink flesh.

“
I can’t stand it,” cried Davies, pounding his fist on the desk in excitement.

“
She’s not wearing any panties,” cried one of the other operators.

“
Oh, this is hot. This is so hot,” yelled Hansen. “We should be streaming this live.”

Finally, the electronic wand sounded down by her feet. Her stiletto shoes had set off the over-sensitive detector. With a blush and a smile, the officer waved her through and she walked on, striding confidently, a woman that knew she had the whole world falling at her feet.

__________

“
Where is Artemis?” asked Kane, leaning down and speaking into a microphone.