I am serialising my dystopian/retro-futuristic sci-fi story here. Here is the twelfth chapter, titled “The Persons of Interest”.
All chapters can be found here.
I will be adding a new chapter every Friday (when I don’t forget, sorry!).
Chapter 12 – The Persons of Interest
Riker sat at a desk in an interview room. The room was bright, with white walls. Riker’s pale face seemed to blend into the starkness of the room, contrasted against his black uniform and eye patch.
The door opened, and a man was led in. His hands and feet were shackled, and he wore Milpol orange prison overalls. Lieutenant Prass pushed the man down into a chair opposite Riker.
Riker lit a cigarette.
“Who are you?” he said.
“Ticket broker, from the Maglev terminal,” said Prass.
Riker puffed his cigarette and stared at the man who stared back with frightened eyes.
“I don’t know what this is about,” pleaded the broker. “I don’t know nothing about anything.”
Riker blew a smoke ring, then pulled two images from inside his coat and laid them down on the table in front of the man. The images showed the pilot and the explosives expert at the Maglev terminal.
The broker peered at the pictures.
“These men bought tickets from you a few days ago. For the night train from platform 32.”
“They did?” said the broker, sounding surprised, studying the images.
“Yes. They did,” said Riker.
There was silence.
“Oh yeah, I remember this guy,” he said, looking up hopefully at Riker.
Riker smiled, unpleasantly. “You see, you know something about something, not nothing about anything.”
The hopeful look on the broker’s face faded.
“I just sold him two tickets. He paid a lot for the tickets. I remember.”
“What else do you remember?”
“He said he wanted two tickets, but I only had singles for the later trains. He wouldn’t make the train from platform 32, but he demanded them, so I sold them for 20 coups.”
“And what else did he say?”
“Nothing. He paid for the tickets and left, running to platform 32.”
Riker puffed his cigarette, shrugging with his mouth, then gestured to Prass, who dragged the prisoner away.
Riker stubbed the cigarette out.
Next, the captain’s wife was led in. She was not shackled but looked exhausted and nervous. She was dressed in a cocktail dress. She sat, and Riker lit a cigarette.
“Milpol liaison’s wife,” said Prass.
Riker leaned back in his chair, studying her as she trembled and sniffled.
“Tell me about your husband,” said Riker.
“What…?” she said.
“Tell me about your husband.”
“What is this about?” she said, sounding as forceful as she dared.
“Your husband. That is what this is about.”
There was silence as the gravity of the situation took hold of her, and she realised that something very bad had happened. That the declaration of martial law, and all of the sirens, had something to do with her and her husband. She gulped.
“What do you want to know?” she said, sounding meek and obedient.
“How does your husband spend his time?”
“He works for Milpol. He is a captain. A section head of security…in the ghetto,” she said. “We go to the officer’s club and play cards with the other officers and their wives. My husband is going to get a promotion. We are getting a cat!”
Riker stared at her. His one eye blinked.
“A cat?”
“Yes. A Russian blue. Genetically engineered, for longevity,” said the captain’s wife, smiling weakly, as if this detailed meant something.
“And does the captain have friends?” said Riker, ignoring this.
“Yes. The other captains at the club and Major Lopez. We have been to Major Lopez’s unit a few times for dinner and to play cards. He also goes hunting sometimes with the colonel and some of the other officers.”
“And what about the captain’s work in the ghetto? Does the captain have friends in the ghetto? Not Milpol friends?”
She blushed, looking down at her hands. Riker leaned forward, puffing on his cigarette.
“There are women…” she said, her voice flat and disgraced.
“Women?” said Riker.
“Whores,” she said bitterly.
Riker raised an eyebrow.
“How do you know about these whores?”
She looked up. Her face was streaked with tears.
“A wife knows these things,” she said, looking back down at her hands. “All the men do it, and they all think they get away with it. And all the wives know what they do.”
Riker leaned back, puffing on his cigarette.
“And your husband was seeing these whores in the ghetto?”
“No, just the one. Well, just the one for a while now.”
“And how do you know about this one?”
“I can smell her on his jacket,” she said, tears dripping down onto her hands that gripped each other tightly. “He has been seeing her twice a week for about a year. Twice a week, he comes home smelling of that filthy whore.”
She broke down sobbing. Riker stared at her, puffed his cigarette, and gestured for Prass to take her away.
He stubbed out his cigarette.
Edith was led in, her hands and feet shackled, with the collar with the blinking light around her neck. She was pushed into the chair and sat bewildered before Riker.
“Milpol liaison’s housekeeper,” said Prass.
Riker lit another cigarette, staring at the frail, old slave.
“Tell me about your master,” he said.
“Lovely man,” said Edith, shaking.
Riker stared at her.
“He is getting a cat,” she said eagerly.”I heard them talking about getting a cat!”
“So I have heard,” said Riker.
“A blue cat, that’s what he said to the madam and the young miss.”
Riker puffed his cigarette.
“Other than ‘the cat’, what else did you hear them talking about?”
Edith looked vacant for a moment, then smiled.
“They were happy about the young miss going to the academy.”
“And…?”
Edith’s face scrunched as she searched her memory for something they may have said.
‘There was a fancy lunch they were going to. There was going to be some speeches and whatnot. Madam was wearing her party frock.”
“How long have you worked for the captain?” asked Riker.
“I looked after the captain when he was first born. I worked for his father, the major. I’ve been with the captain since he was a nipper. I raised the young miss, too,” and she chuckled nervously.
Riker lazily flicked his wrist, and Edith was dragged away.
Riker sat, puffing his cigarette as the door was opened and Sylvia was led in, dressed in her cadet’s uniform. She stood before Riker, snapping to attention, staring forward.
Riker leaned back, looking her up and down.
“At ease, cadet,” he said.
Sylvia relaxed her posture, her hands behind her back, still looking straight ahead.
“What if I told you your father was a spy and had passed top-secret documents to terrorists. What would you say to that?”
“I would denounce my father as a traitor, sir,” she shot back, unflinching.
“What if I told you I am going to torture your mother and Edith to extract information about your father’s treachery from them?”
“Terra Space Directorate Military High Command guidelines state that during the investigation of espionage, terrorism, and directorate security operations, a commanding officer may employ any tactic or methods that they deem appropriate to protect the directorate and eliminate threats, sir”
Riker puffed his cigarette, then stubbed it out. He lit another one.
“Your father is not a spy, and your mother and Edith are not going to be tortured,” he said, smiling unpleasantly.
“As you say, sir,” said Sylvia, staring ahead.
“Edith tells me your father is going to buy a cat.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“Your father is a captain. How would a captain be able to get a cat?”
“My father said he was working on a big assignment, sir. He said that if the assignment went off without a hitch, the colonel would arrange a promotion, and he would be a major and be able to get the permit.”
Riker leaned forward, his one eye staring at her.
“What do you know of this big assignment?”
“Nothing, sir. My father told me it was top secret, sir.”
“He didn’t tell you anything?”
“No, sir.”
He puffed on his cigarette.
“Maybe I will torture you, cadet, to get to the truth about what you know,” he said.
“As is your prerogative, Colonel, sir,” she said, completely unflustered.
He leaned back, puffing on his cigarette and seemingly weighing his options in quiet reflection.
“I have read your file, cadet,” he said coolly. “IQ of 138. Top graduate from your school. Plays the violin, an expert sniper, and a scholar of poetry.”
“Let the hardy youth learn cheerfully to endure narrow means, and, as a soldier, the rigours of war,” said Sylvia, quoting the ancient Roman poet Horace.
“I suppose, cadet, that you are much more intelligent than me.”
“Statistically, this is likely true, sir,” she said, still looking ahead.
This brought a thin smile to Riker’s mouth.
“Let me ask you a hypothetical question, cadet. Let’s say there is a man, a military man, who has been given top-secret information about a VIP’s travel itinerary.
“The top-secret information is only known by a few others, and all of those others are beyond suspicion. This top-secret information finds its way into the hands of terrorists, who use it to assassinate the VIP.
“The terrorists must have got close to this military man to gain these top-secret documents. How should this investigation proceed to locate these terrorists?”
There was a moment of silence. Sylvia stared ahead, then spoke.
“The nature of the crime requires proximity and a certain level of intimacy, sir. Begin by interviewing close family members, friends, and work colleagues to develop a social profile and identify persons of interest.
“If a target isn’t located within this social profile, the investigation should broaden, looking for secret or hidden connections, such as a lover or sex workers. The most obvious vector of infiltration for the terrorists will be via a clandestine sexual relationship, if one such relationship exists, known as a honey trap, sir.”
Riker leaned back and puffed his cigarette.
“Dismissed, cadet,” he said flatly, and Sylvia snapped to attention, turned and strode out of the room, followed by Prass.
A short while later, Prass returned.
“What are your orders, sir?”
He sat in silent contemplation.
“Find this whore, lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir,” said Prass. “And the wife, ticket broker, housekeeper, and daughter?”
Riker silently considered this, blowing smoke rings. He suddenly stood, stubbing his cigarette out.
“Liquidate them all,” he said, and then paused. “Except the daughter. Put her in hibernation and send her to the academy immediately, but mark her file for immediate transfer to Secpol at Terra Centre upon graduation, on my orders.”
“Yes, sir,” said Prass, snapping to attention as Riker left the room.