by into the club. The SOE officer was saying something but still she couldn’t hear anything. Watching their lips, she understood what they were asking and, rather than attempting to speak, she took out her Devstick. She quickly unfolded it to be a Devscreen with a keyboard then she typed, ‘I am all right. See to the others inside. Please hurry’.
The SOE team member nearest her took out a bandage from a pouch on their belt and pressed it against Cochran’s forehead, wrapping the bandage around. Looking into the helmeted mask that the SOE officer wore, she saw with a shock that it was Mariko. Mariko’s eyes smiled at her through the visor of the helmet as she reached into another pouch, pulled out a regen bag and gently placed it over Cochran’s head. Supporting her back, Mariko then pushed Cochran's chest softly, laying her down on the carpet.
Cochran let herself go and laid down, keeping her eyes wide open and fixed on the entrance to the club. The Lev door opened again and a team of regular UNPOL officers ran to the Topside railing. Taking out a crime scene tape, they taped it to the top of the railing and ran backwards towards the club. Medical teams rushed past her, a stamp of feet that she felt rather than heard. Carrying foldable wheeled stretchers on their backs, they disappeared into the club. Two of the medicals stopped and knelt down beside her. One unslung the folded stretcher and turned on the Dev attached to it. The stretcher quickly unfolded and slid itself under her, thin straps closed around her to hold her firmly against the stretcher. Suddenly she was rising and reaching the waist height of the medicals. She twisted her head on the stretcher, watching the door space to the club, but nothing came out. Cochran closed her eyes as the two med staff rushed her into the Lev.
Sir Thomas sat in a lounge chair on the balcony of his penthouse holding a scope to his eyes. He pressed zoom and the Dev in the scope focused in so that he could see the threads in the bandage on Cochran’s head. He felt the Devstick in his inside breast pocket vibrate, but held the zoom on Cochran’s face as she lay on the carpet, until the clearfilm edge of the stretcher blocked his view and he set the binoculars onto the low teak table beside him. He took out the vibrating Devstick.
“Yes?”
“Sir, there has been an explosion at the UNPOL Executive Club.”
“Casualties?”
“Five dead, two wounded. One of those wounded is in a life threatening condition and the other has minor injuries. Sir, it was the — ”
“I know. The Governors’ dinner. Who are the dead?”
“The Governors, sir. Director Flederson is seriously wounded but the med staff say he may make it. It depends on the brain damage, sir.”
“I see, and so Assistant Director Cochran has only minor wounds?”
“Yes, Sir. They have taken her and Director Flederson to the UNPOL Intensive Care Unit.”
“All right. By UNPOL Code 23 A, of the UNPOL Regulations Statute, I will assume command of UNPOL until Director Flederson or Assistant Director Cochran is able. I want UNPOL ICU to be put under the tightest security, no one in or out without my explicit authority. Next, close all security zones in or out of New Singapore. There will be no cross-Geographic travel at this time. Cite UNPOL Code 82. Is that understood?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good. Execute those orders. I will be at the scene in ten minutes.”
The UNPOL staffer nodded on the Devstick screen and Sir Thomas cut the connection. Rising from the lounge chair, he picked up the scope and walked to the edge of the balcony. He raised the scope to his eyes, it quickly zeroing in and steadying against the tremble of his hands as he watched the scene outside the Club. He heard a cough behind him and he turned holding the scope to his chest.
“Five dead, Charles, and Flederson and Cochran wounded.”
“Yes, Sir Thomas. Is Assistant Director Cochran all right?”
“Yes, only minor wounds, but Flederson is serious, perhaps brain damage. I will be leaving immediately. Please prepare my operations uniform.”
“Yes, sir, I will attend to it immediately.” Charles, the former maitre d' of the UNPOL Executive Club, had retired with Sir Thomas to be his butler. He backed out of the sliding clearfilm doors and walked across the living room and down the hall, decorated with old regimental battle flags, to Sir Thomas’s bedroom. There, he opened the large walnut wardrobe opposite to Sir Thomas’s sleeper, and selected the operational uniform.
He lifted out the uniform by the hook of its hanger and turned then he walked with it held away from his body and, smoothing out the back with his arm, laid it gently on the sleeper. He reached forward with both hands and grasped the sanitizer sheet that covered it. With a quick tug he tore the sealed strip down the middle. Taking the bottom corner, he pulled it out from under the uniform and balled it up in his hand. He walked over to the recycler and there, stooping, put it in. Straightening, he looked at the image on the wall hanging above the recycler. It was of Sir Thomas and him in Boston just after the war. Sir Thomas stood in the doorway. Charles was a dark shadowy image in the background standing behind Sir Thomas in the hallway of their hut.
He turned back to the suit and looked over it for any wrinkles. Reaching across, he smoothed the dark blue cloth where the breast pockets were, then he stood back and let out a long, soft sigh.
Sir Thomas stepped into the room. Charles turned and walked to a trunk against the wall next to the walnut wardrobe. Pulling the heavy metal clasp upwards, he lifted the lid of the trunk and gently laid it against the wall. Arms spread wide to match the width of the trunk, he reached in and lifted out the top layer fitted out with medals and insignia, and balanced it gently on the chair beside the trunk. Underneath was Sir Thomas’s footwear, mostly shoes, but also boots. He took out the operation uniform boots and placed them on the floor. Set into the lid of the trunk was a wire frame and attached to this frame were Sir Thomas’s weapons. Guns, explosive devices, knives and assorted hand weapons were clipped to the wire frame.
“Will you be requiring a weapon, sir?”
Sir Thomas paused in his dressing. He slewed his mouth to one side as he thought.
“Yes. That would be good for image. Let them know we mean business.” He turned and stared at the lid. He didn’t need to turn to know what was in there but he enjoyed looking at them.
“The Colt 12-mil automatic, I think, with the UNPOL webbing shoulder holster.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sir Thomas stood in front of the full length mirror, straightening his dark blue UNPOL tie. Satisfied, he stood ramrod straight, arms by his sides as if a private on a parade ground. He looked his image over head to toe. Then he straightened his Special Operations Executive red beret.
You shouldn’t have tried to put your freak spy on me, Flederson. That was a big mistake. He angled the beret down slightly on his forehead. Using Cochran to snuff out the trail the runner had laid to him, and eliminate the entire UNPOL oversight committee in one single act, was a stroke of genius, he thought, and smiled to himself. With a smart about-turn, he marched to the door held open by Charles.
The Heliocopter on the roof of The Marque, blades turning, door open, was for him. The two UNPOL staffers standing next to it saluted smartly. Sir Thomas returned the salute and climbed into the belly of the craft. He took out his devstick and started issuing commands. He would be at the scene of the attack in three minutes.
Sir Thomas strode out of the Lev into the forecourt of the UNPOL Executive Club. The Lev’s access had been limited to authorized personnel only and the forecourt cordoned off with crime scene red and white striped barriers on the Topside path in front of the club. He paused, hands on hips and looked around. A barrage of flashes hit him from the news people jostling for position behind the barriers and holding their cameras high to get an image. Despite his operational uniform not bearing any badge of rank, they all knew he was Director of UNPOL.
He walked over the red carpet, noting the darker patches where Cochran’s blood had stained it, and entered the club, his feet crunching on the broken glass and debris on the floor. The room was covered in foam, blood, shards of glass and scattered broken tables and chairs. He looked over to his normal table and saw that it was untouched. A bomb disposal team member walked up to him and saluted.
“It was a shaped charge, sir. Placed behind the curtain in the rear of the room. The Governors didn’t stand a chance, and by rights Director Flederson shouldn’t be with us.”
“Yes. Have you found any evidence, any trace?”
“Nothing yet, Sir, but we’ve only just started. Unfortunately the fire crew contaminated the area when putting out the secondary fires but we’ve identified their trace and it just means that sorting out the forensics will take a little longer, sir.”
