Children of a Dead Earth Book One (26 page)

“That's absurd!” Benson shouted.

“Is it really?” Feng slammed his hands down on the desk. “You led Chief Bahadur's people into an ambush, knowing they'd be blown to hell, while you were safely several clicks away. You even had an escape route planned out.”

“You think that was a plan? Vikram was my friend, Feng. And we almost died too. The only reason we got out was the maintenance hatch code
you
gave me.”

Feng ignored him. “Less than a thousand people got out in time, but here you are. You didn't even bother to save anyone but yourself.”

“Don't you think I wanted to? There wasn't any way. Don't you see? Kimura lied to me. He set me up. I know it looks bad, but everything you have is just circumstantial.”

Feng shook his head. “Bravo, detective, you're a hell of an actor. I might almost believe it if you hadn't tried the same thing on me.”

Benson tried to deflect Feng's growing anger. “Look, I'm sorry. I was wrong about you and Edmond. Totally wrong. But you have to see it from my perspective. You were acting very suspiciously. I understand why, now, but none of that would have happened if you'd just been honest with me from the start. I'm being honest with you now. Kimura used me. We have to stop him.”

“
We
will. Without your ‘help'. I don't know what caused you to turn on your own people, but I'm giving you one chance at some sliver of redemption. Where is Kimura?”

Benson recognized a lost cause when he saw one. Slowly, he stood up from the guest chair and looked down at Feng.

“I invoke my right to remain silent. I'm formally requesting legal counsel to be appointed to represent my interests in this case.”

Feng leaned back in Benson's chair. “You're really not going to give him up?”

“I can't give you what I don't have, Chao.”

“Fine, we'll do it your way. Constable!” The door opened and Hernandez reappeared. “The prisoner has decided not to comply. Please escort him to his apartment, where he is to remain under house arrest until he is arraigned for trial.”

Hernandez grabbed Benson by the upper arm and dragged him for the door, but Benson twisted sharply out of his grip and shoved him back with a chest bump.

H
is apartment was a little more
… Spartan than he'd left it, yet somehow quite a bit messier. Men had swept through to prepare it for his house arrest, and they hadn't come with an eye for cleanliness.

Benson spent the first hour of his confinement just tidying up, trying to push the echoes of the people lost in Shangri-La out of his head. That task completed, he sat down to watch a movie, a documentary, anything to occupy his mind. But he found all of his permissions had been blocked.

The only thing they'd left him access to on his display screen was the news channel, which, needless to say, was providing 24/7 coverage of the aftermath of the disaster, updated casualty lists, harrowing interviews from the handful of people who had managed to survive, and the endless speculation surrounding Kimura's fate.

Did he and his followers die in the explosion and decompression with the rest of Shangri-La? Did he escape? Was he plotting another attack? Why hadn't he made any demands? How had he faked his death and stayed in hiding for so long? Why had the people's champion turned mass murderer? And of course, the question on everyone's lips, why wasn't former Chief Benson being tortured for information about his “co-conspirator”?

It seemed the court of public opinion hadn't heard that his trial hadn't actually taken place yet. Still, he could hardly blame them. The circumstantial evidence connecting him was damning, and his family's… notoriety sealed the deal for most everyone else. He had to admit, if it had been someone else, he'd have probably been first in line to throw the switch that opened the lock.

After a few hours, not even Benson's guilt for all of the lives lost on his watch could make him continue wallowing in the self-abuse. He shut the display off and looked in his small refrigerator for the dozenth time, hoping a case of sake had magically appeared so he could numb out the next few hours in peace. His wish hadn't been granted.

Benson's ears perked up at the sound of commotion coming from outside his front door. Probably more protestors come to harass the guards. A small part of him wished the guards would let them in and be done with it. Still, better see what was stirring, just in case.

He shuffled over and keyed for the hallway camera. No point trying to open the door, it was locked from the outside. A small image appeared on the door itself where a peephole would traditionally be. But instead of another mini-mob of angry citizens bent on vengeance, all Benson saw outside his door were his two guards, and a tiny woman, holding a book almost as big as she was.

“Devorah?” His heart raced. He'd never thought to check the casualty list for her name because she was
always
in the museum. He reached up and keyed for audio, which streamed in through the imbedded sound system.

“I already told you, ma'am, he's not to have any visitors.” It was Hernandez, Benson was sure from the voice. Little shit probably volunteered for a shift watching over his former boss.

Devorah stamped a tiny pointed shoe. “That's baloney, young man, malarkey even. I've probably interviewed and interrogated more people in my day than you've ever arrested. I know the rules about house arrest, and he's allowed one visitor at a time between 15.00 and 17.00. And unless my plant's clock is broken, it's just after 16.00 right now. So unless he's entertaining some fan, you're going to let me through.”

“Ma'am, this is a special case, Commander Feng's orders.”

“Oh, you're a crewmember now, son?”

“Well, no…” Hernandez looked around, suddenly on uneven footing.

“No, you're a civilian constable, who takes his orders from his civilian superiors, who take their orders from the Codes. Do I need to recite the code in question to you?”

Benson almost felt bad for him. Almost. He knew how hot Devorah could get. Her self-righteousness generated its own electromagnetic field if you got her spun up enough.

“Now are you going to let me through, or do I have to call up Acting-Chief Swenson to straighten this out?”

Even though Benson could only see the back of Hernandez's head, he knew the expression he had to be wearing. The two guards took a moment to converse, and apparently decided it was just easier to step out of the way of a speeding train than to try to stop it, even if it was only a hundred and sixty centimeters tall.

“We'll have to search you for contraband, ma'am,” the other guard said earnestly.

Devorah set down the book and held out her arms. “Be my guest. It'll be the most action I've seen since college.”

The guards blushed as they performed the quickest, most perfunctory pat down Benson had ever seen. It was the first time he'd laughed in days.

“And the book,” Hernandez said.

“What, this?” Devorah leaned down and opened the cover, then flipped through a handful of pages. “Not much you can hide between the pages, boys. Besides, it's the stuff
inside
a book that's really dangerous.”

Hernandez let out a sigh and waved her in. “Fine. Ten minutes. Then you're leaving. Understood?”

“That will be just fine, young man.”

Hernandez shook his head and turned around to speak into the audio pickup. “Mr Benson,” his voice boomed through the speakers like the God of the Old Testament.

“I can hear you, Hernandez, you don't have to swallow the microphone.”

Hernandez rolled his eyes before continuing. “Step back from the door and sit on your couch with your hands on your head.”

Benson took his time moseying over to the couch, but complied. The door slid open as Hernandez and the other guard who Benson didn't recognize spun into the room, stun-sticks leveled squarely at his head.

Unfazed, Devorah pushed past them clutching the gigantic book to her chest and sat on the love seat adjacent to the couch.

“That'll be all, boys.”

“Are you sure you don't want one of us to stay, ma'am?”

She glared up at him. “Son, if Bryan here wanted to do me harm, neither of you little twits would make much difference. Besides, I think I'm far safer with him than either of you are.”

Hernandez glowered at her. “Ten minutes.” They left, and the door locked shut behind them. Benson nearly jumped out of his chair in the rush to embrace Devorah.

“You're alive!” He swept her up out of the chair and into a bear hug.

“Not if you keep squeezing me so hard.” She emphasized the point by kicking him gently, but firmly, in the shin with one of her dangling legs.

Benson set her back down. “You never leave the museum. I assumed the worst.”

“And you would have been right if it wasn't for Salvador. He remembered the vault was airtight while the rest of us ran around flapping our gums arguing over what to do.”

“Sal made it out, too?”

Devorah's face darkened. “He made three trips down to the vault and back up, grabbing these panicking idiots banging on the front doors and dragging them down to safety. I was one of them, I'm ashamed to say. He went back up to grab one of the summer interns, but she was just frozen, couldn't move a muscle. Best we can tell, he was carrying her down the stairs like a fireman when he missed a step and broke his ankle. They found them both at the bottom of the steps. He was hugging her when the air ran out.”

Tears ran down her cheeks. Benson got up to grab her a napkin, but she waved him off.

“Forget it. He deserves to have someone crying over him. Never in thirty years thought it'd be me, but here we are.”

Benson rested a hand on her boney knee. “It's not your fault. People can surprise us.”

“Sure can. Which brings me to you. Did you do it?”

“You mean did I conspire with a lunatic to kill twenty thousand people and two-fifths of what's left of humanity? No. No, I did not.”

Devorah grabbed his chin and looked him square in the eye. Her gaze was so deep, so penetrating, he could have sworn he felt it coming out the back of his skull.

“No, I expected you didn't.” She let her hand drop back down to the book in her lap with a sigh. “But there're not many people on the other side of that door who would agree. You're going to have the devil's own time finding competent counsel willing to represent you.”

Benson shrugged. “I don't care anymore. Truth is, I'm just as responsible as anyone. Kimura played me like a harp. I believed him when he told me his people were innocent. I bought his line about a terrorist that never existed, and I led Vikram and all his people straight into an ambush. My incompetence killed those people just as sure as Kimura's bombs did.”

Devorah slapped him hard across the cheek.

“Bullshit. You kept on the case when the most powerful men in the universe were telling you to drop it. You ran after Kimura just as soon as you figured it out and stopped him from doing the same to Avalon. You are the only reason anyone's left at all. Now, pardon my French, but I didn't come down here for a fucking pity party. So, if you're quite finished pining for the executioner?”

Benson rubbed his cheek where she'd struck him. It was already hot to the touch.

“Oh, what, are you going to whine about that, too?”

Still in shock and unsure of what else to do, Benson simply shook his head.

“Good. Now, since you're probably going to have to prove your own innocence–”

“I am?”

“Yes, you are.”

“But I'm not at all qualified to represent myself in court.”

“You'll get no argument from me. Which is why you're going to need this…” Devorah spun the book around so that Benson could get a look at the cover for the first time.
The History of Jurisprudence
. To call the book thick was an understatement. In a pinch, it could serve as a decent coffee table all by itself.

Devorah opened the cover and turned to the introduction page. “Here. Start at the beginning.”

“Where's the beginning?”

“The Code of Hammurabi, I think. Anyway, by the time you reach the end, you'll be ready to get out of here.”

Apparently lacking any more to say, Devorah stood up from the chair and walked back over to the door, then summoned the guards.

“Wait, that's it?” Benson called after her.

“That's it. You should probably assume the position, detective.”

Benson plopped back down on the couch and put his hands on his head. The doors slid open again as Hernandez and his partner took up positions on each side. Devorah turned to leave, but paused just as she reached the hallway and looked back.

“Oh, and Bryan, I trust you're not one of those naughty boys who peeks at the last page, are you?”

“No, ma'am,” he said, more confused than ever.

“Good, I hate it when people skip ahead to the end and spoil the surprise. Good day, detective.”

Hernandez gave Benson a contemptuous little sneer before pulling back into the hallway. The door shut behind him, leaving Benson alone with the book. He stared down at it and had to repress a sudden urge to kick it for fear of breaking his foot in the process. Instead, he shrugged and flipped through it. May as well do some light reading before his trial and summary execution.

Benson hefted the book and sat down on his couch. He skimmed through the first chapter and the significance of all two hundred and eighty-two of Hammurabi's edicts, but his mind kept wandering back to the last five minutes and the bizarre conversation with Devorah.

The whole thing had felt strange, almost scripted. Was she speaking in code? Devorah hardly seemed the type to dance around. She was, without a doubt, the most direct person he'd ever met. And what was that line about spoiling the surprise? It was a history book, not a novel. There was no surprise twist in the plot, it just… ended.

Benson found himself eyeing the book very suspiciously. It
did
seem too heavy, after all. He shifted his position so that the camera in his living room couldn't get a good angle on the book. Odds were good they were monitoring his plant's visual output without his knowledge, but it was a risk he had to take.

Swallowing hard, Benson turned to the last third of the book. Starring back up at him, nestled inside a small cavity laser-cut into the pages themselves, lay an FN Model 1910 handgun in 9mm Kurz. The last gun in the world. A small note had been rolled up and stuffed inside the trigger guard.

S
o you peeked after all
. It's loaded and the safety is off. Just point it at anyone annoying you and pull the trigger. Seven shots is all you get. And don't get blood on the book. It's bad enough I have to tape all the pages back together later.

S
incerely
,

Devorah.

B
enson shut
the book and smiled.

“You crazy, beautiful old bitch.”