บท 18: 18
Arley Tattersall stared with a sick expression at the deadly things Frederick Sutter placed on the table and pushed towards herself and Ian Woodbridge. They looked like small, palm-sized hand-guns, except that their rounds were ejected by powerful yet silent bursts of air.
'They're a work of art, really,' he told the young couple, his expression ironically reverent. 'The air-cartridge aperture is computer-designed to impair the formation of vortices, resulting in near-non-existent audible noise.' He shrugged. 'Trust the military to invent such things.'
'I don't want it,' Arley told him in a flat voice.
'I don't either,' Ian Woodbridge seconded. 'If we find the aliens, the very last thing I'm going to do is kill them.'
'I didn't say "use them",' Frederick told them reasonably. 'I merely asked you to accept them. They are from our military "friends". To stay in their good graces, and thereby gain access to some aspects of their knowledge and resources, we must at least make a show of going along with them.'
'It's not that simple,' Woodbridge bit off tersely. 'It's never that simple. Having a weapon doesn't just mean that you're armed. It also means that you've become a legitimate target for someone else who's armed. You now how these military creeps think! There's no telling if these things are just a way to murder innocent people. They may also be used as an excuse to eliminate [i]us[/I]!'
'Now, now,' Frederick soothed, 'do you really think that I'd expose yourself or this young woman to that sort of danger?'
'Maybe not willingly,' Woodbridge muttered. 'Maybe not wittingly.'
There was ice in the older man's eyes and in his voice at that. 'You think me that inept?'
Woodbridge felt an ice-pick of fear staring into those eyes that had changed suddenly from warm and affable to . . . what? Deadly? Menacing? Was Frederick Sutter not what he appeared to be? A well-meaning, reasonable and concerned older man?
Suddenly, as though what he'd witnessed had been only an unfortunate trick of light and shade, the Dr Frederick Sutter he knew was back again, his old, affable, wry self.
'Come now, Ian, I'm not as blind and foolish as that! I know the games these men play, and the risks they're willing to taking. Murdering civilians is hardly in their purview. They're fools, not monsters.'
Woodbridge almost felt relieved . . . at his side, he could tell from Arley's exhalation of pent-up breath that [i]she[/i] was relieved . . . but still, a niggling worm of doubt and worry remained. But making a mental decision, Woodbridge smiled and held out his hand. 'Well, no harm, no foul, right?'
Though small, the weapon was very heavy. Woodbridge found himself having to resist the seductive feel of the thing, the power over life it represented, its smooth, rounded lines that caused to feel like a natural extension of the hand. He depressed a metal button on the grip, popped the device open, and stared in surprise.
'Yes,' Frederick told him as realisation set in, 'the two gasses come together in that chamber and are ignited. The expanding gas expels a metal dart one centimetre long and as thick as a pencil lead. The dart disintegrates just after impact, releasing a powerful neurotoxin that brings instantaneous paralysis and death.'
'There's no antidote?' Arley asked him.
Frederick grimaced. 'Even if there were, the subject would be dead before the antitoxin could be administered.'
'These things don't look like they'll disintegrate on impact,' Woodbridge remarked. 'In fact, if anything, they look pretty darned sturdy.'
'They are sturdy,' Frederick told him. 'Very sturdy. You could fire one of these right through a quarter inch of plate steel. A minute sensor inside the dart can tell the difference between its having impacted wood, concrete, steel, or flesh. If and when it decides that it has impacted upon flesh, a microprocessor then sets off a tiny explosive which disperses its payload. And just like that, there's a tiny bang and you're dead, instantaneously.'
With a conscious effort of will, Woodbridge pushed the thing away. 'All right. What's this I've heard about a possible lead? Is there any truth to the rumour that the missing aliens have been located?'
Frederick responded with a disparaging look. 'Please! There's a working theory; nothing more.'
'Which is?' Arley prompted, curious now.
Frederick sighed, considering. 'Well . . . it goes like this. Satellite imaging wasn't able to penetrate to the ground because of the amount of heat and debris in the air, but we were able to track all incoming and outgoing traffic. It's a needle in a haystack, but what they're doing now is going back to the records, tracking each and every vehicles' movements, and doing a follow-up.'
Arley and Ian exchanged a wide-eyed look and leaned closer, waiting for more.
'I'm afraid that's all there is to it,' Frederick said, spreading his hands.
'But all the vehicles in the area were noted and tracked by way of the checkpoints!' Arley prompted. 'Surely there is a statistical method we could use to narrow down the scope of the search?'
Frederick smiled at that. 'Actually, I was hoping the two of you would have some ideas in that department.'
'Well-'
'We might,' Ian said evasively, cutting Arley off. 'But we'll need a little time in order to come up with something useful.'
'All right,' Frederick said, getting to his feet, 'I'll give you two weeks. Fair enough?'
Ian watched through the curtains until he was certain that Frederick Sutter had left. At last, he let out a long, pent-up stream of air. 'That right bastard!'
'You think he's one of them?'
He turned to consider her. 'What, the military? I'm not sure. But . . . I don't know. There are times when something about the guy just doesn't ring true.'
'What, like he's lying to us?'
Ian fixed her with a look. 'No, Sweetie, like he's dangerous. I mean seriously dangerous. I think he's trying to pressure us into finding and killing those people.'
Arley shook her head. 'I don't understand you. Why would he do that?'
'In military circles it's called "plausible deniability". You get someone from outside your organisation to do your dirtywork, so that you won't be answerable. You then either turn on your co-conspirators and let them get hung out to dry, or you take them someplace remote and kill them'
'You're freaking me out, Ian!' Arley blurted, afraid and angry now. 'What are we getting ourselves mixed up in, here? Why don't we just get out while we can?' Ian's disappointed look stopped her. 'Okay, forget I said that. You're right . . . we can't let these freaks have their way. We're going to have to try to get to the aliens first.'
Ian breathed his relief and took her in his arms. 'That's my girl.'
From his vehicle, Frederick heard every word through his headphones, and chuckled to himself. 'Yes,' he echoed to no one, 'that's my girl!'
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