Secrets Chapter One, part 2

CHAPTER ONE, PART TWO
Monday offered as much of a lack of information regarding Dr. Clark as most of the previous five months. The call to ChemWares was the only evidence I had that Dr. Clark was preparing to temporarily relinquish his current responsibilities for some time away. Subsequent calls and various recordings picked up no conversations regarding his imminent absence, not even to family or to colleagues. I called John on the secure channel Amanita provided for me, keying in a twenty character password before he clicked on.

“Hi, it’s Kale.”

“Kale! You finally got something?”

“Yes. Clark suddenly decided to take a vacation. He mentioned it once, while ordering enough laboratory supplies to stock another laboratory, from this company called ChemWares, to be delivered to his current laboratory at Genik. He hasn’t said a word to anyone about leaving; as far as I know, his family doesn’t know, his colleagues don’t know, his lab doesn’t know. However, I don’t know how he’s funding this, nothing showed up on any of his financial records. I don’t know exactly when he’s going. If he is opening another lab, I don’t know where. I need to keep an eye on him, ‘round the clock.”

“Okay, which hours to you need covered? When?”

“Five PM to five AM, starting… Wednesday. I’ll take over from morning to afternoon, during his busiest hours.”

“Right. How long do you suppose Clark will be gone?”

“No clue.”

“Maybe Clark might not know. He might not be doing this alone... this might not be his lab,” John stated slowly, as if pulling his thoughts out word by word, and I knew he was speaking his thoughts, “so keep watch.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ll have your partner's information by then. And, of course, keep me updated.”

“Of course.”

A few daylight hours remained, and I had not heard from Julia. I worried if I would have time to visit her brother. Very soon, my time would become enmeshed with Dr. Clark’s.

When I finally stood up from the couch, tight muscles in my shoulders and back ached uncomfortably. Training would help, I reminded myself, and the decision was made. I secured my computer, packed some gear, left a locked condo, and keyed an address into my car. Shapes weaved and bobbed in car window reflections, traffic whispered by outside the confines of the car. Three dimensional products from giant advertising signboards loomed and flashed, largely ignored by the crowds on the street. A low babble of voices rose into prominence when the car slowed, but not one of the populace could look through my reflective car windows. I encased myself with privacy in public, in a one-way manner: I could observe out of my car windows as if they were open. Technology, and my employer, had given me several interesting gifts.

Nearer to the warehouse district, the makeshift food stalls ceased clogging the sidewalks, pedestrians dwindled, and the hubbub of flashing lights became scarce. It was not the safest area in the city, so most everyday citizens hesitated to visit this close to sunset. I directed the car around the block so it could park in small unused lot. From this lot, I quietly slipped over a fence to approach the building from the back, to the only entrance.

A metallic click disengaged the door after I pressed a thumb to the grey depression at the entrance. Pushing on a part of the wall with the faded letters “ITE” written in an old-style script, I slid into the building, emerging into a wood-floored hallway with off-white walls and comforting level of light. The heavy door silently hissed shut behind me and engaged. Down the hall and to the right were the changing rooms; after changing I entered into the gym itself. The hallway opened up without pause into a sprawling, three-story tall cornucopia of ropes, walls, bridges, ladders, arches, hanging pieces of fabric, and three massive trees. A slim figure in black leapt from a wall onto a hanging rope two stories high; the figure swung, and gracefully intercepted a rope ladder, on which he descended. Despite the height, no safety nets riddled the place; we were all required to provide our own, in our own way, if we wished.

In the back, a flat open area with rubber mats awaited floor work. I heard faint grunts, hisses, and short yells from two people practicing movements, with the occasional slap of a body on the ground.

The man who had just descended smiled boyishly, yet directly, making his deep blue eyes darker. I looked him over: tousled dirty blond hair streaked dark and spiked with sweat, barely breathless, skin a natural tan, muscles evident but not bulging underneath the tight black outfit.

“Ethan,” I greeted.

He gave me a casual hug. “Kali!” This was his nickname for me, and from his wealth of random knowledge, the name of a destructive goddess. “Need a training partner? I’m not even half done with my session today – I had to start late, a big group of new recruits and a few trainers came by and took over the gym for the day.”

“Sure. I’m not really working on anything, though. There’s some time in my schedule and some tension I need to work off, so I’m open. But I need to stretch a bit first.”

“Join me when you’re ready, then.” Ethan turned to the wall nearest to him, gripped the sparse, small holds, and launched himself upwards, every moment under perfect control. I stared a moment longer, admiring, and halfheartedly hoped that I, too, had just as perfect control. Three hours later, I dropped to the floor, breathing heavily but deeply satiated by the exercise. Ethan dropped down beside me, his face streaming with sweat. He leaned forward, hands on knees, and then straightened, gulping in air while slowly swinging his arms. From my gym bag, I excised a towel to wipe my grinning face. When I offered a sip of my chilled fruit juice to Ethan, he grimaced a negative, and sought out his own refreshment in his own bag.

We sat, side by side, enjoying the silence of the gym, the cooling down of our bodies. I felt Ethan’s gaze on me, felt myself smiling. “Want to go out for a drink? I need to close this place for the night, but after that, I’ve got some time. And you – I haven’t seen you around much.”

I nodded. “Why not? Where do you have in mind?”

“Mona’s? You remember Mona’s.”

“The popular place, near Central Station; last time we couldn’t get any seats and had to stand against the wall. The bartender was blond, freckled, with green eyes, and she didn’t like me. It has décor that seems like it’s trying to be on the edge, but ends up being pretentious, with the stupid black synthetic curtains, black paneled walls...”

Ethan laughed. “Yes, that’s the one. It’ll take me some time to close, so meet me there, and hopefully there’ll be seats this time. And nobody in there really likes anybody else there, plus I don’t really like the place. It’s just crowded all the time.”

***

Seats were available – this was Monday night, after all – but just barely. I spotted a small empty section near the back corner, complete with miniscule black table, and slid onto an equally miniscule black stool. Within minutes, a young woman with the look of a tireless corporate drone, in company with more of the same, had asked crisply if she could abscond with any unused stools in the vicinity. I saved one for Ethan and Miss Corporate lugged away two. A roving server stopped by with a raised eyebrow, awaiting an order which I gave. Without a word, he nodded and sashayed to the raucous table on my left.

I looked around. No one usually came to Mona’s alone, so I became the receiving end of a few curious looks that faded away as soon as they realized I was not in any emotional distress and therefore unwilling to drink myself silly for their entertainment. In the far back corner, diagonal from me, sat another lone figure, next to the bar, but he had pulled one of those ridiculous curtains between him and the bar so a shadow cut over his face. Long, slim legs clothed in dark, expensive trousers crossed at the ankles under the table, and elegant, supple fingers wrapped themselves around a frosted drink. The fingers tightened almost imperceptibly, lifted the drink into the shadow, and floated down to the table again. I felt, rather than saw, his gaze on me, another solitary figure. However, unlike him, I was not looking for a way to ease the burden of solitude. An executive, I thought, lonely even amongst his own peers. Is everyone in this world so lonely?

Ethan arrived shortly before our drinks did, and he settled himself precariously on the only unused stool left in the establishment, lifted his drink to his lips to take a sip. I noticed the turned heads of several females, eyeing me with curiosity now, then eyeing Ethan with a bit more than curiosity. Their transparent faces advertised their every thought, imagining in what kind of impossible scenario where a flirty, good-looking man like Ethan would pass his time with a too-pale, non-curvaceous entity like myself. But they did not know Ethan, and they certainly did not know me.

Paying the starers no attention, Ethan leaned slightly towards me, happy to chat. “I don’t know how you keep in shape like that, but I feel as if a building crashed down on me. I’ve been out of shape because you aren’t visiting the gym much anymore, and here you show up, as if you’ve never stopped being out of shape.”

“Ah, it’s always been that way. I don’t look like it, but I’ve never had many athletic problems. And you’re not unfit. You just have awful taste in drinking establishments.” I indicated the staring people, then the upstart server, and pulled a curtain behind Ethan to enclose our conversation. We sipped our drinks; my ice cold spritzer fizzed down my throat pleasantly.

“Oh, yes, you enjoy dark, almost empty places to hide out in. But I feel I can hide in a crowded setting. Where I’m one of many, one in a crowd.”

“You’re usually the center of a crowd. But a crowd can hide a person you don’t want to meet,” I insisted. This was our old argument.

Ethan shrugged, comfortable with disagreement. “Solitude doesn’t sit well with me like it does you. You’re more of a lonely type, in a lonely work. A crowd can hide an unknown, but only if you don’t learn it. Just call me a sheepdog.”

It was true: Ethan Corsa ran the gym, juggling its use among a wide variety of groups. He knew people well, spent most days interfacing from one group to another. Amanita owned and backed the gym financially, allowing for a more advanced and secure space in which its employees could train. None could enter the gym without passing through Amanita’s security. But once through, different groups demanding certain conditions found themselves in Ethan’s capable hands. There were times when I’ve walked into the gym and it had been remade into an obstacle course, or part of a floor in a high tech office building. At times I wished I’d had the authority to request a particular layout, but as a low seniority agent hired to work individually, my wishes remained wishes.

Ethan suddenly cocked his head, tapped his pants pocket, and touched a small spot on his right ear. Phone, he mouthed. “This is Ethan. Yes. No. Tomorrow? The day after is better, actually. Wednesday, then. Thursday?” – Ethan sighed dramatically at me – “Okay, I’ll expect them in the morning, on Thursday. Thanks.” He clicked off, sipped his drink. “I’ve been getting more and more trainees in the gym in the last few months. They train for only one month, and then the next group comes in. They leave looking as innocent as when they came in. Plus, they look younger every day, or else I’m getting too busy or too old or too slow.”

I smirked. “Can’t help you with the old part. I wouldn’t have that experience.” Ethan often worried over his age, and he was barely a decade older. Some fine lines flitted in and out around his eyes, but overall, he had not changed much in the years I’d known him. However I liked to tease him about his affectations.

“That’s because you always look young.” He peered at me, as if trying to find Perpetual Youth’s secret written in my face. I flashed a winsome smile in his direction. “But for you it’s still only been five, six years since you started. There’s still time for the work to age you.”

“Ha. It’s been kind to me so far.”

“Your work is never really kind. I’ve seen too much. It’s loneliness, frustration, boredom, stress, uncertainty, and then some bits of excitement and success now and then. It can be rewarding, but you’ll get your heart broken at one point.” Ethan spoke softly, almost paternally, his eyes flitting across the room, knowing the crowd.

Unable to respond, I traced an aimless index finger on the featureless surface of the black table. How could I explain that this life would not be different than any other life? That I ever could be less lonely, less of an outsider, looking in, in any other profession?

“Anyway, since my work remains the same, and I have to live vicariously through everyone else…” He lifted his eyebrows in inquiry, allowing me escape.

Briefly, I updated Ethan. Since he himself was an Amanita employee and subject to the same security checks all employees underwent, I trusted him enough to color my words with detail. However, I left the subject of Julia’s brother hidden. “… so, follow my target, but also follow the financials. I haven’t found anything strange, but this order will be paid for by someone.”

“The most useful habits are the most obvious: follow the money and the communication. Also, make connections. Sometimes, two points may not seem to be related, but are. There are patterns but you have to find them.”

Ethan suddenly raised his hand to summon the server. It was evident that Ethan was a frequent visitor to Mona’s, as the server’s attitude softened visibly under his gregarious smile. Startled, I watched Ethan pay for both drinks before I had a chance to lay claim to my bill.

“Tired so soon, old man?” I joked.

“No, no. But we should go,” Ethan casually draped an arm over my shoulders and drew us both out of the building. “Where’s your car?”

I pointed with my chin. “Are you walking me? I think I’ll be fine.”

“And I think you’re being watched,” Ethan said casually, head leaning into mine, as if we were enjoying a romantic night together. “But I don’t think they mean harm. He’s only watching.”

A shiver crept up my spine; in response, I wrapped an arm around Ethan’s waist and leaned into him, as much for pretense as for comfort. “Was it a slim man, in dark, expensive clothes, maybe a suit?”

“Yes, have you seen him before? Did you know you were being followed?”

I shook my head, but in my mind’s eye, saw leaping shadows and one brick out of place. “He was in Mona’s before you arrived. He was looking at me then but I thought it was more of a… social… nature. But now… it means he knows about the gym, or at least, where it is.”

We reached my car. Ethan turned me towards him, and pulled my face up towards his. Behind Ethan, far down the block, I saw a thin, dark, solitary figure stroll onto the sidewalk, turn, and glide towards us. He walked confidently, smoothly. I drew back a little to find Ethan’s eyes. They were serious, dark, deadly, businesslike – completely unromantic. From the outside, we looked a couple sharing an amorous embrace. “Be careful,” he murmured, “and call John.”

I nodded, drew him into a close hug, and whispered, “Don’t go after him. I’ll let him follow me. One day he’ll show his face.”

Then I was in my car, senses hyperaware. The streets, lit up by the ever present signboards, storefronts, and streetlights, were mostly empty. A few solitary figures staggered on the light-dappled sidewalk, groping for shelter. One magenta-haired teenager turned a pale, triangular face to watch my car pass, eyes large and blank and black. At my street, I forced myself not to run into my condo, to instead know my surroundings. Not even my honed senses could find an extra shadow. Yet the feeling persisted, of eyes caressing my back, targeting the back of my neck. At home in my condo, I double-checked all windows. None looked tampered with. My private abode was remained a physical sanctuary.

In the kitchen, I passed my fingertips over a flat surface underneath the silverware cabinet and watched as the entire cabinet pushed forward. Behind gaped a hole; I reached in, fingers groped down until I felt the metal handle of a case. It thunked onto the kitchen counter gracelessly. Opening it, I palmed my favorite gun, a small but highly customizable weapon, now fitted for small, fast, incapacitating shots. I put away the rest of the weapons, pushed the cabinet back into place, and checked the gun for ammunition. Fully charged. Great.

A distant ache lurched upwards, but I swallowed it down. I slept with the gun by my side.