Jubilee Year: A Novel (Erelong Trilogy Book I) - An Extended Sample

Chapter 27: TASMANIAN DEVIL

The calm and collected voice of the captain read the imperative to the passengers and flight crew just as he did every time prior to touching down in Canberra.

"This announcement is a friendly reminder from the Australian Capital Territory. The federal government requires all disembarking passengers to have their Australian Federation Cards ready for inspection. You are required to submit to the identification process when passing through the border-guard inspection gates. And—on behalf of my flight crew, I would like to take this opportunity to welcome you to the hub of the nation. We hope your stay in the ACT is happy and secure."

The security officer directed him to stand in front of a black and chrome panel that towering like a pillar over his head.

Storm stepped into the red square before the flashing block colors. An orange arrow pointed to the shape of two green hands. When he complied, the parameters snapped to the outline of his palm and fingers. The laser penetrated his pupils, racing back and forth as it measured the unique pattern of his retinas. He blinked.

"Please do not move while the scan is being performed," a disembodied voice told him.

The device scanned once more, then Storm stepped back rubbing the sting from his streaming eyes.

A man with a clean white shirt and a crisp, charcoal pinstripe suit stood beside the security booth. He dressed like a corporate executive, but he did not look like he had spent a lot of time behind a desk.

The cut of the man's tailored suit accentuated his athletic build, and while he was not tall, he struck an assertive posture that made up for his lack of height. Even the tilt of his head communicated a predatory quality. Like that of a raptor checking a living target before taking its first bite.

The government agent rested his fingertips on the shiny black leather belt in his trousers. His bunched shoulders caused his jacket to ride a fraction too far up his back. The narrowed ice blue eyes constantly flicked over each and every move the boy made.

The man's stare reminded Storm of nothing so much as a hungry Tasmanian Devil sizing up a fat possum it had trapped on the ground.

He waited for the security officer to return his ID card, but she didn't. Instead, she was focused on the next arrival standing behind him in the line.

The Tasmanian Devil waved Storm's card in the air to attract his attention.

"Mr. Elliot," the man said in a relaxed tone. "Follow me."

For a short man, the agent set a brisk pace through the crowded terminal and into the parking lot. He stopped and turned when they reached a late model, dark blue Commodore. "I'm Roy Davenport," he said, flashing Storm a tight smile. He opened the passenger door. "Hop inside, mate."

It was easy enough for Storm to convince himself everything was fine. The car was comfortable. Better even than Franchette's. There seemed nothing threatening about the driver. Storm refused an offered cigarette, but the gesture helped him to relax. He wondered how Michael's old friend, an astronomer wielded such influence over the security staff at Canberra Airport.

"There's been a change of plans," Davenport told him once they were on the highway taking them to the city. "You will be meeting with Mr. Martyn Boas instead. We are going directly to his office now."

He glanced at Storm's worried face. "Relax, mate. It's all good."

Storm gazed up at a flagpole sitting on the apex of a steel pyramid atop the building. It flashed onto the screen before every national news broadcast on the TV.

Davenport turned the car onto a ramp that took them into a cavernous parking lot beneath Parliament House.

"Have you been here before?" Davenport asked.

"No way!" Storm exclaimed. "Never thought I would be either!"

"Well, welcome to the place your elected leaders gather," Davenport commented with a wry smile.

Storm thought he heard Davenport add under his breath, 'and the unelected'.

"Sorry?" Storm asked.

But the agent was already standing before the opening doors of an elevator.

A stout, red-faced man emerged from inside and strode out in a brisk fashion followed by a reporter and her cameraman in hot pursuit.

"Hey, wasn't that the minister of education or finance?" Storm asked.

Inside the elevator, Davenport winked in reply. He passed a keycard through a slot in a metal ledge set beneath the floor buttons.

An elderly gentleman paused outside the lift, raising his cane and giving a sharp cough to attract their attention.

Davenport stared straight through the old man and let the doors close.

The descent was rapid, and Storm felt his stomach lift.

"You get used to it," Davenport said when he saw the boy's face.

"How many levels down was that?" Storm asked when an electronic voice announced they had arrived.

"I can't say," Davenport replied.

The corridor seemed little different to the interior of the elevator. A soft blue glow reflected off an arching metallic ceiling, the light emanating from the metal surface itself.

"Seriously?" Storm asked as they stepped into the corridor. "You can't say?"

Davenport gave a single nod of his head.

"You mean it's a secret?" Storm asked in surprise.

Davenport was already several paces ahead of him, but the cocky brash quality wasn't there any longer. He looked almost bent. Like he carried a weight on his back. No. It was more like Davenport was adopting the servile attitude of a butler hurrying to attend the bidding of a lord and master.

The corridor ended at an impressively tall metal-framed entranceway. The room beyond was sparsely furnished. It might have been the empty reception area of an office closed for the evening.

Davenport took a single step over the entranceway and stopped. He pointed to a chair at a small table in front of the large desk. "You sit there."

"You aren't staying," Storm asked.

"You want me to hold your hand?" Davenport asked.

Storm noticed Davenport looked like he didn't want to hang around much longer.

"No, I meant..."

"Mr. Boas won't be long," Davenport said before he left Storm alone. The door closed with a faint hiss behind him.

The desk was smooth and contoured. Perhaps due to the size and shape of it the desk. The surface had a liquid appearance with the black material absorbing what little light there was in the room. The illumination consisted of a soft glow from might have been a tall opaque window framed in a gothic arch.

The minimalist design of his surroundings and dim lighting contributed to the feeling of unease. He sat behind the small table set before the large console, not knowing what to expect, waiting for his mysterious host to appear.