The neatly bearded East Indian cab driver jerked in surprise when his back door abruptly opened to allow a big man to slide in, the newcomer dressed head to toe in black. He looked with wide eyes into his rearview mirror. How did he ...? He could have sworn he was watching in every direction. A man that big and dressed like that in the middle of the summer, he would have spotted instantly. Still, a fare was a fare.
"Uh, where to?" he asked, twisting to look over his shoulder, his English near perfect.
"The Alec Arms," the big man directed softly, glancing at the horde of police, both Calgary Police Service and RCMP, flooding into the terminal's front doors.
Nodding his understanding, the cab driver turned on his meter and, with a smooth, practiced motion, shifted into drive. With a soft whine of rubber on asphalt, the yellow painted vehicle pulled away from the curb and left the horde of police vehicles, along with their flashing lights behind. A moment later it left the airport all together and quickly slipped into the stream of traffic making its way into town.
It was sometime later that found the stranger sitting quietly in a small coffee shop facing a street that ran right through the heart of the Chinook City. From where he was sitting, the big man had an incredible view of the nearby Rocky Mountains in between the great skyscrapers that dominated the city's downtown core, the Husky Tower, known more simply as the Calgary Tower, standing just off to the right. He had just finished a brief meal of a carrot muffin and orange juice to replace the sugars he had burned in his efforts at the airport. And he was thinking.
There was definitely something going on here, he silently mused, staring at the distant mountains, purple in the early morning sun. And whatever it was, it was being perpetuated by a powerful group of psionics that had little fear of reprisal from open displays of their abilities. Whether these psionics, led by the mysterious Preacher, and their activities would lead to the destruction in his vision or not, he had yet to determine. But determine it, he would. The big man's face darkened. Or, in the very least, attempt to restore some semblance of protection in a city that could quickly dissolve into chaos if the population of normal humans saw more psionic activity out in the open. The man in black scratched his head thoughtfully, then signaled a waitress for another orange juice.
As she poured, he mulled over the information the telepath had slammed into his mind before dying. It was dense stuff, heavily encrypted with complex algorithms. He grimaced slightly. It would take more than a little time to decode, time he wasn't sure he could afford. A whisper across his sensitive mind announced the waitress was done pouring and, after admiring his looks, was about to draw away. He looked up quickly and pushed a smile onto his face, despite the death's head leer abruptly was staring down at him.
"Could I have my check, please?" he asked softly and the waitress, a fading brunette beauty in her late thirties, flashed him a quick smile and nodded before moving off. Temporarily alone, the stranger swiftly returned to his pondering.
He could only hope the encrypted data contained information on the goings on Preacher and his cohorts were involved with. Enough, anyway, to connect it somehow to the cataclysmic event of such magnitude it pulled him out of the Bahamas and halfway across the planet to investigate. He sighed and reached for his wallet. It looked like he'll be spending some time here, in the mountains!
As the powerful stranger paid his bill, another man in black was pacing the floor of his luxurious 35th floor corner office, with its north and western walls made of thick glass to reveal a magnificent view of the Rockies stretching from one side to the next. Below his feet was a thick, very expensive carpet of the finest crimson pile, the non-glass walls of the office paneled in rich mahogany and hung with beautiful and quite rare paintings from some of the world's finest master artists. A small wet bar sat in the far corner and a great bookshelf filled with hard covered collectors' editions dominated the south wall. A skylight in the ceiling allowed the late summer sun to pour in, although expensive atmosphere conditioners worked to keep it an even 20 degrees Celsius in the room. All spoke of power and wealth, opulent without being garish, the office of a man in a position of great authority.
But this man wasn't pacing like a man in control of a vast empire. Rather, he resembled more a caged tiger! He was a tall yet slender man and his long legs made short work of the big office as he went back and forth. His hair was a dark mane that fell to his shoulders and his handsome face was tanned to a deep brown. Deep blue eyes sparked out from beneath thick brows and the aristocratic features were twisted into a permanent scowl. Pausing to adjust the fit of the black silk jacket he wore, he glanced out the bay windows just as there was a light tap at the door set in the east wall of the great rectangular space, almost ten metres at its longest point.
The man in black turned to look at the door.
"Come in, Henry," he said in a clear, sonorous voice that easily carried the length of the room and beyond. At the summons a small, blocky man also dressed in black, pushed open the door on silent hinges and stepped into the office. As the smaller man stepped towards him, the tall man in black turned back to his pondering as he stared out the great windowed wall.
"I trust you have good news for me, my friend," he said, his voice no less powerful when it was reduced in volume.
Carefully Henry wiped off the beads of perspiration that appeared on top of his bald head, swallowing somewhat nervously.
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Preacher, sir."
"Oh?" Preacher replied softly without turning around. Henry cleared his throat before explaining himself.
"The telepath, Constantine is dead, sir."
The frown deepened on Preacher's lips.
"I wanted him kept alive, Henry," he noted tightly. "I gave you explicit instructions in that regard."
"Yes, you did, sir," Henry hastened to reassure the slender man in black. "And I passed those instructions on to the softwires assigned to apprehend the rogue teep. However, our contacts have indicated that he was terminated at the airport, apparently by Kyle, the team leader."
"And our team?"
Henry swallowed nervously again.
"Hospitalized, under police guard." Hearing Preacher grunt, Henry winced, almost expecting the tall man to lash out, his temper legendary among his associates. But, when nothing happened after seconds passed, he carefully went on, hoping that he wouldn't be the target of some well-placed ire after he finished his report. "As far as our contacts can tell, they were rendered unconscious shortly after Constantine was terminated."
"Constantine was only a softwire," Preacher mused out loud. "He didn't have the capability to protect himself thusly."
"No, sir. Our own investigator, combing the scene after the Normal police were done, detected traces of another psionic, a fifth man, unaccounted for."
At Henry's revelation, Preacher found himself turning to stare at his associate with a hard look.
"A fifth man?" he hissed tightly. "One of our own turned against us?"
"It would seem so, sir," Henry replied, dry washing his hands nervously. "Shall I make the necessary inquiries?"
"Yes," the man in black immediately answered, still staring though his eyes no longer saw Henry's diminutive form. "The Brotherhood will be less than pleased to learn that a psionic has positioned against them." The man paused as he pursed his lips in thought, his expression abruptly thoughtful. "Even though they should have thought of the consequences of removing Constantine in full view of Normals."
His eyes abruptly saw Henry once more.
"Unprofessional, my friend. The wires shouldn't have attempted to apprehend the rogue at the airport." He turned back to the windows. "Even the Brotherhood has enemies. We may have exposed ourselves unnecessarily. And our position here may be compromised. Especially if this mysterious fifth man got to see what the teep had in his head."
"We'll put our best troubleshooters on the case, Mr. Preacher," Henry quickly reassured the lean man. "And our contacts will inform ..."
"Inform us of what?" the tall man interrupted, turning to look over his shoulder once more, his expression once more blank and emotionless. "That the Normals have figured out what took place? That they've determined that a worldwide conspiracy is poised to take the planet from them? And that they have determined how to stop them?" He turned back to the windows.
"I think not, Henry. Our contacts are burnheads with no other purpose other than to serve as our eyes and ears in the world of Normals without fear of being detected. They are no more gifted in clairvoyance than the Normals they watch." He paused to sigh deeply. "Make your inquiries, Henry and make them quickly. Before the Brotherhood turns its collective gaze in our direction. I want this mysterious rogue found."
He turned around to fully face the smaller man and fixed his gaze on him.
"And no failures this time, Henry. Understand? I don't want our mud-brained cousins to even know we're looking for this newest renegade! Nor do I want the nations to discover his existence."
"Of course, Mr. Preacher. I'll see to it at once!" Henry bowed his way out of the room and for a long moment the man who he had called 'Mr. Preacher' stared after him. He then turned back to the windows and began to pace once again.
"For your sake, dear Henry, I hope that you do," he muttered softly under his breath.
"For all our sakes!"
* * * *