Whether or not I fell like the proverbial ton of bricks, it sure felt like I had been hit over the head with them. When I came to it was with feelings I’d normally associate with the morning after the night before washing over me. The pain cutting through my head made it feel like I was ready to be outfitted for a Frankenstein stitch job, or at the least some sort of zipper assembly that would keep the top part of my head from separating from the bottom.
But there were some noticeable differences, most obviously being the fact that it seemed my legs were bound to the chair I was plopped into and my hands in lap were first tied to themselves than connected to my feet’s bonds via yet another cord. For vegetarians they certainly knew their way around trussing the main course for roasting and basting at 375 degrees for a couple of hours until done.
Whoever was responsible was either brilliant or blind lucky and it didn’t matter which as the result was still the same. Any time I tried to fidget with my feet in the hopes of loosing their bounds the ropes around my hands seemed to tighten and vice versa. I figured by the time I had loosened anything significantly either my hands or feet would have fallen off due to lack of circulation..
What with my head still feeling like the axe was still sticking out of the back at a jaunty angle, and my limbs trussed like a pork roast, I was quite content to sit quietly and await what was ever coming. It could explain why the next thing I knew was that I heard the sound of voices whispering in front of me. Dozing off had the unexpected payoff of reducing my head pain substantially, as well as allowing some free eavesdropping time as the voices were obviously under the impression I was still out.
“I thought you said you didn’t hit him that hard? He looks like he’s got brain damage,” said the first voice. It sounded like a woman’s, deeper than most, but still a woman and I suspected it was the one who I had followed into the dead end.
“Hey you were the one who was all panicky about being followed. Anyway what does it matter; he’s just another Fed. We’ll give him a shot, find out what he knows then let him go. If he shows up back at headquarters sounding like he’s a few bricks short of a load who’s going to notice over there? Most of them talk like they’ve seen recent contact with the flat edge of a 2 X 4 anyway.”
They thought I was a Fed; while it was slightly insulting, it was also understandable given their circumstances. It also made life both a little easier and a little more precarious at the same time. If I was able to convince them of the fact that I was working the same side of the street as they were and they might not look on me with such suspicion. Of course if I wasn’t able to do that I could end up being injected with some sort of truth drug that also seemed to remove a good chunk of a person’s reasoning skills.
“Well the horsemen are going be happy if you keep making their job easier by knocking out everyone who’s sneaking around behind their backs trying to figure who offed the professor, and who is trying to stuff the Kyoto accord so far up a chimney at the same time, that it will just be so many more toxic emissions if it can’t be found soon.” I had decided to try and brazen it out with the truth, ’cause sometimes you never know, people might believe you.
It was kind of hard for me to decipher their reactions as I was seated in the centre of the pool of light cast by a naked bulb hanging over my head like that Greek dude’s sword, and they were lurking in the shadows. I could tell that I had startled them, but that could just as easily be put down to them not knowing I was among the conscious more than anything else.
Whatever other effects my little speech might have had on them, at least it got them to come into my circle of light. I was right about the woman’s voice, it belonged to the one who I’d followed from the store. She was your typical granola number down to her lack of make-up, thick socks and expensive German-made sandals. It didn’t stop her from being attractive, but in an earnest political sort of way that I knew from experience could fast become tedious.
The guy was cut from the same cloth; only he had a slightly harder edge to him. He was that new breed of political activist who the cops hadn’t figured out yet, computer and tech savvy, with no worries about employing violence if attacked. Cops hadn’t managed to upgrade their thinking from the days of passive resistance and when they ran into people who picked up their tear gas canisters and calmly lobbed them back at them it still confused them.
The demonstrators had their own version of shock troops now: they would stand up to the first wave of a baton-flailing riot cop charge to give their more passive brethren and sisters a chance to escape. The guy in front of me was a prime example of the type, tall, leanly muscled and tough. I had no trouble believing that he’d been the one to administer the love tap that left me counting teeth with the tip of my tongue.
After, I don’t know maybe 30 seconds -– maybe an hour -– of them staring at me and me trying to stare back at them without staring because it seemed to hurt just a little too much to use my eyes that much, and without anybody saying anything. I was just about to try again when she spoke up.
“What do you know about Professor Magnesen?” she asked
“Now that’s an interesting first question to ask, not ‘why were your following me?’ or ‘what do you want?’, but about a person who I haven’t said I even know. What I do know is that you know him, which I didn’t know before; thanks,” I said brightly.
She certainly turned a very pretty shade of red when she flushed, whether it was with anger or embarrassment didn’t make much of a difference in my book. He on the other hand didn’t have the same redeeming qualities when he flushed. If he was pissed at her for giving something away, or pissed at me for being a wiseass was irrelevant as he was bound to take his displeasure out on me not her.
“Okay smart ass we you’ve proved that you aren’t just another pretty face, but why should we believe that you’re not a cop and you still didn’t answer her question about what you know about the professor. So why don’t you be a good guy and answer the lady’s questions and maybe I’ll forget what a rude bastard you were to her.” He reached behind him and pulled one of the largest hunting knives I’ve ever seen out of belt sheath and began cleaning his nails with it. He saw me staring at it, and nodded his head once as encouragement that I shouldn’t be shy about speaking my piece for much longer.
“Well first of all I know he was working on a project for the government that would have reduced greenhouse gases substantially while actually improving the economy instead of harming it, until the government changed and his program funding was yanked. I know that he started meeting with some environmentalists about something or other and that some government department was starting to get very interested in his files at home.”
I paused for breath here and tried to gauge their reactions, but neither of them was giving anything away. They both were just staring at me waiting to hear what I had to say next. So far anything I had told them didn’t tell them what they really wanted to know; who I was. The Feds would have known all that I had said up till now so they still didn’t have any reason to believe me when I said I wasn’t working for the government. I was going to have to lay as many cards as possible on the table.
“A short while I was contacted by a client to investigate the disappearance of the Kyoto accord. I got a call at the office one night and I was supposed to meet someone over at a strip club in Hull. He showed up all right, but he arrived to see me with one of the biggest hunting knives I’ve ever seen sticking out of his back.” I said this last bit being very careful not to look at the blade whose point the guy was now digging into the wooden tabletop in front of me.
“Since then I’ve been trying to trace backward through his life in an attempt to figure out who killed him and what he’d been working on that has people so scared that even after he’s dead they’re still trying to shut him up. I followed you,” I said, pointing with my chin at the woman, “because I hoped you’d be able to help me find some answers. Given my reception I can only hope that we might be of some assistance to each other.”
The guy and the woman exchanged glances, she raised an eyebrow and he nodded his head in return. He kept the knife in his hand and came at me with point pointed directly at my chest. He flipped it over in his hand so that the cutting edge was pointing up and swung the knife up and through the ropes binding my wrists. He then bent down and sliced through the cords around my feet.
He stepped back and took up his position beside the table again as I shook my hands and feet in an attempt to restore some circulation. More and more I’m convinced that I would never be cut out for bondage. I just don’t like mixing work with pleasure that much.
I was still busy rubbing at my wrists and ankles when the woman spoke up. “Look”, she said, “we’re really sorry about all this,” waving her hand as if taking in the basement, my skull and being tied to a chair, “but ever since the professor was killed we’ve been really scared about what’s going on. Why would they want to kill him just because he had good ideas about how we could reach our commitment to the Kyoto accord and be able to help other countries do the same?”
“Yeah”, said the guy,” I hope I didn’t do too much damage, but our nerves are stretched pretty raw right about now. Not only can’t we figure out why anyone would have wanted the professor dead, we don’t have much idea as to who could have done it. When you showed up nosing around… well we though we might be able to crack you open about who you were working for and get some answers.”
He sighed, and shook his head. “But we’re still no further ahead and there aren’t even any clues to go on. It doesn’t sound like you know that much more than we do.” He sucked in a big breath of air.
“Damn this is frustrating. He was so close to answers, in fact we believe he might have even had them already, but was playing it close to the vest as he could see the departments he had built for research and development slowly being dismantled due to budget cut backs and funding not being renewed. He had contacted us late in the summer before the Election, knowing that even a potential Stephen Harper victory would destroy his life’s work”
“When they couldn’t do that, they destroyed him instead,” her voice was choked as if close to tears, and I looked at her closely. “The reason he approached us was that I had been a student to his at the University. One day, accidentally he said, by coincidence he said he came in here and we got to chatting. He wanted to know what I was up to, If I had kept up being active in environmental groups after leaving school. He also wanted to know if I had been following the discussions about global warming in the papers and was as worried as he was by what he called the irresponsible science issuing from some world capitals.”
She paused as if to gather her thoughts, or to just take the deep breath that would see her through the rest of her story. “After a while he asked me if I knew a couple of other people who were active in environmental groups who might like to learn some information that they could put to good use. So we began to go over to his house at odd hours to try and shake off any potential tails. Judging by the outcome to date we haven’t succeeded in doing much except getting our patron killed.”
The silence that followed her little speech was exceptionally empty as we all sat with our own thoughts for a minute or two. Finally she broke it and in a rather choked voice looked at me, then over at her erstwhile companion, and asked the question whose answer I had come looking for. “What do we do now?”
…to be continued…