Page 12 of Coldwire
“With lawyers, I hope,” I mutter.
“Your employers don’t have a legal right to offer lawyers yet. It depends on how the bureau processes you.”
Goose bumps prickle my arms underneath my sleeves. I am still dressed as a NileCorp soldier even if I’ve shed the combat suit. Head to toe in black, my trouser legs tucked into my boots. The agents took the handgun and the earpiece. The slots at my shoulders and the pockets around my torso are empty.
This entire time, I’ve been waiting for something to happen. Someevidence of my culpability being a setup, brought in by one of federal’s soldiers or an anonymous tip on a phone call. The walls vibrate with the humdrum background noise of wires, their machines that run analysis on Button City, their scanners watching the perimeter for a hint of trouble.
A week after I was pulled out of my posting, Atahua held a press conference to condemn Medaluo’s actions in Kunlun. The feed had been wondering why NileCorp’s soldiers were sighted running through the virtual city, so NileCorp needed to say something, no matter how vague. In response, Medaluo issued a hand-wave for whatmay have been interpreted as a violation, but, please, be assured that we will work with the international human rights committee to ensure our future cooperation and, once again, we implore the Federated States of Atahua to respect our sovereignty.I was never mentioned in relation to the scandal. Though I’ve watched all the news coverage I can find about the incident in Kunlun, I haven’t probed for additional details, nor explicitly asked what I had uncovered that warranted a sea of soldiers appearing as backup. I became a corporate soldier myself shortly thereafter. I’m paid well. Every day I wake up at the base, train, and take meals. It’s more than a Medan orphan in Atahua can ask for while tensions with Medaluo are at their worst.
NileCorp finished using me, and I’m supposed to be reaping the benefits now. They’ll continue this arrangement with the newest graduating class of Nile Military Academy. They’ll throw their cadets into the fray and make full use of the legal loopholes that let students fight Atahua’s cold war without consequence, then offer rewards to keep us quiet and happy.
So if this situation doesn’t resolve itself, I don’t have high hopes that NileCorp is going to risk much to help me. The company would rather I not go to jail, but that’s because I need to finish paying back my school debt with service. All the same, a few thousand dollars of unpaid debt probably isn’t worth my legal fees to get through a scandal. My face is still Medan at the end of the day. Bad for optics. Bad for national morale. I’m an easy sacrifice to throw to the pyre.
The chair digs into me uncomfortably when I shift, changing which leg I have thrown over the other.
“Once again,” I try a final time, “we were in the middle of a capture mission for Nik Grant when the defense secretary was murdered. Perhaps the country’s top anarchist had something to do with it?”
Agent Mildenhall isn’t paying attention to me anymore. He’s looking down. Rapidly tapping a message on the handheld in his lap. Here and there, insurgents have been popping out of the woodwork to protest Atahua’s current administration, but they’re usually quickly arrested once NileCorp sends its private forces. There is no one NileCorp cannot find. Nothing NileCorp cannot see.
Nik Grant’s ability to evade capture is highly unusual. With that sort of skill set, I have no doubt he could set me up. The only question is:Why?
“Multiple cameras caught Nik Grant exiting the building before the shot was fired,” Agent Mildenhall deadpans after a few seconds. “His list of crimes remains long, but this one seems to be yours.”
“Suddenly I’m hearing it’s important to consider the presence of multiple cameras,” I return. “I was still in pursuit of Nik Grant after the shot was fired. Footage of his exit was fake.”
Agent Mildenhall locks his handheld. His head tilts.
“Which terrorist organization is it?” he asks abruptly. “Freedom Runners? Coalition?”
I haven’t heard of any of these organizations he’s listing. “Excuse me?”
“Which one of them recruited you?”
“None,”I say.
“You’re an independent actor, then?”
“That’s not what I’m saying at all.”
The room quiets. Agent Mildenhall huffs and looks away. I only stare ahead, waiting.
When the door opens again, it’s not Perron returning. The three men waiting at the entryway are military.
“Let’s go, please.”
I stand. The quick obedience isn’t feigned, though Mildenhall frowns like he’s taken aback by my willingness to comply with the order. Clearly I’m not getting anywhere trying to convince him. Since no one has ever cleared their name before with fruitless arguing, I may as well be pleasant to deal with.
“Meet Agent Perron in the prepared cell,” Mildenhall says to the soldiers. “Then report to your squad leader that we’re finished up here. Thank you for staying overtime to deal with Medan perps.”
I don’t say anything. My gaze, seared by the bright lamp, stays level while they lead me out of the interrogation room into the hallway. We go up two flights of stairs, the facility eerily silent around us. Two of the soldiers walk in front of me, one behind. The rest of their men seem to have cleared out. We stop before the locked door at the end of the stairs, and my boots scuff against the linoleum.
The first soldier scans his badge against the panel beside the metal door. Its light remains red. The soldier, frowning, scans again.
“Did you store the badge with your handheld?” the soldier beside him says. “You know that shorts out the magnetic stripe.”
“I didn’t,” the first soldier replies shortly.
While they argue, I tip my head to the side. There’s a persistent noise beyond the building, growing louder. Settling overhead.
