THE MACHINES OF BELLATRIX: CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

Harry Jones
copyright 2013 by Cary Caffrey

   August 11, 2348

Buenos Aires, Earth

Harry Jones waited patiently, staring at the elevator doors in front of him. Not for the first time he noted they were made of actual wood and hand carved. More examples of the largess of his fellow tenants. There were worse places to live. Harry had seen them. But then, Harry was one of the lucky ones, wasn't he. He never felt comfortable. Not here. Not in this place, with its obscene trappings. It was only because of his wife he'd agreed to live here. It was his gift to her. It made her happy.

The elevator doors parted, and Harry jones stepped into the crowded car. He didn't bother to bid a polite hello to his fellow passengers. There was no need. They didn't see Harry. One look at his coat and his shoes was enough to let them know he was beneath their status. Harry Jones might have the lofty title of special attaché to the Council Chair for Trade and Finance, but in their eyes, he was a clerk, an office boy. Worse, he worked for a living.

When the elevator doors parted and Harry took his leave, it was to the relief of all. Harry didn't take this personally. This was Earth. 

The door to his apartment was only a few steps from the lift, and Harry walked toward it. He spied the decorative lamp on the table in the hall and gave it a quick glance, nothing anyone might notice. But Harry saw what he needed. The light on the lamp—the lamp that never worked, the lamp that had never been repaired—was turned on.

Harry had visitors.

Without slowing, Harry passed his hand over the lock and let himself in. The lights were off, but he could see the silhouettes of the two figures waiting for him in the dark. One male, one female. They sat framed against the backdrop of the wide picture window behind them. Even without giving time for his eyes to adjust, Harry knew exactly who these two people were.

It had been fourteen years since they'd last spoken. Fourteen years since he'd seen them.

"It was unwise of you to come here," Harry Jones said; he said it without threat or emotion. It was a simple statement of fact.

The man and the woman were unmoved.

"You gave us little choice, Harry," the woman said. "You're not an easy man to reach these days."

Harry. 

She had called him by his given name and not his alias of Smith—something that was discouraged within the Circle. Harry took it for what it was, an obvious and clumsy attempt at intimidation.

Ineffective.

His name was not a secret. Not here. But his association to this man and woman was; a secret he had guarded with his life. Fourteen years ago they had come to him, here in his apartment, just as they did now. They had made him a most interesting offer then, one Harry could not easily refuse. All they required was that he use his position as attaché to Randal Gillings to provide them with information. They wanted Harry to spy for them. And for that, Harry would be generously compensated, more than enough to ensure that his wife received the care she needed.

But it was not the money alone that had drawn Harry into the Circle.

Fourteen years ago, news of the work the Kimura Corporation was doing in genetic research had reached the Council. Far too interested in their own business dealings, too proud of their own triumphs and their massive accumulations of wealth, the Council had dismissed this news. But Harry had seen it for what it was. He knew what was at stake. He knew the world they lived in would soon be very, very different. Harry Jones knew exactly what he had to do and how careful he needed to be.

No one could ever know. Not the truth.

Much to his surprise, his work as a spy came naturally to him. Spying proved to be a simple thing, a simple matter of blending and blurring into the shadows. Few men had ever taken notice of him anyway. Women noticed him even less. Only his wife had ever found him of interest, and not even Harry could explain why. Harry Jones was little more than a secretary. He had no influence, no real power. He was utterly replaceable and even more forgettable. As far as the world was concerned, Harry Jones was only guilty of being dull at parties.

Taking his time, Harry hung his coat on the hanger by the door. He did this as much to give himself a moment to regain his composure as to place his damp garments neatly away in the vestibule closet.

This gave him just enough time to remind himself: this visit was not unexpected.

"We understand you're a busy man, Harry," the man said, breaking the silence, "but your continued absence from the Circle has made certain people anxious. Some of us are starting to question your commitment."

"And your motives," the woman, rail-thin and hawk-faced, beaked at his side. 

It was true. He had been avoiding contact since the events of Scorpii, but not for the reasons they thought. He was tired. Tired of justifying his actions to small-minded men of limited vision. These men of the Circle, they wanted Hitomi's discovery for themselves. They thought it a fountain of youth. But they understood nothing about its true potential.

"What happened on Scorpii was unfortunate," Harry said, "but hardly unforeseen. I cautioned you. But it's not a complete disaster. All the materiel from Project Andraste is still secured on Scorpii. Not even the Council can retrieve it. Not as long as the Relay is out."

The woman shot a look to her colleague. "You were right. He doesn't know."

Harry remained deadpan. "Know? Know what?"

"You don't know, do you? It's been six weeks, Harry. How can you not know? The Warp Relay—the Relay at Scorpii! It's been repaired. The Council has seen to it. How they managed to persuade the Daedalus Corporation to effect repairs so quickly is a mystery—one we hoped you could shed some light on. But it appears you've been left out of the loop. How is that, Harry? Aren't you the inside man?"

Still Harry Jones did not answer.

Without invitation, the man helped himself to a whiskey—Harry's most prized and expensive Irish single malt. He poured two and handed one to Harry. "I'm afraid whatever assets you thought remained have long been removed. Strange that the Council did not think to tell you.."

Harry took the offered drink, wincing after a careful sip. "Hardly. I'm nothing to them."

"Perhaps. And perhaps it was our mistake to let you…indulge yourself with your Independent friends. But, Harry, fomenting open rebellion? This is not what we asked of you."

"I rather think it precisely what you asked. You wanted greater influence with the Council, you have it. When the trouble began with the Independents, who did the Council turn to? You. You've become rich men—and women. This is no time to lose your nerve."

The woman rose to stand next to him. "The others might have a soft spot for you, Harry, but I do not. This dogged pursuit of Kimura—dabbling with Independents." She poked her finger into Harry's chest. "You were tasked with acquiring Kimura's technology. That is all. You assured us this would be done."

"And I did acquire it. The fact that the scientists you hired failed to properly interpret that technology is none of my business."

"But the hiring of those Freelancers was your business. Your hand-picked company of revolutionaries failed to protect the facility." She whirled around, her hands waving in a grand gesture. "That the Council even knew of Scorpii makes us question your effectiveness. And your future."

"I think I've more than proven my worth."

The woman moved closer, close enough that Harry could feel her breath, and smell the rank perfume she wore. "You're slipping, Harry. How did the Council find out? Where is the leak? It makes one wonder if the Council trusts you at all anymore. Without that trust, you're of little use to us."

Harry chose his next words carefully. "I still have their trust."

"If only that were true." The man unfolded a data-pad and tossed it down on the table next to them. "You've made the list, Harry."

Harry looked down. On the pad was a report with the bright bold letters of CTF Security emblazoned across the top. He saw names, his name, and the words threat and watch highlighted in brilliant amber.

Harry reached for the pad, but the man snatched it away and quickly folded the paper-thin device back into his pocket.

"You’re done, Harry."

For the first time in over fourteen years, Harry Jones was surprised. And surprise was not something Harry Jones was used to. Was it true? Had the Council detected his treason? How long had they suspected? It was his business to know. Everything. But somehow—somehow he'd missed this.

No. Something didn't add up.

"If the Council knows what I've done then I would be in custody and we would not be having this conversation."

"Or perhaps the Council is hoping you'll lead them to us." 

The man took a step toward him. "We can't take that chance, Harry. Your presence here is a liability. You've forced us to clean up your mess—at great expense. But don't worry. The Council will find no evidence. There will be no record, nothing to connect you to us. All that remains is you."

Slowly, the man put his empty glass down on the bar service. "The Circle has decided. You can't be allowed to stay on Earth. You will be leaving here tonight. There's a private launch waiting at Kwajalein Atoll. Buck up, man. It's not as bad as all that. You've had a good run, Harry, but it's over. It's time to go."

"Trust me," the woman said. "You should be glad we're the ones delivering this news. Other methods were discussed."

Harry didn't fail to miss the threat. And he knew then, the men of the Circle had reached the end of their usefulness to him.

"Where will I go?"

"Perhaps it's best you not know."

Harry put his hand to his forehead in a dramatic fashion, allowed himself to stagger back against the wall. "My wife. I—I can't…"

"Your wife will be cared for. We've seen to that. She'll continue to have the best medical attention. She'll live a long and…Well, there you have it. Come. We can't delay."

"No," Harry said, abruptly. "I'll go. I'll go with you. Of course. But there are…things—I've made preparations."

Harry saw the hesitancy in the woman's hawkish eyes; did she suspect?

But her compatriot conceded before she could object. "Take whatever time you need. But, Harry, make no mistake, if you're not on that transport, I can't promise…"

"I'll be there," Harry said. "Don't worry. If what you say is true—if the Council knows of my actions—there's nothing left for me here. I'll go with you."

"Good man."

* * * 

Harry Jones exited his building, walked quickly to the waiting taxi, and punched in his destination on the map screen.

He didn't doubt what they had told him—about the Council being alerted to him, or their warning. It was only a matter of time. Only a fool would think otherwise. Still, he didn't think it would be so soon. There were only two possible conclusions he could draw. One, he'd slipped up somewhere, and the Council had discovered his treason. Two, and Harry thought this more likely, there was a spy in his midst. Someone close to him.

Curiously, that didn't disturb Harry. It intrigued him.

But the Circle had been wrong about one thing. One very important thing. And this made Harry smile. For Harry did know about the reactivation of the Scorpii Relay.

Not only did he know, Harry had been singularly instrumental in effecting its repairs. The assets lost on Scorpii were far too valuable to be left marooned for long. Acting on Randal Gillings behalf—without the chairman's knowledge—Harry had seen to the negotiations with the Daedalus Corporation personally. When the CTF Forces returned to Scorpii, Harry Jones had been there, in spirit if not in body, overseeing the capture of the surviving Independents. Most had been taken into custody. Some had escaped.

Harry had seen to that, too.

Not all of Project Andraste's assets had been retrieved by the Council, and not all personnel captured. It had taken most of his remaining resources, but Harry Jones had arranged for the retrieval of one very important asset.

Dr. Joseph Farrington.

Many bribes, and more threats, had made certain the good doctor found his way unerringly to Bellatrix. If all had gone to plan, Dr. Farrington was already in his possession.

The fact that the Circle remained unaware only confirmed Harry Jones' suspicion: the men of the Circle had reached the end of their usefulness. He had been right to distance himself. They were fools—old men and bureaucrats, drunk on their own delusions of power. Their continued partnership would only drag Harry down.

The Council's growing interest in him proved that. But if the Council was truly curious about him, if they were growing suspicious, then he would draw their attention away and give them a new target of interest. Something they could not possibly ignore.

The taxi made its final turn into the hospital parking lot and deposited him at the visitors' entrance. His wife would be waiting for him, as she had been, as she always would. Harry bypassed the nursing station; there was little purpose in investigating her status. It would remain unchanged. 

Harry checked his watch as he entered the elevator. In a little less than four hours a lone suborbital transport would lift off from a small atoll in the Pacific. Its cargo, two wealthy businesspersons, would be left to wonder what had happened to Harry Jones and why he'd been foolish enough to remain behind.

"Poor Harry," they would say as they savored unconscionably-priced brandies and marveled at their stock quotes. "He was a good man—useful in his day."

That transport would not reach its destination.