Inroads

By David Perrey.

It was a hot humid Georgia summer's day, the ground dry and hard, the sky unbroken blue and it seemed that even the car itself was loathe to be out in the blazing sun as it took forever for it to complete its sluggish approach towards the old, squat farmhouse. The man sat back in his wicker chair and watched its progress thoughtfully, his relaxed countenance belying the inexplicable unease he felt at its intrusion into his world. It carried with it the aura of the city folk, of their petty squabbles, which were at one time his concern but no more. Of its occupants, the man could tell nothing, the windows were heavily tinted, but they were evidently wealthy to own such a machine. And they were obviously in trouble if they were bringing it to his front door.

Finally, the car maneuvered into the yard in front of the house. The man straightened up and, peeking up at the sun from under his cap, reluctantly left his shady sanctuary to go and meet his visitors.

He walked unhurriedly across to where the driver stood with the rear door of the Cadillac open. The only visible occupant was stepping out of the car, rose into the afternoon air, fingering his collar. A short, round-faced man with thinning brown hair, he was immaculately dressed in dark suit and tie.

"Andrew! How good to see you! It's been too long." the passenger enthused, raising a hand in greeting. "How is the..." he waved the hand airily, "...farming business?"

"What the hell do you want Goldsmith?" Andrew growled, ignoring the other's small talk. He knew this weasel all too well. His earlier foreboding had been well-founded.

"Now, Andrew, there's no need to be so caustic. I've come a long way to see you."

"And it's going to be a long way back home again, so you better get going."

Goldsmith gave his warmest smile though he was sighing inwardly. He had known this would be difficult. "Surely you can spare an old friend a few minutes?"

"Yeah, I can. If you see him on the way out, send him this way."

Goldsmith didn't let his smile waiver. "I know you don't work for us now and I know you said you never would again. But the truth is we need you, Andrew."

Andrew sneered. "Well, tough luck."

"There's a bunch of renegades, threatening everything. Innocent lives have already been lost. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"You just don't get it do you?" Andrew was shaking with rage. "I've had it with your little schemes. I will not do your dirty work any more. I just want to be left alone on my farm with my family, doing good honest work for once in my life. You're gonna have to find some other sucker to take care of your problems."

Goldsmith stood stunned by the outburst. He took a deep breath and gave a little nod of his head. "Very well, if that's how you feel. I just thought..."

"Get out of here!"

"O.K., O.K., I'm going. But I'm disappointed in you, Andrew. I really am." And with that, he turned back to his car and disappeared inside.

Andrew McPherson watched the car drive away, still fuming. Only when it was out of sight did he turn away.

"Bastards," he muttered and went back inside.

* * *

The explosion had, literally, rocked her world. As she sat on the curb watching the to and fro of ambulances and listening to the shouts and sobs of the people around her, Lieutenant Christine Taylor pondered on what it was she had done to deserve such a fate. It had been routine enough. Almost to be expected, given the Olympic events. They had got a call from some small hotel by the city's largest park. A bomb scare. Well, no problem. Get everyone out, check the place over. She hadn't expected to actually find anything. Hoaxes were all too common. But it wouldn't look too good if there had been a bomb now would it? She hung her head. The thing was, they'd gone over the place with a fine tooth comb, with dogs and everything. The place was clean. Nothing even suspicious. She told the manger that his guests could return to their rooms. And as they filed back in, she had caught snatches of conversation. Was that French or Italian?. She had got as far as getting back in her patrol car to report in, could see her partner walking over as the radio burst into life. Then the hotel had been consumed with fire and noise.

She had been lucky. The shock wave had shattered the windscreen and a swarm of flying glass had smothered her. Somehow, she'd escaped with a few cuts. Her partner, Charlie May, had faired less well, a piece of flying glass had slashed him in the leg and debris had cascaded down upon him. But at least he was alive. He'd even managed one of his lopsided grins for her as she'd seen him into the ambulance. Not like the poor bastards in that inferno. They never stood a chance. They had tried of course. The fire trucks had arrived in minutes, the blaze was under control quickly, almost like it had done its job and didn't think it necessary to hang around. But no-one had survived. Thirty-four lives snuffed out. Her fault. She should have...

"Officer?" A voice jogged her out of her contemplation. She looked up. A young man about average height with a shock of blond hair stood in front her, watching her uncertainly. He was red-faced, been in the sun too much and he looked shellshocked. But there was a look a fiery rage in his green eyes. "Excuse me, officer," he said again, more forcefully this time.

"Yes? What can I do for you, sir?" Taylor said, rising wearily.

The fire in his eyes seemed to flare up "Well, you can find the sons o' bitches that did this for a start," he said fiercely. "I want to know what you're going to do."

"We are doing all we can sir, but..."

"Don't fob me off with excuses, I want answers!" the man said hotly.

"Look, sir," Taylor could feel her temper rising. "I, more than anyone, want to see these people caught. Now," she checked herself, "please, sir, let me do my job."

"Oh sure you really care," the man mocked. "I lost my wife in that blast. I have a right to know what you are going to do."

"We're..." she hesitated. The stock answers had come up in her mind, but she knew they would not wash with this guy. "We're...going to try and find any remains of the device that caused the explosion, talk to anyone who might have seen anything, analyze the call we got..." She suddenly realized that the man had started to walk away, towards the ruined hotel. "Hey!" was all she could think of to say.

He didn't stop, but he looked back "I'm not one for sitting idly by," he remarked and kept on walking.

Lieutenant Taylor stood dumbfounded for a moment. Then she hurried after the retreating figure. "You should leave it all to the experts."

He didn't even falter. "And do what? Carry on with my vacation like nothing had happened? No way." He seemed much calmer now. Determined.

"But you have no idea what to look for."

"Don't worry about me."

"But..." she trailed off, unable to think of anything that might persuade the man to stop.

They had reached the front yard of the hotel. An acrid smell lurked in the air. A few figures moved about the rubble searching for bodies, evidence, anything. The man did hesitate just slightly as he approached the area but then forged onward, a set grim look on his face. Taylor shrugged. Maybe he would find something.

* * *

Darkness had fallen but a few dedicated souls still rummaged amongst the debris. Lieutenant Christine Taylor, partly fueled by her own guilt at not finding the bomb, was one of them. She felt shattered now though. Her stomach reminded her again that dinner had not yet been sent its way. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand. It had not been an encouraging start. They had recovered about half the bodies but there was no clue as to the cause of the devastation. She looked around her, a few flashlights danced, a few silhouettes were visible. She blinked. One of them was running, the flashlight waving wildly in his hand. She spurred herself into action.

"It's me!" cried the figure. "Terry Jones. We talked earlier." He halted and paused. "Perhaps I neglected to introduce myself," he added thoughtfully.

Taylor raised an eyebrow.

"But anyway, that's not important. I think I found something." He waved a small circular gray object under her nose. "I found it in an old blocked-off chimney," he explained.

"Terry, you fool, you could have been killed. What if it had still been active?" She took the device from him and sealed it in a plastic bag. Terry's fingerprints were probably all over it but it would be as well to let the guys in the lab take a look.

They wandered towards the squad car.

Nearby a dark figure put aside his binoculars and pulled out his radio. He fiddled with the switch then hit the side. "This is Nightchimp, calling Flower Power," he hissed into it urgently. "They are on the move. Plan ED 24."

It had not been possible to persuade Terry Jones to go home, get some rest and generally not accompany her to the station. Well, she thought, his persistence ought to be rewarded, since he had found the strange device. And he probably hadn't found anywhere new to stay yet. Jones was sitting quietly eyeing the dirty metal object on his lap suspiciously. Taylor had expected the traffic to be much worse. Their destination was on the edge of the Olympic ring and people had been predicting horrific travel times to cross the area, but so far it had been a breeze. There were a lot of people walking around.

She turned into a side street. Some flashing lights up ahead focused her attention back to her driving. There was a truck slowly reversing out of a driveway and a man in orange overalls stopping traffic. Damn. We're nearly there too. The man caught sight of the police car and walked over. He was overweight, the front of his overalls hung down, revealing a formerly white T-shirt. His Chinese features looked greasy and dirty, his black hair cropped short. He smiled broadly as he approached.

"I am so sorry to keep you waiting, so sorry for the delay." he said, resting a hand on the car roof. "Just had to move the truck right now."

"Yeah, it's fine, really." replied Taylor placatingly. "Just try to hurry up, huh?"

"Yes, but you see we had to do it now," he continued, gesturing meaningfully, "otherwise I wouldn't be able to get my thing back."

Taylor hadn't particularly been attentive to this man or his words but something struck her and she looked round at him sharply.

"So if you please," the man said, a large caliber handgun in one hand. "I would like my thing back." He smiled cordially.

Andrew McPherson didn't like cities any more. Once he had delighted in the anonymity of the night life and especially his work. But no more. He usually only came when he had to. His kids had wanted to soak up the Olympic atmosphere and he couldn't deny them. He tried hard to loosen up and have fun. Still, he felt nervous among the crowds. Now Emma had taken the youngsters off to play in the fountain and he had the opportunity for a little break from the hullabaloo.

Something about being in town made him crave a cigarette, although he rarely smoked. He inhaled pensively, cringing inwardly as he thought about the things he used to do for pleasure. He'd always figured that someone would kill him long before the abuses would. But somehow it had never happened.

McPherson sighed and crushed out his cigarette. He wished he'd gone with Emma and the kids, he hated it when the memories started coming back. He looked around expecting to see old enemies lurking in the shadows. He didn't hide in the shadows any more. He was a farmer. The sun was his ally.

A sharp report shattered his reverie. Instinctively he ducked down and turned, reaching for a pistol that wasn't there. No. It wasn't aimed at you. But it was a gun-shot. And somewhere close by too. Next thing he knew he was heading over to investigate. It wasn't difficult to pinpoint...once the rest of the shooting started.

* * *

Lieutenant Taylor had been in situations like this before. But then it had been her partner in the other seat, not some guy off the street. Her mind raced. Jones had stiffened with fear, his eyes wide. He had gripped the bomb reflexively. "Terry," Taylor said, quietly and calmly, "you better do what the man says."

Jones stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment. Then he blinked, looked down at the bomb and passed it over to her slowly. Taylor took it from him with her right hand and offered it up to the man with the gun. His smile spread, displaying his yellowy teeth and he reached for the gray metal object in her hand. And just for a split second, he took his eyes off her.

She struck out with sudden speed, her left fist striking him on the forearm. It didn't seem to be much of a punch but she had hit with precision for his hand spasmed and his grip on the gun loosened. He let out an agonized yell. Without further ado, Taylor swung open the door with as much force as she could muster. Then slammed it shut again and gunned the engine. In front of her there had been considerable activity. A procession of orange-clad figures had emerged from the darkness and were leveling pistols at them.

"Hold on," she said.

The car leapt forward and then spun round sharply as Taylor wrestled fiercely with the steering wheel. A shot rang out from behind them, flying overhead. Their friend had evidently recovered. But it was a signal to the other men who now opened fire on them with their weapons. Both of the occupants ducked into their seats as glass shattered around them. Taylor had managed to turn all the way round which had cleared the way for the men to shoot out the remaining windows. She was desperately trying to put some distance between them and their adversaries but then through the din of gunfire there was a low exploding noise and the car suddenly lurched to the right. With uncanny accuracy, it neatly took out two trash cans before colliding head-on with a fire hydrant. The unexpected fountain in front of them, however, was the least of their worries.

Taylor recovered first. "Here, grab this," she said assertively, tossing Jones her .38. He clutched at it in some surprise. "Keep your head down! Climb out this way!" The driverside door wasopen by now and Taylor was crouching on the road rummaging underneath her seat. Somewhat uncertainly Jones clambered across the seat, keeping as low as he could. The gunfire had slowed. These people obviously thought they could afford to save on bullets, their targets were more-or-less at their mercy. But the occasional shot ricocheted past and Jones was taking no chances. Taylor gave a little grunt of satisfaction and pulled out a pair of pistols from under her seat.

"So what do we do now?" asked Jones, back against the rear wheel.

Taylor primed her weapons. "Point and shoot, Mr. Jones. Point and shoot!" And with that she scuttled around to the front of the car.

On the other side of the car, twenty or so figures approached cautiously. They were not expecting much more resistance but that was no reason to get careless. There was a movement from the front of the car and then the policewoman leapt into view, a pistol in each hand screaming something as she let fly with both guns. Several of their fellows were cut down in short order, but the remainder soon trained their sights upon her. But she hadn't stopped moving, now executing a number of impressive flips and rolls and the thugs' efforts seemed in vain. Still, they redoubled their efforts. She couldn't evade them forever.

Terry Jones had heard her scream. Then the street had erupted in gunfire again. He risked a peek around the end of the car. Not much attention was being directed his way. But, although he knew they would kill him given the chance, he balked at the idea of killing them. He wasn't even sure if he could hit them from this far away. He looked around for something to help him. His hands fell on two old fashioned metal trash can lids.

Taylor didn't have much time for thinking. If she had, her thoughts would have run along the lines of 'Why did I rely on Jones helping?' She was running out of time and places to dodge to. She needed....

Then she noticed Jones emerge from his hiding place, two round metal objects held in front of him as a shield. This did have some shock value but the gunmen quickly realized that here was a target far less equipped to dodge their flying bullets.

Jones ducked his head down and charged forwards. He could feel the impacts on his makeshift shields. Then his side flashed with pain. One had got through. Clenching his teeth, he closed on the nearest foe. He swept aside the man's gun hand with one lid and deftly brought the other through in a metallic upper-cut to the man's chin. Hardly pausing for breath, he whirled on another gunman and brought both lids down on either side of his head. The man stood there for but a moment, eyes rolling wildly before toppling slowly over. Taylor had taken advantage of the added chaos to drop a few more of her opponents and, realizing that ammunition was low, leapt forward, tumbling into the remainder of the thugs. Jones caught sight of several of them taking aim at her cart wheeling form and instinctively flung one of his trash lids their way, Frisbee-style. With some satisfaction he saw it had been enough to distract their aim and to see Taylor, a blur of arms and legs, dispatching the unfortunates with some style.

Within a short time, via some handy work with fist, foot and lid, Taylor and Jones found themselves standing alone until they heard a sound from the shadows. The dirty chinaman stood before them again. He seemed perturbed.

"Good good, you have had your fun," he said with a sneer. "Now we finish this."

The back of the truck opened and a dozen more men ran out, all pointing their weapons at the two. No cover, no bullets left. Now they were caught.

"We will discuss more my property."

But then a lithe figure appeared between the end two gunmen. Taylor saw the quick snap of two elbows to two throats and then the newcomer was holding the two men's pistols. With systematic and clinical precision he emptied both pistols into the assembled gunmen. He smiled at the wide-eyed Chinese man. It had happened so fast, no-one had even managed a single shot.

"Perhaps someone would like to tell me what is going on?" Andrew McPherson said politely.

They had decided to pursue their investigation, at McPherson's suggestion, at Taylor's apartment. It hadn't taken much to persuade the Chinese man to talk. Not the kind of persuasion McPherson favored. It had occurred to both Taylor and Jones that their benefactor knew a good deal about the mess of secret societies the blubbering Chinese man, who said his name was Cho Wong, had blurted out. It seemed that their little group of terrorists was called Entropy and Decay. This much Taylor could grasp. They were an alliance of two splinter groups, one a bunch of Chinese called the Lotus who were apparently all eunuchs and the other, some technophiles called the Jammers. From what she could gather of their combined philosophy, they were all deranged nihilists committed to destruction. But apparently it made some kind of sense to the quietly intimidating man that had joined them. Something about...

"Feng shui," repeated McPherson patiently as Taylor mangled the pronunciation once again.

"And that is...?" she asked, feeling more and more out of her depth. She noticed Jones was keeping very quiet, but a furrowed brow revealed his puzzled thoughts.

"It is the art of Chinese geomancy," McPherson explained. Seeing the continuing glaze in the eyes of his acquired allies, he added "Look, there are lines of power everywhere..."

"Like ley lines?" interrupted Jones, pleased to be able to contribute.

"Yes, exactly like ley lines. Where they cross is a place of power. Maybe you have been somewhere where you have felt particularly content and peaceful? That is the influence of the feng shui."

"OK," said Taylor carefully. "So how does this fit in with these crazies blowing things up?"

"The people that control these key places, quite simply, control the world around them. Destroying them loosens their grip on the rein of power." There was a faraway look in the man's eyes as he spoke.

Taylor made a face. "You sound like you approve of the idea."

"Let's just say I can empathize."

"Mister McPherson." Until now, Wong had only spoken when spoken to, but he had piped up now with a worried tone in his voice.

McPherson turned to the Chinese man. "What is it?"

"You must let me go now. I have helped you, all of you, but my masters, they will be missing me. They will come for me."

"They won't find us here," said Taylor confidently, but a look from McPherson silenced her.

"Maybe he is right, we should..."

Wong had been shifting nervously, more and more agitated. An earlier assurance that they would let him go had placated him but now his fidgeting had increased. Sweat beads stood out on his head and his eyes were widening.

"What the...?"

Wong started to scream. His face had become very flushed, sweat was streaming off him steadily.

"I'll get some water," offered Taylor, running into the small kitchen.

The red color in Wong's face had grown steadily more intense and then he burst into flame. His screams rose higher and higher. McPherson grabbed a rug from the floor and threw it over him, trying to smother the flame. Jones stood openmouthed, unable, it seemed, to even move. Taylor came in with a bucket of water and tipped it over Wong. There was a gush of steam. The flames spluttered and died, leaving behind the still body of Cho Wong, blackened and dead.

"The Lotus are unforgiving masters," said McPherson quietly.

They sat in a stunned silence for several minutes.

"What do we do now?" asked Jones uncertainly.

McPherson looked at him thoughtfully. He hadn't even wanted to get involved, but the lure of the thrill of danger was overpowering. "We've got to work out what Entropy and Decay are planning." He paused, thinking hard. "I do know this area has three large ley lines running through it. They are the reason for the city's prosperity at the moment."

Taylor looked up. "Do you know where they run?"

For the first time, McPherson hesitated. "I'm not sure. I.." he caught himself. "I never got to know that."

"You said where they cross makes a place of power. Three lines crossing would be more powerful, right?"

"Right." McPherson caught on. Suddenly some of the projects he had worked on made sense. "That must be it. That's what they want to destroy. The foundation of the power they hold here."

"Hold on," said Jones, "who's they?"

McPherson sighed. He was slipping, letting on. "This world is ruled by a secret society called the Order of the Wheel. Ruthless, manipulative,..."

"Sounds like a barrel of laughs."

"I've got it!" exclaimed Taylor suddenly.

"What?"

"Roads!"

"Huh?"

"Well, we have three lines of power which meet, right?" She drew three straight lines on a piece of paper like an asterisk. "Remind you of anything?"

Jones stared at the paper blankly. He was a visitor here. But McPherson smiled. "Yes. The interstates. Of course. The lines tend to conform to places where people travel a lot, they follow roads. I bet the positioning of those roads was no accident."

"So the lines cross right in downtown."

"But where is the particular place? Is it where the lines actually cross?"

"It might be but there are undoubtedly other smaller lines of power which might shift the focus point and the lines only tend to conform to the roads. There must be someplace down there overloaded with good vibrations..." mused McPherson.

Jones looked up, a puzzled look on his face. But this time it was at the slowness of his companions. "C'mon, it's obvious isn't it?"

He told them. He was right, it was obvious.

* * *

The Olympic stadium, nestled in the crux of three interstates, was filled with people and noise. 85,000 filled the stands, over 10,000 more in the center, who would change Olympic dreams into reality. The procession was complete. The cauldron would be lit, right on the stroke of midnight. And if everything went to plan, that would be a moment the entire world would remember.

Three figures jogged towards the venue, to the opening refrain that marked the beginning of the largest sporting event in the world. The three were anxious and tense, a stark contrast to the joyful atmosphere within the stadium.

"So why don't we just get the authorities to deal with it?" puffed Terry Jones.

"Sure, they'll believe us," said McPherson sourly.

"But one of us is a cop, they're bound to..."

"I don't think so."

Taylor said nothing as she ran but she tended to agree. There just wasn't time. They kept on running.

Underneath the Olympic cauldron, amongst the scaffolding that built it up to the sky, lurked a dark figure. He was slightly built, weighed down with a heavy combat jacket, pockets bulging with equipment. He adjusted his binoculars. There they were, right on time. Well, they wouldn't spoil his party. He was ready for them.

It had taken some pretty fast talking but Taylor had managed to get Jones through the security perimeter. Their companion had just smiled when she offered to get him in as well, and disappeared. He was waiting for them on the other side of the fence. They hurried round to the scaffold. There was a huge roar from the crowd as the speakers announced the arrival of the torch in the stadium. There would be a lap of honor then the torch would light the flame. They had, if they figured it correctly, only minutes.

The noise of the crowd was deafening. All three were tense and alert but they didn't even hear the shot. McPherson grimaced and clutched at his arm. Then he pulled out his own weapon in a smooth motion and shot once. A dark figure folded over and fell from the scaffold. Then it seemed like the place suddenly came alive. More men emerged from the shadows, firing wildly. The three scattered. Taylor returned fire while McPherson made straight for the scaffold. He could see movement up there. Jones kept to the shadows and closed in on the men. A group surrounded Taylor, but she tumbled forward, evading their fire. A final leap up and she clung to the lower rafters of the scaffolding. Bullets chinked off the metalwork around her as she calmly took down her pursuers. Jones had also faired well, creeping round the side he had discovered a spare metal beam on the ground and was swatting opponents with great gusto.

McPherson climbed, casually picking off anyone following him. The rest were occupied down below. He looked up, the wind billowing around him. The dark shape was on the move. McPherson narrowed his eyes and steadied himself. Then the shape pitched off the side, plummeting downwards. But a sudden burst of flame abruptly halted the descent. The figure was chuckling.

"Hello, I'm Nightchimp," he said with a wave.

McPherson snorted and raised his gun, but the hovering figure brought up his hand too in a punching motion. The man was well out of reach but then his arm stretched and a solid metal fist connected with McPherson's chest. He staggered under the blow, his shot going wild, but he hung onto the scaffold and fired again. Right in the chest this time. Nothing happened. Nightchimp's manic chuckling resumed.

"That your best shot?" mocked the man. "Here's mine." He raised what looked like a super-soaker and pulled the trigger. Liquid squirted over McPherson. He looked down at himself, confused, then burning agony erupted. Acid. Screaming, he swayed dangerously. Then he fell.

"Bye bye, nice to see you," Nightchimp giggled.

Taylor heard the scream. She exchanged an ominous glance with Jones. Resistance at the base of the tower was waning. Taylor knew it was up to her. She pulled herself up the tower.

"Oh, another one come to play?"

She regarded the hovering figure cautiously. He waved the super-soaker towards her.

She flipped backwards, barely catching a beam behind her and swinging up. Nightchimp shrugged and tossed the water pistol aside. He drew another weapon from a pocket. Taylor glanced up. She could see something on the underside of the cauldron, large and ominous. From it ran a long fuse up the side. When the flame was lit, so would the fuse. She didn't have time to play games with this nutcase. A small explosive whoosh grabbed her attention. The new weapon apparently fired mini-rockets. She dived onto a lower level and looked back. It had missed her but was now circling back. There was a crescendo from the crowd. Alarmed, Taylor glanced up. The flame had sprung into life. The fuse was lit. They were out of time. She skipped onto another beam, neatly sidestepping the mini rocket and looked around for her foe. He seemed enrapt in the burning fuse. Damned fanatic wasn't even going to try and avoid the blast himself. She leapt upwards, grabbing another beam and flipped over. She did a somersault in the air and reached out, latching onto Nightchimp's arm. They wobbled dangerously in mid-air, but she hung on. Surprised, he flailed at her but she ignored the blows and punched at the controls on his jet pack.

Up they went rapidly gaining speed and there was a sickening crunch as Nightchimp's head struck the bulk of the cauldron. The jet pack spluttered and died. Desperately, Taylor grabbed at the only thing up there to hold onto, a small white, burning fuse. It held her for a fraction of a second then ripped free and she found herself falling hardly able to appreciate that she had stopped the bomb as she plummeted down. Below her, a flash told of the fate of the mini rocket and Nightchimp.

Then, as quickly as it started, her descent was halted as something struck her in the midriff. She wrapped herself around it, holding on for all she was worth. Weakly, she raised her head. There was Terry Jones, holding the other end of the beam.

She blinked. "How on earth did you get this thing up here?"

Terry Jones grinned.

In a plain anonymous office, Sam Goldsmith leaned back in his chair and smiled at a job well done.

Last modified: September 12, 1996;