Untitled Superhero Novel - Ch. 2

II





*

We had the moral right, we had the

duty to our people, to destroy this people

which wanted to destroy us. Altogether, however,

we can say that we have fulfilled this

most difficult duty for the love of our

people. And our spirit, our soul, our character

has not suffered injury from it.

*

Detective Andrews knelt over the dead bodies jotting notes in his report booklet. The morning sun glinted off the puddles of blood that surrounded the four dead bodies. Three male and one female. I know who you three are, but who are you dear? What is your role in all of this, Andrews thought. Andrews closed his report book and stared at the corpses that lay before him. Three males killed with blunt force. The two bigger males, who were the apparent bodyguards of the third, were killed instantly with one strike. The identities of these men are unknown until DNA tests can be performed. The third male is identified as the Heights’ boss Philip Danchino. Danchino was not as lucky as the bodyguards. His death was not easy. Danchino was punished with a broken skull, fractured jaw, ruptured spleen, two broken legs, and a dislocated spine. No testing was required as Danchino’s signature white suit and cane were stained red with blood.

“So what’s the story here, Andrews?”

The voice made Andrews’ heart skip a beat. He peered over his shoulder to see the Golden Eagle broach worn by his Chief Lieutenant. The symbol for justice and the Motherland. His hands were tucked neatly in his pant pockets as he scanned the crime scene. Andrews could see the glint of his pistol sitting in wait over his heart beneath his grey suit. The pistol wasn’t for protection. It was just like the Gold Eagle: a status symbol. He was a made man.

“Not sure Chief. “ He rose to his feet to salute his Lieutenant. “We have positively identified Philip Danchino and his two henchmen. The forensis are running their DNA to confirm positive identification. Not that they really matter. As members of the Heights, they have no relations. Society’s castaways. The crematoria will erase them from existence. They are just names in the data stream.”

“And what of the girl?” The Lieutenant raised his had to his mouth and stroked his moustache. “Looks young.”

Something in Andrews' stomach clenched when the girl was mentioned. “She’s fourteen. At least that would be my guess.” He flipped open his notebook to double check his notes. “Looks like she was out for a good time. Her dress indicates she was at a local pub. Forensis took a sample of her stomach contents to check for foreign substances, and her blood alcohol content was a 1.004. Well over the legal limit.” He closed his notebook and crossed his arms. “We’ll have to run a full autopsy to confirm cause of death.”

“We haven’t performed an autopsy is the past thirty years.” The Lieutenant reminded Andrews as a matter of fact. “Her eyes are missing.” The Lieutenant moved towards the girl and studied the empty eye sockets. “If the occultus didn’t take the eyes to run full retinal playback, where are they?” His cool pale skin tightened with frustration. His speech remained calm and calculating.

“Occultus took the eyes of the three male victims, but the eyes of the young girl were missing when we arrived on scene. One of the many problems circulating this case.” Andrews explained. “They won’t find anything on the first three sets of eyes though. I’ll bet my next credit transfer that they will be blank.” Andrews buttoned the front of his suit signifying the completion of his analysis.

“This ghost of yours is a myth, Andrews. You know as well as I do there aren’t any more like him out there. We got them and all of their secrets.”

Andrews walked around his volks and opened the car door. “I’ll be waiting in my office for the call. I’ll get the Missing Link file ready. Thanks Chief.” He jumped behind the driver seat and pulled the door closed behind him. The volks engine fired up at the first press of the ignition button. Why the girl you monster?, Andrews thought. I thought you were only after the mob families. A vigilante like the old times. Andrews pulled down his visor to reveal an old photograph of a beautiful blond woman. Smiling seductively with her big green eyes. Now you are back to your old tricks. Andrews closed the visor and pulled his volks out into the early morning traffic.

Hidden in the sanctuary of his private office, Detective Andrews watched the grey and white suites flock to and fro. To keep absolute control in society meant the non-stop workings of the National Headquarters. The worker bees constantly downloaded and analyzed an invariable stream of data. All aspects of day to day life in the North Central Motherland was carefully documented and stored in the ever growing Mastrik server. Although its whereabouts were unknown to all but the highest ranking official, all satellite video feeds, cellular taps, consensus records, birth and death records, and all other such information, are downloaded at an ever growing pace. Nothing is to be kept secret from the Motherland, yet some male and female data junkies have made it their mission to keep their lives secret. Some have even attempted to discover the location of Mastrik. But those who have made the attempt have only made it easier for the Gestapo to discover their location.

Unfortunately for Detective Andrews, it is the efficiency of the Motherland that is quickly eliminating his position at the National Headquarters. It is estimated by many, including Detective Andrews, that his career will be no longer serve a purpose. One does not survive for long without serving a purpose. That is the way of the Motherland.

Numerous images, data files, and personal data entries lay scattered across Andrews’ terminal. All files were a conglomeration on the missing link murders. A killer known only as the “Ghost” to Andrews. Whatever its identity is, one piece of evidence always remains the same. There is never a connection to another person being present at the scene of the crime. The killer, according to the evidence collected by forensis and occultus, does not exist. No finger prints, no foot prints, no stray hairs or other articles carrying DNA, and of all the cases there has never been a significant retinal retrieval. Andrews has been chasing a poltergeist for years.

The knock at the office door startled Andrews. It was a low level Suit. A new recruit who was required to serve as the go between of the separate departments. A simple message boy. “They’re waiting for you in conference room 3B, sir.” The Suit handed Andrews an envelope sealed with the Golden Eagle stamped in the corner. The moment the envelope transferred hands, the messenger merged back into the sea of black and grey suits.

Detective Andrews held the envelope in front of himself trying to see through the off white paper. A summons? Why not a simple page or phone call? Andrews ripped the side of the envelope open and slid out the notice. It was a summons to meet with the Deputy Director, Chief Lieutenant, and another man he had never heard of before. Ludwig Vanheoff. A member of the secret police? A new transfer, maybe? And there was a specific note for Andrews in small post script text at the bottom of the summons: Bring “missing link” file.

There was no time to hesitate. A summons is a serious matter. Andrews placed a blank data card into his terminal and transferred the missing link file. It seemed unnecessary for Andrews to need to bring the file to the meeting since he was sure his terminal was in constant observation via Mastrik, but he knew better that to ask questions. He placed the data card in his breast pocket and left his office on rout to conference room 3B.

A flood of burning white light greeted Detective Andrews when he pulled open the door marked 3B. Once the temporary blindness had subsided, a sense of déjà vu washed over him as stepped inside the room. Perhaps it was the three men sitting behind a plastic folding table, or perhaps it was the slightly acidic, mildew scent of a hospital that scraped at his memory. Two of the men where well known to Andrews; The Chief Lieutenant sat on the right side of the table, and the Deputy Director sat on the left side of the table. Sitting between the two heads of the Justice department of the National Headquarters was a high ranking military figure that Andrews had never seen prior to this meeting. He remained expressionless as Andrews walked into the room and took the seat before the panel.

“Did you bring the requested file with you Mr. Andrews?” The Deputy Director asked. It was clear that the panel had no intention of wasting their time over this surprise summons directed at Andrews. Not even a handshake before the onslaught began.

“This is all of it. I did a complete digital download prior to leaving my office.” Andrews slid the data card across the desk to the Deputy Director. Before it reached the Director, it was intercepted by the man who Andrews assumed was Ludwig Vanheoff. It wasn’t until he made his move for the data card did Andrews first see the size of his arms. They were crossed when he first entered the room, which created the deception of a man who was of average build, the size and definition of the soldier’s arms put the rest of Vanhoeff’s body into perspective. His shoulders sat at least a foot above the men on either side of him, and they were as broad as both of the men combined. Unlike most of the others who wore the uniform, this man as seen active duty.

“Effective immediately, Mr. Andrews, your terminal has been permanently shut down.” With one squeeze of his right hand, the man assumed by Andrews to be Vanhoeff, crushed the key card with little effort.

The wave of nausea washed over Andrews in a tidal wave of despair. Now that his terminal has been deleted, and the only backup of the missing link file had been destroyed, his level of usefulness had plummeted. Not only that, but it was his life’s work, it was his purpose in life. He slouched back into his chair and waited for the inevitable discharge. He had seen it happen before to the other detectives due to their own inadequacies. He could feel the heat of the fires growing and consuming his heart without pity.

“Come on now boy, we’re not even started yet.” The decorated soldier explained. His deep voice reverberated through Andrews. “I am Lieutenant General Ludwig Vanhoeff of the Waffen-SS. The Motherland has a purpose for you Mr. Andrews, and I am here to give it to.” The Lieutenant General returned to his previous position, his face was empty of all emotion.

“And what purpose might that be?” Andrews voice no more than a whisper.

“Let’s start from the beginning,” the Chief Lieutenant suggested. He sat with his nose buried in a binder of papers. It was Detective Andrews personal file, and Andrews was well aware of it. It’s a strange circumstance when a paperless society reveals its true nature. This is what the Chief was doing, whether on purposely or not. The binder labeled “Ranit Andrews” was but a hint at the vast libraries of citizen documents. A human life collected into a binder forever destined to collect dust.

“How long have you been serving the Motherland, and when did you begin your work on project code named ‘Missing Link’.” The Chief asked without taking his eyes off of the binder in front of himself.

Detective Andrews sat up straight and dragged his hand across his face before beginning to speak. The answer is right in your book. What is the purpose of me telling you what you already know, Andrews thought. “I’ve served this agency for ten years now. I came straight out of this sector’s secondary education program with highest honours.” The three men on the panel remained unstirred, and Andrews was sure this is the way they would remain. “I’ve worked on the ‘Missing Link’ case for eight years now.”

“What progress have you made in eight years of investigation?” The Director asked. He eyes were focused on Andrews.

More useless questions. They had the file, and surely Mastrik had full records of all his progress made throughout the last eight years. “The case itself is a key example of vigilantism. For the eight years that I have been on the case, as we are all well aware that this case goes back indefinitely, we have made little to no progress on the suspect.” Something deep within himself shuddered, but Andrews refused to let the feeling effect him physically. He shifted in his seat and continued to prove to the panel why he should not keep his position. “Based on the victims however, we have come to the general agreement that the suspect must be a male. This is due to the amount of strength required to accomplish the physical punishment imparted to his victims.”

“Why do we know nothing?” Vanhoeff’s voice exploded. “Nothing more than a rat, and we have nothing.” At any moment, Vanhoeff could crush all three of their skulls with a sweep of his arms, and the summons seemed to be heading in that direction.

“Hence the title ‘Missing Link’.” Andrews shrugged his shoulders and cleared his throat. “So far, it appears that this vigilante has a guardian angle stuck up his ass, or he has the best damn teckie working for him. Like that data card would have told you before you smashed it into little bits.” Andrews swept some of the bits of plastic off the table. “There have been no records of this figure on Mastrik. The vids of the areas surrounding the incidents were operational, but it was like the cameras rotated away from the impending crime scene and returned once the murderer had taken place. The occultus, I’m afraid, had a similar issue. Rather than a movement in the victims perspective like the movement of the vids, the reproductions performed by the occultus presented nothing but static.”

“Have we attempted to track the movement . . .”

“ . . .of the vids?” Andrews finished director’s question. “We attempted to track the vids that suffered the anomaly, but the actual change to their movement was so subtle that it made the task impossible.”

There was low, rumbling vibration that shook everything in the vicinity of the room. At first, Andrews thought it was some sort of equipment being used in one of the adjoining rooms, but the source of the mechanical hum was Vanhoeff. “I think I’ve heard quite enough.” His expression never changed; He was ready to kill at a moments notice. “Both of you can leave.” He spoke to the men sitting on each side of him keeping his icy star on Andrews. “Mr. Andrews here is no longer under your jurisdiction. The rest of our conversation will be held in private.”

Andrews could see the disbelief move across their faces. They were the highest ranked officials of the department, but even they had no authority over that of a trained Waffen-SS soldier. The only option they had remaining was to remove themselves from the situation before them, and to permanently forget the name Ranit Andrews. They left conference room 3B empty handed, thus washing their hands of any involvement.

Once the two men had left and the door to the conference room had sealed shut, Lieutenant General Ludwig Vanhoeff let his arms relax from in front of his chest. He reached into the breast pocket of his suit, and pulled out a device Andrews had never seen before. It was no larger than a key card, about five inches long and an inch thick, and had a silver button inlayed into its surface. He laid the device in the middle of the table and pushed the silver button. “Congratulations Mr. Andrews, you are officially off the grid.”

Andrews was dumbfounded by the concept just put in front of him by Vanhoeff. How can one be off the grid when it was the grid, Mastrik, that was the backbone of society. He tried countless times to vocalize his thoughts, yet each time he came up short. The best he could do was stutter and make incomprehensible sounds. He regained enough control over himself to say, “What?”

“The device before you is called a Digital Diverter.” Vanhoeff’s voice sounded almost jovial now that the two of them were alone, despite the terrifying ferocity that illuminated his figure. “It’s a nice piece of tech that re-routs all digital relays. Essentially, it creates a loop that Mastrik overlooks. No digital. No audio. No nothing. Obviously highly classified.”

“What’s the point to all of this?” Andrews blurted out. “Is there anything I can actually tell you that isn’t in that binder beside you,” he said pointed to his personal file.

“The point, Mr. Andrews, is that Detective Andrews no longer exists. This binder right here, is all that is left of a failed detective that had been consumed by the fires of the crematoria.” A grin flashed across his face. The thought of killing had an aphrodisiac effect of men like Ludwig Vanhoeff. “All that will exist after the DD is deactivated is a man named Ranit. And it’s lucky for you, Ranit, that the Motherland has a use for you.”

“What might that be?” Ranit shifted in his seat.

“There is a man out there, a man with some sort of ability, that is enabling him to commit atrocious acts of civil disobedience. We aren’t too concerned with who he is killing, since all of the victims thus far had been plagues on of respectable society, but the fact that he is killing has raised a few too many eyebrows. For years now, he has gone unchecked by the nation’s best justice departments, and now we have chosen to jump to drastic measures.”

“No doubt those drastic measures involve me in some twisted way,” Ranit said sarcastically.

“Was it not you that suggested the need for an autopsy of the young woman?” Vanhoeff broke out in a deep, rolling laughter. “There’s something about the process that gets my blood churning.” Vanhoeff wrapped his arms around himself and shuttered. “Just something about the ritualistic slicing that really speaks to me.” There was a pause as the euphoria washed over the General. “You’re going undercover, Detective.”

“It’s been twenty years since the last undercover agent was pulled out of the field. What can I find out that Mastrik can’t?” Andrews questioned, as his very existence in society began to devolve before him. Sticky sweat began to leak out of Ranit’s pores that betrayed the appearance of self control that he desperately tried to maintain.

“Answers, Mr. Andrews. That is what you will find.” He slid a file folder across to Ranit. “There was a discrepancy with the recent murder that I am sure you did not over look.” Vanhoeff reached across the table and flipped the folder open to reveal a postmortem photograph of the young woman from the crime scene. “Autopsy results, Mr. Andrews.” The general smiled. “Just what the detective ordered.”

Ranit flipped open the file and glanced down at the typed coroner’s report. Amongst the insignificant data of physical descriptions, the phrases “unknown chemical compound” and “internal organ liquidation” glowed with a fiery aura. Deep below his unconscious mind, a terrible screech erupted that ran through his entire being. “What about Mastrik?” Ranit paused to flip the folder closed. “You know as well as I do that we are now dealing with a second killer.”

“That’s the best part of our little predicament,” the General began. “Static. That’s all that the vids were able to capture. One second crystal clear images of the murder scene the next a video disruption. In the wake of that video disruption, the young woman before you appeared.” The General crossed his arms in front of his heaving chest and remained silent waiting for the response of the man before him.

If anyone had told Ranit a day before the hearing in which he was in that there was the possibility to disrupt the complex workings of Mastrik, even by the most talented techie in the entire Motherland, Ranit would have been in hysterics. Even the idea of avoiding the complex system of vids strategically positioned throughout the major center throughout the world was unthinkable. That was even after working on the Missing Link file. The Motherland operated as a sophistically designed computer program. Each part operated to ensure the utmost efficiency of the system, and if that efficiency is compromised, the malfunctioning circuit is terminated. For the greater part of the last forty years, it was in this way that the system had been run, yet in the matter of a few minutes, the entire system began to crash around former detective Ranit Andrews.

Sensing the racing mind of the former detective before him, General Vanhoeff’s profound voice erupted from his massive body. “As of five minutes ago, Mr. Andrews, your body had been officially destroyed. The fires of the furnace has purged you of your former identity. All that you now are is this here binder.” The General picked up the binder with Ranit’s name labeled on its cover. “Would you care to have a quick read before you are set loose on society?” Ranit was broken, defeated. His physical stature showed this. “Since the official position is that you have been relieved of your position,” Vanhoeff’s jaw relaxed into a sadistic grin. “You will obviously no longer have a connection to your former department , so you will no longer be need in of either your badge or your revolver.” The general paused as Ranit’s shaking hands placed the two requested objects on the table. “Don’t concern yourself about the need for a fire arm. It appears for some reason there has been an unnoticed clerical error that has resulted in your credit limit to not only remain active, but to dramatically increase.”

The general reached beneath the table and pushed a hidden button that activated a mechanical whine from the wall to the left of Ranit. There was a hushed hum as a panel in the wall pushed away to reveal a hidden exit from the conference room. No doubt leads to the bowls of the building, Ranit thought to himself. The place where mistakes are forgotten. The wall panel slide to one side of the opening to reveal a dimly lit hall that led to elevator.

On cue, Ranit stood and walked through the door that only the dead used. Of the thousands of thoughts and questions that ran through his mind, there was only one that his mind was able to put into words. He stopped without turning and asked, “Who was the man that died in my place?”

“His name was Ranit Andrews.” The deep voice echoed through the closing door of the secret hall. “A mid-ranged detective with the North Central Motherland Judicial Department. He outlived his importance.” The door locked shut behind Ranit leaving him in the shadows of the hall. He was forever cut off from his old life.