The Click
Chapter Eight

Janine Rousseau, VAMA’s youngest chief inspector at the age of forty-eight, sat

at the desk next to her scud listening to General Rosewall’s voice rattle out from its speaker while watching him on her new toy, a bright blue command center, a cube the size of a toaster with a keyboard, voice activation, and buttons. He appeared larger than life on a Holographic Surveillance screen seemingly draped over in a greenish-blue haze or fog so thick she felt like she could touch it. On several occasions she stuck her hand in only to discover it turned greenish-blue and caused the optics to jitter and the images to look like they were in an earthquake

“You heard me. Keep your damn toy under wraps. It’s illegal as hell. If you’re caught with it that’s exactly where you’ll be. You’re only to use it to verify or squash the rumors about that stupid Smotecal Decretum thing, and do it quickly or McGivney will be on my ass and I will be on yours. Do you understand?” Rousseau nodded as she glared at the short fat man somewhat deformed by the greenish-blue haze that wrapped itself around his pulsating image. The General then reminded her of his earlier conversation with McGivney… that they must keep an eye on Oliver Hitchcock. “Now shut down that damn thing.”

Rosewall clicked off as she powered down her toy, causing the Hologram Surveillance Screen to vanish. She was still wondering how Oliver Hitchcock figured into any of this but knew to keep her mouth shut. Minutes later she powered her toy back up and continued familiarizing herself with all its features, illegal as hell as that may have been.

Later that evening, mid-morning in Paris, France, she began tapping instructions on its keyboard causing the Hologram Surveillance Screen to stream up in front of her and go from dark to light and display the words INCOMING DATA. All of a sudden an aerial view of a school appeared. Hopefully its schedule hadn’t changed, a schedule she

had memorized. After holding down one of many buttons, the school zoomed in, as if it were rising to the surface from the bottom of the sea, until she could see a sandbox, swings and other playground equipment, all within a greenish-blue haze of constantly changing density. She then zeroed in on a nine year old child who glowed intermittently. That was the nature of the command center or Blue Cube as she christened the new toy. It could replace any subject based on their DNA and lock in on them so long as they were visible from the sky. Even without DNA, once an image appeared on the screen it could be placed in memory and found no matter where it was. Once located, the image or target within the hologram glowed intermittently, as the child had, as Rosewall had. She watched the child’s every move, smiling, until Oedipus Mertens walked in. His presence caused her to smack another button, causing the screen to go white except for the words

NO DATA.

Oedipus Mertens, a large boned, gruff appearing lieutenant underling and loyal thug originally from Belgium stood behind her watching the HS-Screen through one eye. The other was covered with a silver patch. “What ez dis?” he said with a slur he acquired as a child beaten to pulp by a drunken mother, herself the product of abuse.

“Something that will be of great use to us. What would you like to see, my friend,” A sneer developed across her face.

“Mi ome. It ez so long since I bin der.” He gave her a questioning look.

“Brussels, no?

“Outside Brussels. Anderlecht, Belgium, on Rue Kinet, 77 Rue Kinet.”

She began tapping instructions into the blue cube once again causing the words INCOMING DATA to appear.

Then suddenly Oedipus’s one eye went wide. He stepped closer to the screen as she zoomed in. “Dat’s my ouse … and dat’s … dat’s Mr. Peeters, mi old neighbor. He poked his fingers into the greenish-blue haze causing Mr. Peeters and his house to dither, causing him to quickly pull his fingers out .

“Now watch this, Oedipus.” She started tapping again. Once I locate anyone, even without their DNA, I can lock on them. All of a sudden, Mr. Peeters’ image began

glowing . Rousseau pushed away from her desk and the Blue Cube, holding up her hands to prove a point. Without doing more, as the subject walked down the street, the HS-Screen followed him as his image glowed intermittently.

“Is dees legal?” Oedipus wondered aloud.

“Ha!” Rousseau answered and was about to continue when her scud RANG. She looked at it suspiciously, tapped the Blue Cube and the screen vanished.

She clicked on her scud and looked at Oedipus with a raised eyebrow. It was the bartender at the Pearly Gate.

“Havercamp! That was quick. What did you get?”

“What you asked for, a video conversation between Mr. Hitchcock and a Julian Iscar, clearly CIA.”

Rousseau looked at the clock on the wall, then at Oedipus. “Good. We’ll come by for you tomorrow evening. My man will call later to make arrangements.”

“You’ll make it worthwhile?”

Rousseau shook her head. “Worthwhile? Yes, of course.”

The following evening a little before 11 o’clock with Rousseau in the back seat Oedipus drove his VAMA hearse down Pennsylvania Avenue and up Seventh street where Rudy Havercamp was waiting. Oedipus pulled over and Rousseau waved him into the seat next to her.

“Well,” she said with an opened palm extended.

Rudy handed her a flash drive. “I got everything he and his one-armed CIA buddy said.” He then opened his palm and began wiggling his fingers. “I believe what you got is mighty valuable as you’ll see. A small cut of your laundry business and we’ll call it even.”

“Laundry business?” Rousseau was incredulous.

“I have contacts in the most amazing places. As I said … we’ll call it even.” Rousseau shrugged then looked in the rearview mirror and caught the one eye

staring back from the driver’s seat. She nodded, then reached in her coat pocket. “I see.”

Oedipus took off, maneuvered through the District, up and down one-way streets and angled thoroughfares teaming with open storefronts and a crowded populace seeking fun and frivolity until he was lost in the formidable and downright scary Southwest quadrant where one wouldn’t venture out at night without the armored protection of a VAMA tank. Suddenly the tank turned into an alley that refused to admit any form of light, as if to do so would have divulged the most hideous form of human poverty that the Cūtocracy claimed didn’t exist. It also happened to be Rousseau’s private dumping grounds. She pulled out her blue laser gun and shot Rudy in the heart, causing him to quake for several seconds before going silently dead. The car came to a SCREECHING halt. Rousseau reached over, opened Rudy’s door, and pushed him out. “Now we’re even.”