Right?
I have a mission here at the Academy. There will be no distractions, including her.
Accepting an invitation to drinks with Dean Helen Alexis Christie does not mean a light evening of conversation. It is the beginning of a long, grim year that will likely end in several ugly deaths. I’m here to make certain none of the dead will be students.
The sun is sending out long, orange rays of light over the flat plains of the island as I join her in her office, two other professors are already there, nursing their drinks.
“Ah, Professor MacTavish, thank you for joining us,” Dean Christie says, smiling benignly. “This is Akihito Fukumoto and Laoise Fitzgerald, she’s new to the faculty this year, like you.”
“A pleasure to meet you both,” I nod politely. “My father sends his greetings, Laoise.”
She tilts her glass of Redbreast to me, “Do send my regards when you speak next.” Laosie Fitzgerald has a beautiful voice, smooth and rich, like the scotch she’s drinking. Like the Dean, she dresses more for comfort than fashion and has piercing, icy blue eyes. She’s a woman of many talents, so I’m sure it was easy for the Dean to place her on the faculty.
“Professor Fukumoto, it’s good to see you again.”
He rises to shake my hand, grinning. “As if I could forget one of my best students. I hear of you from time to time, though I suspect it is more myth and legend than fact.”
“I’m certain only the worst things you’ve heard were true,” I shrug.
He laughs, “That would not surprise me.”
“Please have a seat, Cormac,” the Dean cuts through the pleasantries, “what can we get you to drink?”
“I’ll have what she’s having,” I nod to Laosie’s glass of Redbreast.
After the Dean’s assistant makes my drink and hands it to me, he slips out the door without being asked. She’s trained him well. Knowing her, most likely with a cattle prod and a handful of kibble.
“I have waited for this meeting for nearly two years,” she says, relaxing back into her chair. “It may appear disrespectful to several members of our faculty and security staff to be meeting in secret, but trust is earned. After the events of this summer, my list of trusted sources has shrunk considerably.”
“How many students have you lost at this point?” I ask.
Her eyes narrow. “Twelve upperclassmen. Thirty-five incoming freshmen. I expected there to be more outrage among the families, but apparently, some of them were disguised well enough as accidents or rival gang attacks.”
“We believe that given the global nature of the murders,” Akihito says, “we are looking at involvement from as many as a dozen organizations.”
“Kill off the next generation of Elites,” Laoise nods, “less manpower and risk than going after the principals.”
“The intelligence we’ve gathered recently shows that this plan is too volatile,” the Dean says, “it’s coming to a head, the signs are there. Your job is to root out whoever might have already placed here at the Academy.”
“Have you found anyone yet?” I ask.
Her lips firm into a tight line. “Two guards, one was in my personal security detail. I left him alive. He and I have had a bit of a chat, but I have what’s…” she smiles, “left of him for you to question.”
“No time like the present,” I drained my glass, standing. “Akihito, Laoise, I’m sure we’ll work well together.” They both nodded benignly and continued their conversation over cocktails as if we were at a casual dinner party. The sort people in the real world enjoyed, where they talked about interest rates and B-list celebrities.
These two, however, were discussing several decapitated heads recently found in a ditch near one of the syndicates that we were targeting. Nothing works better as a little reminder that we’re watching them than a pile of decomposing soldiers. I expect that the Alvarez Syndicate will bow out of the alliance targeting the Academy’s students.
Following Dean Christie’s directions to the soundproofed rooms directly under her office, I can smell the faint, coppery scent of blood and a low moaning coming from the room at the end of the hall. She was renowned as an interrogator well before taking her position here at the Academy and it’s clear she’s lost none of her skill when I see the ruined form of the man sagging in his chains suspended over a drain in the floor.
Cracking my knuckles and rolling up my shirt sleeves, I glance over at the expressionless Dean. “You didn’t leave me much to work with, Helen.”
She shrugs, “Nonsense, I merely softened him up a bit.”
The man is clearly strong, muscular. There are faded tattoos from the British military on his bloody skin, and several scars snaking up and down his torso. He’s seen hard times before.
“So you’re a tough nut to crack, eh Miles?” I ask, walking around him and viewing Helen’s handiwork.
“Fuck off,” he gurgles, spitting out an impressive amount of gore. I step back, letting it splatter at my feet.
