A Justified State Read online

  A JUSTIFIED STATE

  IAIN KELLY

  A Justified State

  © Iain Kelly, 2018

  First Published 2018

  Independently Published.

  All Rights Reserved

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  www.iainkellywriting.com

  ISBN - 9781729347669

  1.

  Ice cold pricks of frost bit the exposed skin of her arms and legs. She adored the quiet space, the fresh air, the chance to contemplate a moment of pure peace unlike the world of noise to which she belonged. There was risk in sitting on the window ledge, three floors up, exposed to the old city beyond the street below. Across the wide road a building site was abandoned, work having ceased for the duration of the festivities. Still, there could be someone there: a lonely soul with nothing better to do than wander the derelict borough; a petty thief looking for a quick profit; a security guard; a witness who couldn’t fail to notice a pale sliver of human flesh against the dark stone of the disused building.

  In the clear night sky a full moon illuminated rows of uniform white houses. Once upon a time huge New Year celebrations were held in the street and park here. The building she sat in was once the flagship store on a famous shopping street. Intricate sculptures and carvings of caryatids and coats of arms adorned the exterior, weathered but unbowed. Balconies had long since crumbled away. Huge ornate glass windows had been replaced by wooden boards or gaping voids. The whole street lay crumpled and defeated in the moonlight. Protected status for architectural heritage meant the buildings had remained, but they served no purpose. Shops had disappeared decades ago. Renovation and repurposing were prohibitively expensive. The building site opposite would provide a thousand new homes, each a uniform white cube, cheap to construct and just as durable as the stone edifices they would face. The new estate would take the place of one of the last areas of green parkland left in the city. Inevitably the buildings alongside the park would lose their protected status and be demolished, to be replaced with more essential homes. Tonight she would hasten the regeneration of the street.

  The official New Year’s Eve party was taking place sixty kilometres away, in the new centre of the city. This grand old conurbation had been subsumed by its younger neighbour in the creation of the northern megalopolis of the State. There was no-one in the street tonight, and Gabriella was alone in the building, save for her guest, who’s muffled pleading she ignored.

  In the peace of the night she started to hum the aria. Bellini’s Casta Diva floated from the open window into the sky. Gabriella closed her eyes and heard her mother’s voice soothing her with the same notes, softly accompanied by a warm embrace:

  Casta Diva, che inargenti

  queste sacre antiche piante

  a noi volgi il bel sembiante

  senza nube e senza vel…

  The operatic history in her family belonged to a Great Great Grandmother who had been a star of the stage when the art form still existed. Gabriella opened her eyes and looked at the chaste goddess, the white orb in the night sky. The moon was the subject of the song. The exact translation escaped her, the dead language, no longer in common use, was beyond her.

  Three. Two. One. The first firework shot up into the night sky, the New Year had begun. Despite the State-sanctioned party moving across the country, one tradition remained. To mark the clock striking midnight and the old year giving way to the new, there was a vast firework display. Explosions of red, green and yellow screeched from the castle that sat on top of the rock overlooking the forlorn streets. The State would broadcast the pictures around the world as propaganda. Cameras would capture the light display, while the empty streets beneath looked on uninterested.

  The silence broken, she stopped her plaintive song, turned and fired three shots. The explosions of gunpowder in the night sky covered the noise in the sparse room. One in the head, two in the heart. His head snapped backwards. Just like that, it was done. The background sound of panicked breathing and pleading squeals ceased. Small trickles of dark red blood ran from the entry wounds, sliding down the pale blubbery skin. The familiar sweet smell of cordite filled the room.

  ***

  Sixty kilometres west, four hours earlier. Revellers passed the HireDrive car parked on the road, heading towards the main square for the State-sanctioned celebrations. A sense of freedom was in the air, giddiness brought on by the curfew being lifted for one evening. The citizens made the most of it, an eclectic mix of diverse social groups gathering in one place: families with children; teenagers in love; elderly individuals; groups of friends; males, females, and gender-fluid identities. All were wrapped up against the cold winter evening, stars glinting in the clear sky above. The temperature was close to freezing but it was not enough to keep them indoors. At no other time were they permitted to gather in a crowd like this, it was too rare an opportunity to miss.

  State Police were on show in force. Terrorists starved of opportunities would view the gathered masses as a prime target. There were no busy shopping malls anymore, no skyscrapers, no concerts or rallies, no large sports crowds. The New Year celebrations were the only occasion when the citizens gathered in such numbers. The likelihood of an incident was remote given the technological capabilities of the Security Services and the State Police. No one could move around undetected. A despondent citizen may shout a political protest or raise a placard, but they were few and far between and the State Police were quick to disappear such individuals. Others would round on those lone voices, manhandling them into the arms of the authorities. For most the chance to be on the streets with friends and family and fellow citizens was too exceptional an occasion to waste on demonstration.

  Hidden behind the blacked out windows of the coupé, Gabriella ignored the passers-by as they joked and laughed. She concentrated on the green dot blinking on the dashboard TouchScreen. The green spot had spent most of the day flashing in the same place: a room in the City State Parliament building. It had moved significantly only once, when the Consul had gone to the debating chamber for a committee meeting. That corresponded with the schedule she had been given by Symington.

  She fidgeted in the unfamiliar tight dress, cursing again that in this day and age it remained the easiest way to snare a man.

  The clock on the HireDrive dashboard clicked to five. The work day finished, the green spot on the screen moved through the three-dimensional schematic plan in front of her. It left the corner office and descended three flights of stairs before exiting through the main lobby of the Parliament building. The spot paused on the pavement before stepping onto the road. Now it moved at speed through the city centre streets, carried in a personal State-supplied vehicle. Gabriella watched carefully as the spot turned in her direction. As it did so, she tapped the TouchScreen off. The Consul was predictable in his movements. He would be at the club within minutes.

  She checked her appearance in the mirror. Unfamiliar black hair, artificially pale skin, deep rouge lips and sea green eyes stared back at her. ‘Identity check,’ she asked.

  ‘Identity confirmed: Phillipa Young,’ the female voice of the HireDrive computer replied as a red beam scanned Gabriella’s face.

  She waited. More revellers passed, bumping the car as the over-crowded pavements failed to contain the vast swathes of citizens. Watching the rear view mirror, Gabriella saw the crowd part as a black official State car inched through. The citizens would think nothing of the official licence plates – just another dignitary on their way to the celebrations. She ducked down in her seat as the car passed her. The blackout glass hid the identity of the Co
nsul inside. The rear lights disappeared, enveloped by the crowd. Five minutes later, Gabriella opened the door and stepped out into the bustling flow of people.

  Her attire drew a few looks: envy; admiration; disapproval, depending on who was staring. The uniformly-dressed populous viewed her bare athletic legs, tight fitting dress, short jacket and the rare high heels. As the river of citizens flowed through the street leading to the main square, Gabriella had to fight across the current to reach a lane that met the road at right angles. Ensuring no State officials observed her, she ducked into the alleyway. It was empty and poorly lit. The streetlights that did work flickered, plunging the alley into darkness for a few seconds before power was restored. She walked down the uneven cobbled surface, ill-suited to her footwear, and the noise of the city faded behind her. No one followed her and she could see no one ahead.

  At the end of the alley she placed her hand on the correct brick in the wall, as she had observed others do on previous evenings. A scanner ran over her hand. She placed her eye in front of another brick and her retina was flooded by a green beam. She held her breath until there was a click and swoosh to her left and an opening appeared in the apparently solid wall. Symington had delivered her security clearance as promised. Having passed the checks, she was clear to proceed.

  Ten minutes later, after walking through the old tunnels beneath the city streets, Gabriella was let into an underground club by two large doormen. It took her a moment to adjust to the dim lighting, the music, the cacophony of noise. An alternative New Year party was in full swing. On the stage a band – a human one - with antique, analogue instruments which Gabriella recognised from old films and pictures: a large double bass, a trumpet, a saxophone and to the side an upright piano. A striking platinum blonde singer with a sultry voice joined in for some numbers. The atmosphere was hedonistic and sensual, like nothing she had experienced before. Gabriella scanned the room. She couldn’t see her target.

  Walking round the perimeter she passed dark booths along one wall, each with a flickering candle casting dancing shadows onto faces enraptured in conspiratorial conversation. Beside the stage were heavy velvet curtains that led to another room. Perhaps the Consul had gone through there. Gabriella decided to remain in the bar. She took a seat at a vacant table near the stage which provided a good vantage point for the entire room. A waiter in period costume of shirt and bow-tie approached to take her drink order. Not wishing to look out of place she ordered a whisky, one of the few alcoholic drinks she had tasted in the past. The waiter returned moments later and set it down in front of her. An hour passed. The club filled with more people. All had the sheen of power and influence, all conformed to the healthy glow of well-off citizens. Here was where the other half spent their New Year, away from the common citizenry. Gabriella recognised one or two public faces from celebrity photographs and news reports. If she had followed high society she would have recognised many more of those gathered in the chic surroundings.

  There were worse things to do than spend an hour watching the attractive blonde on stage. Gabriella had been in bars before, but not like this and never within the borders of the State. Although alcohol had been banned, in the military it was still accepted that soldiers on furlough abroad could partake of the local customs. Some bases she had been stationed at had their own bar if the camp quartermaster was enterprising enough. The officers would look the other way, or take a sample for their own mess.

  This was something more though. This was not the squalid gentry in a dive, this was not the sweat and dirt and rich smell of working people drowning sorrows or searching for relief from the everyday. This was power and wealth. This was shimmering silk gowns worn in elegant lines, expensive suits and sharply polished shoes worn by those glowing with luxury. Where the citizens outside had noticed her dress for its style and cost, here, amongst the elite, she felt cheap and ill-suited. In front of the stage was a clear area to allow dancing. Gabriella watched couples move gracefully to the slower songs. During faster numbers a raucous energy took hold as bodies gyrated, swirled and spun. She prayed no one would ask for her hand to partake. Dancing was not where her expertise lay.

  Caught up in the atmosphere she missed the Consul entering the room. She only noticed him when the band took a break. Kicking herself for such a basic error she stood up and moved across the room to find a seat near him, managing to catch his eye as she took a chair close to his table. He was on his own, relaxing with a drink, whatever business he had been conducting taken care of. He made eye contact with her and Gabriella offered a polite smile of interest in return. Even in her younger days when teenage hormones had been causing emotional turmoil she had found the social graces of human relations awkward. She had always preferred to be on her own.

  The Consul picked up his drink and came over to her table. ‘I find myself alone unexpectedly on the one night of the year it is customary to be in the company of friends.’

  He stood over her: tall, a full head of dark hair that had benefitted from a replacement procedure and skin that could only look so smooth at his age with some help. He spoke with no distinct accent, or rather he had the accent of the well-educated prominent politicians of the State, the words clipped and clear, each syllable given its due import. ‘May I?’ he gestured to the empty chair next to her. Gabriella smiled and nodded. The Consul slid into the seat.

  ‘You have no one to be with for the bells?’

  ‘I was supposed to be at an official State function to bring in the New Year, but work plans got in the way. Forgive me, I should introduce myself. I’m Donald. I don’t think I’ve seen you here before, Miss…?’ He let the question hang.

  ‘Young. Phillipa Young.’ Gabriella offered her hand across the table. He took it and gave it a light squeeze, his skin soft and delicate. She wondered if he felt hers to be rough and worn. Some parts of her background could not be covered.

  ‘Charmed,’ the Consul smiled at her, holding her hand for a moment too long. Gabriella gave a conspiratorial smile in return, hating herself for engaging in the necessary ritual. She reminded herself it was a job and nothing more. Was there solace knowing the Consul’s wife would be free of her unfaithful husband before the night was over?

  ‘We should at least make sure we are not alone for the big moment.’ She raised her glass and teased the lip of it around her mouth, maintaining eye contact with him.

  ‘Your accent. You’re not from the State?’

  ‘Originally I am. I spent a lot of time abroad. I only got back recently.’ The first truth she had spoken to him.

  ‘You have seen a lot of the world?’

  ‘Some.’

  ‘Do you follow politics?’

  Gabriella shook her head, ‘You don’t want to spend tonight talking politics do you?’

  The Consul laughed, ‘Not at all. I’ve spent most of my life doing just that. Now is the time to enjoy ourselves.’ He raised his glass to her. Gabriella clinked it with her own. ‘Will you excuse me one moment? Please don’t go anywhere.’

  The Consul rose and headed towards the bathroom situated near the entrance. Gabriella didn’t have to observe to know what he was doing. Phillipa Young would show up on the State database as a single female identifier, born in this city, educated abroad and now employed as a financial advisor to a host of wealthy private companies.

  The band took up their instruments on stage and struck up another number. The bar was crammed with more lithe bodies as the clock ticked closer to midnight. He returned, but rather than taking his seat he held out his hand to her. She took it in hers. The trap slowly began to close around the unsuspecting prey. His palm felt sweaty now. He led them onto the dance floor. In the confined space there was room only to sway, their bodies pressed together. Gabriella’s panic subsided, her shortcomings on the dance floor remained unexposed. The Consul used the enforced confinement and thrust of the crowded floor to introduce his body to hers. She felt his groin press closely into her and knew she could make her move.


  The song finished. Before the next tune drowned out her voice, Gabriella drew the Consul towards her and spoke into his ear. ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if it was just the two of us bringing in the New Year together?’

  He stared at her. For a moment Gabriella thought she had misjudged her mark. The look of surprise broke into a self-satisfied smirk. ‘Do you have some place in mind where we could go?’

  ‘You don’t mind leaving the party?’

  ‘I’ve never been one to turn down an invitation from a beautiful lady.’

  Gabriella hid her revulsion behind an enticing smile. She took the soft, sweaty hand and guided him through the crowd towards the entrance.

  Cool air refreshed them as they left the heaving club. They walked through the dark tunnel that led back to the alleyway above ground. In the dark she felt his arm snake around her waist. He pulled her arm to stop her, using his body to push her against the curved wall. She felt cool tiles on her back as he pressed her against them. She tried not to gag as his tongue explored her neck and chest, his hands groping at her dress. She had to receive his wet tongue in her mouth, allowing him to push it inside. She responded in kind. A hand on her naked thigh moved upwards, skirting the hem of her dress. The sweaty flesh slipped under the garment. Instinct brought her hand down hard, slapping the intruder away. The Consul stepped back, a look of uncertainty on the smirking face.

  ‘Not yet,’ she stepped forward and slapped him lightly on the cheek. ‘Patience, Consul.’

  He felt his face where she had touched it. ‘You know who I am?’

  ‘You think I would leave the party with just anyone?’ Play to his vanity.

  He took her hand and put her fingers in his mouth. She let the slimy muscle explore her hand for just long enough.

  ‘Come on.’ She left him and walked ahead, turning back with a smile. The dull lights along the tunnel wall shimmered on her skin and dress. He cocked his head to one side and began following her as she skipped away. Gabriella was glad of the respite from physical contact. Almost there.