DETECTIVES - Episode
4
IMMALDA
After their mission
in Dibadi, Sep and Immalda resumed work in the Padza police department. They hardly
spoke to each other, an embarrassing situation, for Immalda was Sep's boss.
Immalda, as often,
couldn't help tattling, and it soon became common knowledge that Sep had been
her lover in Dibadi. It was discreetly but hotly debated whether he had behaved
like a cad, taking advantage of Immalda's loneliness, or whether she
resentfully distorted facts. Sep had always been a popular figure in the
department, unlike Immalda, who was considered a mean and incompetent boss.
Many people began
to say that Sep was a man without a moral compass, cheating on his girlfriend
with his boss.
Sep ignored the
rumors the best he could, concentrating on learning the Dibadian language, for
he had left Goquok's money in a bank in Dibadi and he wanted to go there again
as soon as possible. He didn't know yet what he would do with his 250,000
sequins, but he certainly didn't want to forget them in a Dibadian bank.
Sandrene, his
girlfriend, knew nothing about what had happened in Dibadi. Sep tried to forget
his affair with Immalda, but he couldn't. Sandrene liked sex, but not as
voraciously as Immalda did. Far from it. She enjoyed
being with a man like Sep, who was handsome and had a good job. She clung to
him tenaciously, for she knew very well that dependable men like Sep are not so
common in decadent Padza.
Immalda, who had
brought her part of the booty to Padza, bought a brand new, expensive electric
car and moved to a larger flat. She repaid all her debts, bought jewels and
designer clothes, wasting no time.
When her friends
asked her questions, she spoke, rather unconvincingly, of a mysterious lover
she wouldn't name. People snickered behind her back. Nobody seriously imagined
a rich man with an ordinary woman like Immalda. Some nasty people began
suggesting, half-jokingly, that Immalda had seduced a decrepit octogenarian
millionaire.
About one month
later, while he was working in his office, Sep got a phone call from Deisee
Kashal, the short, middle-aged woman who had assisted Immalda and him as an
interpreter in Dibadi.
He had expected the
Dibadians to contact him, and it almost relieved him to be contacted by someone
he already knew. They chatted for a few minutes in French and Dibadian, and
eventually she proposed to meet him.
"What
for?" he asked.
"I'll tell you
when we meet. I invite you to lunch, preferably tomorrow."
"I'm not sure
I have a slot for you at the moment" he said.
"You can't
afford to refuse... You know who I'm working for, and why I'm contacting you,
don't you, chetenche Sep? You still
have my telephone number, I hope?"
"I do. I
always keep the data I am given."
"Fine. Tomorrow in the
Dahou Bar, lunch time? I mean business, Sep."
"I'll be
there"
He hung up, his
heart pounding.
The Dahou Bar was
six underground stations away from Sep's office. He was there the following
day, at lunch time. Deisee was sitting at a table inside, with a young,
long-haired man who seemed to be in his late teens or early twenties.
The customers were,
mostly, prosperous young professionals who liked to have lunch in a pleasant
Art Nouveau environment. Sep had been there a couple of times, although he
preferred cheaper joints, in accordance with his modest salary.
Deisee introduced
the long-haired, blue-eyed young man as Pal.
Sep seated himself
at Deisee's and Pal's table. They ordered a menu.
Although she was
perfectly fluent in Padzan French, Deisee turned to Dibadian, which she mixed
with whispered French words when Sep didn't seem to understand. Too many people
can listen to other people's conversations in a restaurant.
As Deisee spoke,
Sep understood that Pal would be his case officer, his mentor in espionage.
"We haven't
forgotten you, Sep" Deisee said. "You'll work for us, and you'll
enjoy the money you left in the bank in Dibadi, your bosses will never learn
anything about chetenche Goquok.
You've got my telephone number, Sep, and Pal will give you his. Most of the
time, I'm in Dibadi. I can help you invest your money there. I can also help
you find accommodation and female friends."
"I suppose I
must say thank you. No offence intended, but Pal looks very young for a spy
handling another spy."
"Pal is a
cyborg. Who ever heard of a young cyborg? You're by far the youngest one here, Sep. Pal is a student in Padza. That's an excellent
cover."
"What do you
want me to do for you?" Sep asked, a painful knot
in his stomach.
"You'll know
in due course. I'll call you." Pal said, in a weird falsetto voice.
"My telephone
could be tapped, either at home or at the office" Sep objected.
"I know a lot
of places where we can meet. Discreet places." Pal's tone was cheerful,
and for a split second Sep wondered if Pal wasn't a genuine teenager after all.
Sep felt ill at
ease and he wondered what would happen if he refused to work for the Dibadians.
They would reveal his corruption. He would lose 250,000 sequins, plus his job
and his freedom. Sandrene would leave him. He shuddered at the thought of going
to jail. After several years in the slammer, he would have to seek a job. A very difficult task for a former felon. He would probably
join the cohort of the homeless and beggars.
Pal saw the grimace
on Sep's face. He said:
"Sep, I've
been a student for years, but before that I've been lots of things a nineteen
year old can be. A gardener. A
gigolo. A professional card player. A tennis instructor. I've had different names,
I've lived in different districts. I'm an old demon in the body of a guy barely
old enough to vote. I won't make you believe that I'm your friend. There's no
room for friendship in my business. But trust me, I've got experience."
Pal spoke Dibadian
and Sep didn't understand every word, just the general meaning of the
sentences, although the cyborg spoke slowly.
Pal looked straight
into Sep's eyes:
"You're
worried about your future. Understandably. Let me tell
you this: When we've used you, we'll drop you. We'll just disappear. It's up to
you to perform our biddings, and perform them well. We'll use you for two
decades, maybe three. You'll do exciting things. Then you'll be able to enjoy
your well-deserved golden years. Look, did you ever hear of a Dibadian spy ring
being dismantled in Padzaland or elsewhere?"
"No,
never."
"There's a
good reason for this: we are loyal to each other. No cyborg ever betrayed
Niemelaga. No cyborg ever defected. Never. That's why
the intelligence service of Padzaland will never learn anything about your
secret activities. Besides, we are the most experienced spies on this side of
the universe. We leave no trail behind."
"What if
someone recognized us in this restaurant? Or my telephone is tapped?"
"You're having
lunch with an interpreter you worked with in Dibadi and who happens to be
vacationing in Padza. No problem with that. She brought along a student who is
a nephew of one of her acquaintances in Padza. It shows that her motivation is
innocent. She wants you to paternally help a student who feels lost in Padza
and who might commit youthful indiscretions unless he's supervised by a trusty
man like you. I know that you're too young to be my father, but you're an
adult, and a cop."
Sep felt somewhat
relieved. He didn't trust people who were too
articulate, and Pal fell into that category, but Sep had heard what he wanted
to hear.
When he was back in
his office in the afternoon Sep noticed that he had difficulties collecting his
thoughts.
Another month later
Immalda was summoned by Janquin, the department head. He handed her a summons
of the Police Internal Investigation Division.
"Any idea what
it can be?" he asked.
"No…"
"Keep me
posted" Janquin said with a wink.
Janquin wasn't a
fool. He secretly despised Immalda, whose recent wealth was highly suspicious.
With luck, the Internal Investigation Division would rid him of a rotten apple.
Immalda didn't talk
to Sep about the summons. Her affection for the little creep had become a
strong dislike, and her past affair with him made her feel soiled.
The following day,
in an office of the Internal Investigation Division, Immalda was questioned by
a chubby superintendent named Ottion, who told her bluntly that her recent
wealth was suspicious and demanded explanations:
"In barely one
month you buy a flat and a brand new car, and some pricey baubles, too… Usually
we only have to tap the suspect's telephone lines and access his bank accounts
and those of his close relatives, check the list of the dossiers he worked on,
and we get a clue in a week or two, we determine who gave the money, and for
what reason. Tens of thousands of sequins never come out of the blue like that.
No ma'am, there's something fishy here, and you'll tell us what."
Immalda refused to answer
the superintendent's questions. Any fable she could concoct would be almost
instantly proven to be a fabrication. It was better to say nothing. As a cop,
she knew how true the old cliché is. It was up to Ottion to prove any
wrongdoing, not up to her to prove that she was innocent.
"It's my
private life, I don't want to talk about it" she said.
"Captain
Immalda Vosségou, to me you're just a suspect. You're in custody, right
now" the superintendent said airily.
He told her to sign
a form, which she did, feeling numb.
Ottion led Immalda
down a corridor and a flight of steps, into another area of the building, and
left her to the care of two policewomen in uniform. One of the policewomen
frisked her.
Her handbag, watch
and jewels were taken away. Sitting on a sour-smelling mat in a cell, teeth
clenched, Immalda tried to convince herself that nothing could be proven and
she would be released in less than two days, the maximum duration of police
custody in Padzaland. But as hours passed by, unbearably slowly, she began to
realize how bad her situation was.
Always
pathologically anxious and agitated, she needed medication but she presently
had none. The anguish became unbearable. She muttered senseless words and wept,
and after a while she fell half-asleep.
She was awakened by
the sound of footsteps. A youngish, skinny patrolman took her to Ottion's
office. The chubby superintendent was there, with two detectives, one of whom,
Lola, had been in police academy with Immalda.
But Lola avoided
her gaze and refused to talk to her. Immalda didn't look good, with her make-up
ruined by tears and her eyes haunted by anxiety.
Ottion handcuffed
her. He was shorter and fatter than Sep but the same type of efficient bastard,
Immalda thought.
The superintendent,
Lola and the other detective led her out of the building into an unmarked car,
which Lola drove.
Immalda's flat and
office were meticulously searched by Ottion and the detectives. The searches
lasted several hours, during which Immalda was left handcuffed. Her co-workers
looked at her silently, and she realized that nothing in her life would ever be
like before.
She didn't see Sep.
In the recently
bought flat the detectives found 80,000 sequins hidden in plastic bags under
piles of old clothes in a cupboard. All that remained of her ill-gotten 250,000
sequins after two months.
Ottion triumphantly
seized the money.
Later, Immalda was
questioned again by Ottion, but she refused to admit anything:
"My lover is a
married politician, he's rich and he gives me everything I want. He'll get me
out of here. I don't want to give you his name. You'll know soon enough when he
kicks your ass."
The superintendent
looked unfazed. He made her sign a transcript of her statement and told a
patrolman to take her back to her cell.
Immalda had a small
plate of rice for dinner. She remembered that when she was a young cop
prisoners had a little meat with their rice or noodles, but times had changed.
Meat had become pricey.
After a sleepless
night she was taken to the superintendent's office again. He handed her a
goblet of coffee and a cookie: her breakfast. She sat in a chair and drank the
coffee. It tasted good.
Ottion poured tea
in a mug for himself.
"You don't
mind having breakfast with me?" he asked. She said "No",
faintly. It's amazing what a day and a night of misery can do, she thought. She
felt grateful to Ottion for having breakfast with her, although the
superintendent's job was to investigate on her, and he was visibly determined
to do his job.
"I've got news
for you" Ottion said "The magistrate in charge of this case has decided to let you go free. But the investigation is
still going on. We haven't been to Dibadi yet, and we have many leads to work
on. Meanwhile, you are suspended."
"In other
words, I'm still a suspect, but you don't have enough evidence to convince a
magistrate to send me to jail."
Ottion smiled
wrily:
"Police
officers have to be honorable. Becoming rich overnight is suspicious. Tell me
you're a lucky gambler, and where, when and with whom you gambled. We can
verify that. Tell me anything provided I can verify it. A
rich lover? No. We tapped your telephone conversations before we
summoned you, we checked who called you and who you
called this year and the last. Checked your e-mails, too.
You haven't had a steady lover for at least a year. Your charming colleague Sep
Clavis doesn't count. Your wealth has only one possible cause:
corruption."
He added quietly:
"Don't go back
to your department, it's forbidden while you're suspended. Don't try to contact
any of your former co-workers. And don't leave Padza, even for a single day.
Otherwise, your suspension will turn into an incarceration."
Immalda signed
several documents. Her handbag and other personal items were given back to her,
and a patrolman escorted her out of the building.
It was mid-morning.
She walked unsteadily towards the nearest underground station. The journey
towards home was an ordeal.
Meanwhile, Sep was
at his desk, feeling nervous and pretending to work. His colleagues shunned him
and he felt so miserable that he would have almost felt relieved if officers of
the Internal Investigation Division had stepped into his office to arrest him.
In the evening he
decided to call Pal from a public telephone.
"Immalda?"
the Niemelagan said. "We knew from the beginning that she was a liability.
Deisee appraised her instantly."
"She must
leave Padza" Sep replied angrily. "She can live in Dibadi with my
money."
"The militia
often accommodates Padzalanders in distress" Pal said quietly. "I can
arrange that. I did it several times before. All I have to do is call militia
headquarters in Dibadi. But we must meet before I make any arrangement. Immalda
must be present, too. Wait for me at
Sep called Sandrene
and told her that he had to do surveillance work that night and he would come
home very late. It sometimes happened in the course of his work, therefore she
didn't suspect anything. She just said that she would prepare a cold dinner for
him.
Pal showed up on
time, on foot. The Padzan detective and the Niemelagan spy rode an underground
train to Immalda's new flat, which was located in a posh district of the city.
She was quite
surprised to see Sep, and even more surprised to see Pal, whom she didn't know.
The Niemelagan
introduced himself as "Pal, from Dibadi. I'm a friend of Deisee
Kashal."
Pal's youthfulness
reminded Sep of his own beginnings as a cop, when he looked so young that
sometimes people asked him if he really was a police officer.
Immalda kissed Sep
lightly on the lips.
"It's so kind
of you to come and see me, Sep. I'm suspended, you know, and we're not supposed
to talk" she said softly.
She wore a dark red
dressing-gown and her face showed how tired she was.
The flat was small
and not yet fully furnished. There were cardboard boxes everywhere. Sep and Pal
followed Immalda into the kitchen where she made tea for them.
They spoke at
length, and they came to the conclusion that Immalda had to leave Padzaland in
order to avoid going to jail.
Pal did his best to
convince her:
"In Dibadi,
you'll be able to live under an alias in Hulohogoda Honsëkus, the Foreigners'
Quarter, where all the foreigners live. Several thousand French-speaking people
live there, it's almost an enclave. The militia will find a job for you, no
problem."
"What kind of
job?"
"All the
embassies, consulates, travel agencies and international trade companies are in
Hulohogoda Honsëkus. We watch them closely. You'll help us."
Unexpectedly,
Immalda broke into tears.
"I'd never
think I'd become a traitor to my country. Never, never.
My father was a soldier…" she mumbled.
"Not all the
people we find jobs for are spies, Immalda" Pal said. "Some are just
people we help."
Sep put an arm
around Immalda's shoulders, to comfort her.
Pal was still
speaking, in pleasant, unaccented Padzan French:
"Tomorrow is
Friday. Immalda, the sooner you leave Padza the better. Dibadi is four hundred
kilometres from here. Most people take the train from Padza to Dibadi, but they
have to show identification and their names are stored in a database."
"I have a
car" Immalda said.
"You'll have
to change the power cells of your car along the way. Four hundred kilometres is
a long distance for standard power cells. Why not leave your car at Kanimakohi,
two hundred kilometres from the border, and take a train to Dibadi?"
"No, I want to
keep my car" Immalda insisted.
Pal shook his head:
"You can't
speak Dibadian, you'll get lost. In Niemelaga, only some cyborgs speak French.
You won't be able to read even the street names."
"I'll
accompany her and come back by train" Sep said. "I'll tell a tall
tale to my girlfriend, that I must go on an urgent
mission next weekend. If we leave Padza early in the morning next Saturday
we'll be in Dibadi in the afternoon. I'll take a train in the evening and I'll
be back in Padza before
Pal looked pleased
by the turn of the conversation. He said:
"In Dibadi,
Immalda will have to go to the headquarters of the militia. Please note the
address: Kusatayi Haiashkha,
Pal wrote the
address on a sheet of paper, first in the Latin alphabet, then in the
He handed the sheet
of paper to Immalda and said:
"Kusatayi
Haiashkha is the highest building in Dibadi, one hundred storeys, you can't
miss it. Just walk into the foyer and ask one of the hostesses for the militia
headquarters. I'll send them a message, telling them to accommodate the Padzan
woman Immalda Vosségou in a comfortable room of the building until she decides
to leave. I've done this several times. They'll add your name to the list of
people who might show up anytime at Kusatayi for board and shelter. It's
routine for them."
Sep copied the
address of the militia headquarters in his notebook.
Sep and Pal left
Immalda's flat after
The next Saturday
was a sunny April day. Sep took it as a good omen. Immalda had spent the whole
Friday preparing her luggage – two suitcases – and enough food for two days.
They left Padza
just after dawn in Immalda's fancy electric car and headed southeast, towards
Dibadi.
Soon they left the
built-up area and entered a region of small and middle-sized farms and
abandoned exurban settlements. There were few cars on the road, mostly trucks
of all sizes and a few busses.
Somewhere, they
passed the border. Immalda was a fast driver and they didn't see the road sign
welcoming them to Niemelaga, if there was any.
At first sight,
Niemelaga wasn't strikingly different from Padzaland. The farms were clusters
of hangars. Sep saw three black metal spiders, several metres high, toiling in
a field, and shiny, low black hills, covered with solar panels.
Sep looked at the
map he had bought in Padza. It showed towns and villages which apparently
didn't exist anymore, places with Padzalander names like Saimpiert and
Montaigu. Similarly, many secondary roads seemed to have disappeared, too.
After two hours
Immalda stopped the car by the roadside, for a snack and cold coffee.
According to the
map, a village named Santapolline ought to be there. Sep took a walk. It was an
ordinary looking agricultural area, with rolling hills, corn fields and
orchards as far as the eye could see. A dusty trail branched off the main road
towards three or four hangars about one kilometre away.
"What happened
to Santapolline?" Sep wondered aloud. About fifty metres from the road he
saw what looked like a segment of an ancient road, covered with dirt and weeds,
as if the old road had been deliberately suppressed.
But
what about the village itself? A small, flat hill stood where houses should
have been. Sep inspected it closely. Slabs of concrete protruded from the
hillside, among the thorns and bushes. The hill was a big heap, made of debris
covered with dirt on which vegetation had grown. That was all that remained of
a village where several hundred people had lived and worked for centuries.
Immalda closed her
eyes and let the sun bathe her face.
"Why do you
care?" she asked. "I'm in the soup, Sep, I'm
not in a mood to care about a bunch of yokels who died a long time ago."
"What if the
Niemelagans conquered the whole continent and replaced all the human beings by
robots, like they did here?" Sep asked.
Immalda stared at
him with a bland, puzzled look.
"Don't be silly" she said. "Niemelaga is a protectorate
of Padzaland. We vanquished the Niemelagans. They pay us a tribute, a real big
one, I've been told. They are under our thumb. Stop raving, please. We have to
change the power cells of the car in Kanimakohi, and I'd like to be there
before lunchtime."
They got into the
car and headed southeast.
The landscape changed.
The broad, fertile plain turned into hilly country, with unkempt, dark forests
and blackened, ruined houses here and there. The region was too hilly for
profitable agriculture and the Niemelagans had seemingly lost interest in it
after they had cleansed it of its native residents.
"These are the
Khuopwas Hills" Sep said. "Kanimakohi is just beyond."
He was sure that
there were interesting things in the abandoned houses but he didn't feel like
stopping anymore. The sun was high in the sky, and Kanimakohi was only the
first part of their journey to Dibadi.
Even in the forlorn
Khuopwas Hills, there were signs of cyborg presence. Small white airships, with
flickering, colored lights, hovered above them in the sky, making apparently
haphazard moves, sometimes rising high, sometimes almost touching the ground.
"Sep, there's
a man lying in the grass on the right side of the road" Immalda said in a
quivering voice.
She stopped the
car. The man didn't move. Sep decided to have a closer look. He stepped out of
the car and inspected the motionless, dark shape. It was a corpse, a dead man
in filthy rags. His hair was black and curly, and his brown face was half
concealed by a bushy black beard.
The man had died on
his belly, probably in pain, for his body and limbs were twisted. His back was
covered with dry blood.
As a cop Sep had
seen many corpses before he had specialized in financial fraud. He moved one of
the man's legs. It was still supple, therefore the man had died less than three
or four hours before. Probably even less than that, for flies hadn't begun
gathering on his facial orifices.
How long had it
taken for the man to die of his wounds? Sep had no gloves. He protected his
hands with paper tissues and pulled at the man's blood-soaked jacket.
There were bullet
holes in it. The man had been shot at. He had died of gunshot wounds. Not
instantly, considering the position of his body, but he had lost much blood,
and it was likely that vital organs in his torso had been hit. Death had been
rapid.
Sep threw away the
stained paper tissues.
Then he saw the
other corpses, half a dozen of them, huddled in the grass. Had they been shot,
too, or had they stepped on land mines or booby traps? Everything was possible
in a region which had been ravaged by war and never repopulated afterwards.
Sep listened but he
heard no human voice or wailing cry. He decided that it wasn't worth it to
check if some of the huddled shapes were still alive.
"Immalda, we
must get away from here." he said.
At this very moment
he noticed the whizzing sound of electric engines.
Looking up, he saw
a small white airship, about twenty metres away. It was just above the car, Sep
realized with a pang of fear.
The airship had
short wings and half a dozen propellers, and it was about two metre long. It
had a curious appendage below its fuselage. Something which
looked like the barrel of a gun.
Sep and Immalda
raised their arms above their heads, desperately hoping that the machine was
remote-controlled by a human or cyborg brain. They started to walk towards
their car, very, very slowly.
They knew that the
Niemelagans used small robot airships for surveillance, but they had never seen
one before.
Sep kept his eyes
on the barrel of the gun. If the airship robot decided to shoot him and
Immalda, they were lost. Even if they dodged the bullets, they couldn't survive
in the wilderness. Their life depended on their car, and the robot seemed to
know it.
How absurd it will
be to die for an unknown reason in a place like this, Sep thought. Tears came
to his eyes.
Beside him, Immalda
suddenly ran towards the car, opened the door and started the engine.
"Those flying
robots hunt and kill intruders" she shouted. "We are safe if it
doesn't identify us as intruders. Intruders walk in the wilderness, they don't
drive cars, OK? Get aboard quick!"
Sep ran towards the
car, feeling queasy.
Immalda sat behind
the steering-wheel, with an air of ferocious mirth on her face. Sep felt
stupid.
"An unpleasant
encounter, eh?" she said, squeezing the steering-wheel with one hand and
patting his thigh with the other. "This isn't the kind of country where
you can make love in the tall grass, eh? Corpses and killer
robots. And the bigwigs in Padza are supposed to rule even here. In my
humble opinion, they don't."
Several kilometres
down the road, Sep and Immalda understood why they had seen corpses.
Several thousand
men, women and children were walking slowly on one side of the road, under the
surveillance of swarms of robot airships and two dozen Niemelagan soldiers
riding electric quads.
Some of the
prisoners carried young children on their backs. Sep and Immalda had never seen
people looking to desperate and miserable, with emaciated bodies and shabby
clothes.
"The corpses we
saw were prisoners who had tried to escape. The airship robots shot them!"
Immalda whispered.
"Very
likely" Sep said glumly.
The Niemelagan
soldiers wore camouflaged helmets and white uniforms. They drove their quads
expertly, and they reminded Sep of dogs herding sheep.
Immalda stopped the
car to avoid an oncoming truck, and then she prudently overtook the crowd of
prisoners.
"They're on
their way to some internment camp" Sep said. "They'll survive."
Immalda was
skeptical: "Millions of people enter Niemelaga every year to escape the
global famine, and it has been going on for several generations. I'm sure that
most of them simply disappear in Niemelaga."
"As far as I
know, our government relies on the population data the Niemelagans provide.
They say that all the refugees are given shelter in internment camps" Sep
objected prudently.
"Our rulers
are a bunch of hypocrites" Immalda retorted sarcastically.
Half an hour later
they left the Khuopwas Hills behind them and the landscape became reassuringly
familiar again: robot machines working in corn fields, orchards, and large
areas covered with solar panels.
They reached
Kanimakohi by mid-morning. After the incident in the Khuopwas
Hills Sep felt a little anxious. Kanimakohi was the city of translators
and many Padzalanders lived there. That was about all he knew about the town.
They entered what
looked like an industrial section, with hangars, drab factories and giant
spider machines with jointed metal arms unloading trucks.
Immalda stopped the
car.
"You drive
now" she said. "I can't read the street signs in Dibadian, but you
can. Find us a place where we can buy new power cells for the car and have a
decent coffee."
END OF EPISODE FOUR