Rising Tomorrow (Roc de Chere Book 1), Mariana Morgan [epub e ink reader .TXT] 📗

he was putting himself and two of his best people at risk for no return. Every day he felt like folding, but something kept him going. He had learnt to trust his instincts years ago. Something told him that all the cover stories, the frenzy of preparation and the risks weren’t as pointless as they appeared. He could almost smell it.

The majority of his adult life had been spent planning the downfall of the System. The System cannot be allowed to continue; the corruption has to be weeded out, or burnt to dust and ashes if needed. If that means bringing the whole System down, so be it. The words repeated themselves in his mind like a mantra.

Ironically, it was hard to pinpoint the exact moment when the Afro-European Alliance’s values had deteriorated past what was humane and ethical. Like it had multiple times throughout history, the evil crept up slowly and steadily, almost without warning. And then boom, society was split in two—those who had all the luxuries and those who had nothing.

The Elite clung to preserving the System, either out of ignorance and brainwashing or pure unadulterated greed and perverse corruption. Some had the potential to know better, and with a little bit of courage they also had the will to fight. Maybe one day, the Afro-European Alliance will enjoy the equality for which the founders of the World Government were willing to die nearly five centuries ago. And maybe—

A sharp buzz from his wrist-comp jerked him back to reality and away from the well-worn mental rut.

‘Yes, Megan?’ he asked his aide, accepting the call as voice-only as he gave his tired face one final rub.

‘Good morning, sir,’ replied a carefully practised voice. Just enough fear, resignation and subservience to sound perfect, and Gonzalez gave himself a mental kick. He was always relieved to see his people doing well, but it only underscored his current lack of focus. His own voice was too damn soft, too caring. The lack of anything to do to keep his hands busy had left him with too much time to overthink.

‘What is it?’ he barked, to make up for his earlier lapse, when Megan paused for too long.

Damn, but the girl is good, he mused. She’s not only playing her role to perfection, but she actually heard me slip and skilfully gave me an opening to chastise her.

‘Sir! Chief Commissioner Brau-Hastings from the Central Police Inspectorate wants to speak with you, sir!’ she said in a voice full of reverence. If he didn’t know her any better, he would actually have felt bad for how terrified she could sound when talking to him.

In theory, the Central Police Inspectorate was the headquarters of the Police Forces, standing above the individual police stations, co-ordinating law enforcement efforts from above. In practice, there were rumours that those working directly for the Inspectorate were more like the secret police, there to stand in judgement of their own fellow officers and gendarmes.

‘Put her through,’ Gonzalez replied after a beat. His mind was racing.

Chief Commissioner Brianna Michelle Brau-Hastings had the whole of the Northern District of the Afro-European Alliance under her jurisdiction, including most of pre-22nd-century Europe, with a current population of twenty-eight million and over seventy thousand police officers and gendarmes. The idea that she would call a mere DCI herself, especially one that appeared to be in disgrace, was beyond ridiculous.

The woman could, and probably does, have servants tying her shoelaces and wiping her ass, for fuck’s sake, Gonzalez thought while straightening his uniform and giving his short dark hair a quick brush with his fingers. It was a good thing DCI Gonzalez was someone who naturally scrubbed up well for work every day.

‘Good morning, ma’am, what can I do for you?’ he enquired, accepting the comp call with full visual this time, and squared his shoulders dutifully.

‘DCI Gonzalez? What you can do is listen and not waste my time.’ A severe face framed by silver hair, one used to being obeyed instantly, glared at Gonzalez from his comp’s holo-display.

He opened his mouth to agree, but decided against it and instead gave a respectful bow. Which clearly was the right choice, because Brau-Hastings replied with a curt nod of satisfaction. Making decisions on the fly relied on Gonzalez’s instincts, and without time for all the useless overthinking, his mind was kicking into high gear. He felt like himself again, alert and ready to act.

‘New orders,’ Brau-Hastings said, and held a data chip up in front of her wrist-comp. ‘Commissioner Louis Wagner will be taking over the investigation. He will explain in person, but time is of the essence so I expect you and your people to co-operate fully. This investigation is turning the Police Forces, and the Central Police Inspectorate, into a laughing stock, and it is time it was managed correctly and resolved swiftly. Our reputation will not suffer anymore due to your incompetence.’ She paused briefly, as if goading Gonzalez to dare to disagree, but he held his mouth firmly shut.

‘That civilian you couldn’t find? Commissioner Wagner got her, and other evidence. He will arrive at lunchtime.’ Brau-Hastings paused again, her eyebrow cocked. She was clearly expecting some response this time, and Gonzalez nodded once again, accepting the bombshell with placid composure suitable to his undercover persona. The accusations stung, especially since the high powers had made sure his hands were tied, but that was something he would just have to swallow.

Not to mention, he wasn’t sure he trusted his own voice. The name—Wagner—wasn’t unknown to him. The man was a brutal psychopath with an appropriately brutal reputation, even among the Elite. He had no interest in Leeches, and he was light years too senior to lead the investigation. He was in fact one of the dozen or so commissioners Brau-Hastings had to help her ride herd on her district. Usually, commissioners sat on their collective asses while less senior police officers hauled their own asses to go and fetch.

There were exceptions, of course.