We walked along corridors of polished stone, glass divides and open spaces interspersed by brash art works, gargantuan sculptures, fountains, staircases and overhanging balconies. The arcing lines of the building swept us along. It must have been a corporate office at some point, an oil company no doubt given the expense and the location.
It managed, simultaneously, to suggest lavish expenditure and restraint, there was nothing corpulent, no artistry behind anything; the extravagance went only so far as was necessary to prove the point – that the people who built this had money.
The dust here was thinner, the surplus energy evidently ran some sort of ventilation. This then was their hub, where they congregated, this disused headquarters of a provincial headquarters of a long obsolete oil company.
Despite the grandeur and the executive minimalism of the building I was still taken aback when we entered the atrium. I had thought we were on ground level but now, as we came into this space, I saw we were several floors up.
The atrium formed a negative space inside the building. The building was at least ten stories high and an outer wall of glass stretched up in front of us protecting the space from the storm outside. On each floor a balcony, such as the one we stood on, overlooked a reception area on the ground floor below. This created a column of clear air several hundred metres high.
I could not remember the last time I had seen such a huge expanse of clear space. There was barely any dust here and looking over the balcony I saw splashes of green. Could it be possible that there were plants alive down there?
In my momentary shock my other senses had stalled as my eyes greedily drank in this clear expanse. Now, as I adjusted to the space, the echoing sound reverberated in me. A large crowd of people filled the reception foyer. They heaved to and fro in waves, a festive, drunken mood floating up to us several floors above. Shouts and music leapt upward.
We shared a worried look. The energy they must be using, to keep this air clean alone, could run a small village. The people looked like ants, so far below, but there was every possibility they hid something far more dangerous.
Winding our way down the stairs we entered the foyer through automatic double doors. Everyone was dressed casually and held a glass in their hand. They ignored us talking loudly in small groups.
We pushed a path through the revellers. The music thumped and it felt as if there was no centre. We stopped to question several groups – who was in charge? Was this the main settlement? Was there some event they were celebrating or commemorating?
The answers we got were fragmented, nonsensical, but they pointed deeper into the crowd so we got the sense there was someone, somewhere that was responsible for this gathering. Bit by bit we reached an entourage surrounding a raised area, like a small stage.
This area had been roughly cordoned off and was less crowded than the surrounding thronging crush. At the centre of the stage was a seating area with comfortable looking armchairs where a withered old woman sat half hidden in the voluptuous cushions.
After some words were exchanged we were ushered in front of her.
‘We are looking for information,’ he said this levelly, ready to hold his ground. He mentioned Abel’s name. I saw the old woman’s eyes narrow. She shifted in her seat like a shrivelled spider eyeing a fly, fluttering close to its web.
‘What would you give for this information?’
‘We…’ the leader began.
‘I want to speak to the girl.’ She spoke to me directly. She saw I was in charge.
At a sign from the old woman a burly guard stepped forward and effortlessly scooped her scrawny body up in his arms. She motioned my estrwhile captor to leave and for me to follow behind her. The leader hesitated for a moment unsure whether to let me go, but he must have caught some look in my eye for after a moment he stepped back, symbolically clearing the way for me and the old crone.
We passed through a series of doors, away from the scream and crush of the crowd, until we were in a quiet place. The room, I presumed it had once been an executive’s office, had been decorated, furnished comfortably with a plush bed, rugs, sofas, a table with some food.
‘Now tell me what you want with us.’
‘As he said we are looking for some… people. We believe they are to the north.’
‘Mercenaries?
‘Yes.’
‘Why would I know anything about that?’
She had not sat down, instead hovering next to the table.
‘We are here to find out what you do know.’
‘And why would you want to find this group, I think to myself?’
‘We believe this group are amassing weapons.’
‘That’s not so unusual. Anyone with a brain would be amassing weapons. You think they have money?’
‘I know the man who leads them.’ I felt I had to choose my words carefully. ‘He may be dangerous.’
‘Perhaps they have some more religious aim?’
She evidently knew of Abel, even if she did not know the location of his camp. It was odd that she would use the word religious to describe a group of soldiers. I pictured Abel, messianic, in front of his followers.
‘Why would you say that?’
‘There are people who believe this dust is a consequence of blind accidents or a curse.’ She approached my seat and put her hand on my shoulder. Her skin was thin and papery, dried out. I could see the veins on the side of her head, keeping her alive. ‘And then there are others who believe it is a sign, a signal from a higher intelligence.’
‘And what do you believe?’
‘I’m too old to believe any such things.’
‘But you don’t believe in that.’
‘There is always an explanation and there is always intelligence and neither satisfies me, that is all I know. ’
‘He told you that? He believes that?’
‘Who?’
Her eyes betrayed her. It was clear that Abel had been here in this town. Perhaps quite recently. Whatever he was building up to was more than a simple land grab, a tussle for land or power with the established states. He clearly had far reaching plans, plans that reached to the source of the dust.
‘What is he building?’
She studied me, curiously. I felt a tremendous wave of antipathy towards her. A violent need to obliterate her face, suck out all the knowledge she had locked in her shrivelled skull, all the answers she was withholding, the uncertainty and fear I had felt these last years.
‘You know him so well?’ Her eyes shone greedily. I had made a mistake, given away more than I should have. ‘He is related to you?’
Had he warned her that I would be coming? Why would she say something like that? The violence swelled up in me. A dark unhappy welt of emotion. I looked at her, decrepit, failing, a weakened mechanism from a time that had long passed, a time that should by all rights be buried long ago. What right did she have to exist. What did she know about Abel? What damage could she do?
She laid her book on the table.
‘This dust has made us all tired,’ she said.
I left her on the bed. I was out in the corridors again. I met them, waiting, a respectful distance from her room. I looked down at my hands, they were trembling.
‘You got the information?’ His kind face was earnest, sympathetic.
‘I know the way.’ I could barely speak, could barely suck in a breath. I felt an urgent need to leave that place, get back in the vehicles and travel far, far away.
He put his arm around me and guided me down the corridor. I saw the deputies exchanging worried glances as they looked over their shoulders. Their glaze flicking to the fresh spots of blood on my clothes. Our pace quickened as we turned corner after corner, leaving behind the fresh oxygenated air, the solid walls and glass.
‘What else did she say?’ he asked.