Born Raymond Gorra, Amir had been part of a long term sleeper cell that had infiltrated the United States dozens of years earlier. Originally entering the country as Illegals, his parents had been `grandfathered’ in after the riots in Oh Six and Seven caused lawmakers to ease up on the immigration laws.
His father’s death had tipped him over the edge, but most reports, though Anselm rather suspected that the man wasn’t particularly stable to begin with. After the public revelation of his father’s death, and the man’s American passport, Gorra had publically stepped into the limelight with a series of bombings of public buildings, including a school, in his home town of Santa Barbra.
Over the next twelve years or so, he’d waged a war of terror across the planet, destroying more lives than Anselm could count, more, in fact, than he wanted to count. The `Slave of God’ had climbed the most wanted lists quickly, landing at the top of the CIA and Interpol’s short lists within a few years. And he’d stayed there too, until his reported death in ‘Eighteen when one of his bombs had apparently gone off prematurely and killed him, his Jihadi cell, and the fifty-three hostages he had taken in the Japanese Embassy in London.
And now he turns up here. Anselm watched the glass below get closer as the pilot circled around and lined up with the air strip.
“Gonna take her down now,” the pilot said nonchalantly. “Might be a bit rough, even at low altitude we sometimes get weird thermals off the glass. Don’t worry about it though, done this hundreds of times and I ain’t dead yet!”
The sentiment didn’t comfort Anselm much, but he just nodded as the pilot took her down.
Down where below the Interpol agent, there were over eighty thousand people.
And at least one of them was a mass murderer.
The plane taxied to a stop near a small prefab building that apparently served as the airport and control tower for the area, and the pilot simply flipped open the cargo section of the small craft as Anselm stepped out.
“Help yourself, Mate,” he told the agent, “I’m heading into get a brew. Catch ya later.”
Anselm watched him walk off as a marked police vehicle slid to a near silent stop just a short distance away. He watched the officer slip out of the car, then turned to grab his bags as she approached along the tarmac.
“Agent Gunnar”
Anselm pulled his carry-on from the cargo section of the small plane, turning as he withdrew the moderately heavy bag, and nodded. “That’s me.”
“Inspector Dougal,” the woman approaching him said, extending a hand. “Always a pleasure to help Interpol.”
Anselm took her hand with his free one, noting instantly that the woman had an impressive grip. He smiled slightly at her greeting and shrugged, “I suspect that might be a slight exaggeration, Inspector.”
She smiled in return, “perhaps, but only slightly. If you’ll come with me, I have my car waiting.”
She nodded to a sleek Electric Vehicle painted in the white and checkered black of the local PD, waiting just off the small strip and Anselm nodded as he followed her off.
“I’d have expected a bigger airstrip for a city of eighty thousand,” he said as they walked.
“We get people suggesting it every now and then,” she admitted, “but it’s not a priority. We get our bulk stuff in through the road trains, and to be honest we don’t really want thousands of tourists showing up. Too damn many of them as it is.”
Anselm chuckled, “I guess I can understand that.”
She nodded, gesturing to the back of the car. “Toss your kit in the back, I’ll give you a drive into town.”
Anselm did as she said, taking another long look at the car.
It was quite large, a wagon actually, painted in a familiar police pattern but it was the eight tires that caught his attention.
“Hey.is this an Eliica” He asked suddenly, blinking in surprise.
Dougal smiled and nodded, “we’ve got fifteen of them on the force. Only allow electric vehicles around here, you know, local ordinance.”
“Damn,” Anselm shook his head as he walked around. “These things cost two hundred grand.”
“We got them for cost,” she told him, sliding into the driver’s seat of the electric vehicle. “Kiro Nugawa Corporation leased them to us to use as a showcase.”
“Good deal, if you can get it.”
She just nodded as she punched the start button and threw the electric vehicle into reverse. The Eliica whipped around like a bottle rocket, and then slammed Anselm back into his seat. Four seconds later, they were doing a hundred kilometers an hour and still climbing.
“I love these things,” Inspector Dougal grinned, glancing over to where Anselm was pressed hard back into his seat. “Don’t get a chance to let it out very often. We don’t really drive much around The Project.”
The dusty road was whipping past so fast that Anselm, who was used to the autobahn, had to tear his eyes from the road to look over at the driver. “Oh”
“Yeah,” she said, keeping the pedal down as the car passed three hundred kilometers per hour and kept climbing. “The Project is completely served with a Mag-Lev monorail, so when the Shanties popped up it were decided that we’d just extend the rails.”
“Shanties”
She laughed, “That’s what we call the city, Agent Gunnar. It’s traditional, you know.started with people just building with whatever they had, like a Shanty Town.”
Anselm nodded, “Anselm.”
“What”
“My name, you can call me Anselm.”
Inspector Dougal smiled, “I’m Gwen. Gwendolyn actually, Gwendolyn Dougal, but you can call me Gwen.”
Anselm nodded, returning the smile, especially as the car had topped out to just under four hundred kilometers per hour and he wasn’t being slammed back in the seat like he was on a jet taking off. “Nice to meet you, Gwen.”
“Now,” Gwen Dougal said, casually checking her instruments and adjusting the steering column. “Why don’t you tell me about this guy you’re after”
Anselm frowned, “Abdallah Amir. It means, roughly, The Slave of God is a King, or Prince, or something like that. He’s been on our most wanted list for almost two decades now. Well, he would have been if we knew he was still alive.”
“Arab guy”
“Uncertain. His records indicate not, he claims otherwise. He was born Raymond Gorra, in Santa Barbra California,” Amselm said, “He changed his name himself when he publically `embraced Allah’.”
“Sounds like an interesting guy.”
Amselm nodded, “You could say that. Well educated, trained as a medical doctor, and has a proven ability and desire to learn new and dangerous skills. Dangerous to us, anyway.”
Gwen shook her head, “Hard to believe. What would a guy like that be doing at The Project, anyway”
“Amir has a reason,” Anselm said seriously. “He doesn’t screw around and he rarely makes mistakes.”
“So how’d you find him” Gwen asked with a hint of a chuckle.
Amselm had to laugh himself at that, “Would you believe honeymoon photos”
“What” She looked over at him like he was crazy.
He just laughed, “We have an agent here on her honeymoon. Her husband was taking photos of her near a fountain somewhere in the project.”
“That’d be the Pleasant Chimes Fountain.”
Amselm shot her a querying look.
Gwen just shrugged as she steered the car around a snake in the road at three hundred and ninety kilometers an hour. “It’s the most beautiful fountain in The Project. That’s where honeymoon types go.”