V. The Distance

A few minutes past six, Findhorn made his way to his car. As he came near it, he smelled cigarettes. His hand went to his gun.

Briggs loomed like a gargoyle from the other side of Findhorn's car, a cigarette smouldering from his lower lip.

"What are you doing here?" Findhorn demanded.

"Just checking to see if you followed my advice." came the raspy reply.

"I did, and I think I figured out who you are."

Briggs chuckled in the gloom of the parking garage. "Did you, now?"

"First you told me where to find a prominent insurrectionist. Then you help me dodge a blast that all signs show was caused by a remote missile, piloted by insurrectionists. In fact, Raven Fist is one of the insurrectionist groups that's claimed responsibility for today's attack, and McAllister was one of their top guys.

"I think you're a higher-up in Raven Fist who wants out. You're helping me because we both want the top guys in Raven Fist out--me because I'm a cop and it's my job to bring 'em in, you so you can slip away in the chaos."

Briggs shrugged. "Not a bad guess, Detective. The thing is, there are a lot of variables in this equations that you haven't considered--or even realized are variables."

Briggs pulled the open the passenger's side door. Findhorn always kept it locked, yet it seemed to open for Briggs. Findhorn put it down to a lockpick.

"Let's go for a ride." said Briggs.

"Why should I take you anywhere?" demanded Findhorn.

"The way I see it, you owe me one. If I hadn't told you to head to the break room a little early, the Department would be replacing more than just your chair, if you catch my drift. Personally, I think a human life is worth a little more than some dirt on a child molester."

Findhorn sighed. "Where did you have in mind?"

"Where do you think?"

Findhorn's hand went for the door handle. Briggs started to get into the car. Seizing the opportunity, Findhorn pulled his gun and pointed it at Briggs' head.

He found himself staring down the barrel of another weapon. Findhorn had no idea how Briggs could have reacted so quickly.

"Your safety's on." said Briggs. "Now put that thing away, you're not impressing anybody."

Findhorn didn't budge, dumbfounded.

"My safety is off, Detective." prompted Briggs.

Findhorn blinked and lowered the weapon. He shook his head, trying to clear it.

"What's wrong?" asked Briggs, tucking his own gun back into his coat.

Findhorn holstered his gun. "I could've sworn I heard screams, but way off in the distance. Lots of them, along with something roaring the background, like a bonfire."

Briggs took a drag from his cigarette. "Imagine that."

They got into the car and Findhorn pulled out. The smell of car exhaust lingered, mixing with the smoke from Briggs' cigarette and one more scent--sulfur.