A Betrayal

Hands shaking, he made his way down the narrow passage. He stepped in oily water but too out of it to notice how it soaked his shoes. Struggling to stay on his feet, he made his way to the end coming out into Jungle Island. He looked down the large pipe with the raised walk along the bottom with garish lit signs along each side. It was one of the tubes, one of the lower sections that illegal trades and the undesirables found themselves. Jungle Island was the redlight district so the whole tube glowed red, including the oily water that filled the area below the raised walk.

He smirked at the foolishness of it, how old place names of a long-ago submerged city were applied to such a dark filthy place. He thought of the tubes as sanitary pipe, flowing with the effluent of the city. The drug dealers and users, the prostitutes and hustlers, and the illegal gambling, clubs, and merchants that utilized each section, and in his mind, nothing but the shit of the city. The irony that he was more at home here than in the walled compound that his father would dare call a home was not lost on him.

He tried to straighten up, not look so much like the other addicts, but the effort was too much as he tripped over the rail line set in the walk. No one bothered to notice and one look at most of them, he knew they were no better. It was daytime above, so the good customers were yet to venture down. Only those that resided in the tubes were moving about, and there were not many, since most worked at night.

Passing Jezebel’s and the Happy Hooker, he turned down the narrow passage that ran along side the Cathouse. It should confuse him, all these passages that linked one tube with another, but he had been here for a few months, spending hours roaming around. He passed the ladders that led up to equipment that needed maintenance to keep everything working and knew tucked into nook and crannies were places were those at the very bottom of society, even down in the tubes, made places to sleep and hide.

At the end of the passage, he came into the next tube. Instead of a garish red glow to everything, this one glowed blue. SoBe, the blue light district. He saw hustlers too used up for one of the establishments lingering along the walk or hiding in the shadows. If only his proud father knew of his own hustling to earn money for his habit. It no longer seemed unusual for him to consider it, how he left a very different life behind to have one that seemed to barely exist in any real way. Moving down the filthy walk, he glanced up only once. In a blue strip of light, the word ‘Boy’ hung in the air over his head. It was the place he had hustled, and the memory of the first time came to him as nothing. There was a time he burned with shame at the thought of that first time with some councilman from above. The humiliation of what was required of him and how afterward he had showered in water so hot it made his skin turn red. He had thought the smell would not come off his skin.

The tube cut across the vessel, so he knew it was no more than eleven hundred feet in length, but it seemed much longer. Whenever he was excited about a new chip it made him dizzy. He was so excited about the way the chip could affect him, nothing else mattered, not even his appearance. But it also made him struggle to walk, stumbling over any little step or change in the surface.

After nearing the far end, he turned into a side passage, one lined with bars serving moonlight or xylan-white, the smell of the vaporous liquors so strong it burned his eyes. He came out into the next to last tube before coming to the end of the vessel with its airship docking stations up top. It was Overtown where illegal clubs branched off the tube into the areas tucked in between equipment. He crossed to the opposite side, then made his way down a narrow passage until in front of the hotel. It was a stack of cargo containers welded together with no services to any of them. He climbed the ladder until on the fourth level, heaving for breath. He hated the climb but couldn’t afford the rooms down below. He stepped off onto the catwalk and made his way past three containers fitted out as rooms, past a water filtration pipe, steam lines, until standing at his room. An eye scan to unlock the door, he entered the space that had been home for the last couple of weeks.

He stumbled across the narrow space to the bed that took up the back half and fell on it. For a few minutes he just lay there breathing hard, then he sat up and reached into his pocket taking out a small box. Hands shaking with anticipation, he opened it to reveal the little blue chip inside. Mako had gotten it from Shift, and everyone knew Shift programmed the best chips. No one could compare to the places one of his chips would take one’s mind. He reached behind his head, pushing up his long hair used to conceal the implant and fished out the port. There was enough wire to bring it into view. After a few attempts he managed to get the chip inserted and he worked quickly to get it back into place. He felt his skin warm as the port closed then brought the chip online. He lay back staring up at the corrugated ceiling as his eyes began to lose focus. Instead of looking at the ceiling, he began to see a landscape of blue and red and yellow, so vivid he knew it couldn’t be real. Then he saw them, women and men, each the perfect specimen. Curving bodies with large breasts and muscular bodies with large hanging cocks. He watched them approach, each looking to use him. He saw himself strip and his body was as it once was, free of bruises and needle marks and unmarred by implants. He was pure and innocent and ready for the pleasure they were going to give him.

D-Wave stepped out of the shadows after watching the guy climb up to the fourth level. He had watched him move down the catwalk to the fourth container amused by the notion of anything so crude being considered habitation for any human. But then again, the stumbling sweating addict he had been following since the buy from Mako wasn’t human, not in his book. He checked with his buyer one more time, then made his way to the ladder. He was in no hurry for it was easier if he let them get plugged in first. That way they never knew what came for them, nor did they feel their life bled out. The main mission was to scare the guy, but that chip the guy bought was too tempting. It was worth more than the original mission.

On the fourth level he eased down the catwalk, placing each foot gently on the metal grate. He felt it rock and give a bit, but it didn’t squeak if he didn’t hesitate with each step. At the fourth container, he slipped his pick file out and inserted it along the jamb until bumping the latch. He worked the pick file until the latch clicked and he eased the door open. The room was dark except for one small chemical light in the ceiling, and he was grateful for the poor illumination knowing the filthy nature of the space. The smell of dirty clothes and the filthy body on the bed hit his nose and he had to slow his breathing.

D-Wave wasn’t even sure of the addict’s name, and he didn’t care. He was getting that chip out of the guy’s head whatever it took. He crossed the room and looked at the eyes staring up knowing they saw nothing of the real world. He could see them move and the pupils dilate to different sizes. He pulled out a knife, opened it to reveal a long narrow blade. He put it the chest, seeking a spot between the ribs over the heart. He settled the blade into the spot then pushed it down. Blood pooled around the blade as he slowly inserted it. When it was in the heart, he twisted the blade and worked it back and forth knowing he was tearing the heart apart ending the addict’s life as quickly as possible. Looking at the face he saw a tear trickle from one eye. They say someone in the digital realm felt nothing of the real world, but he had seen it too many times to know they felt it when their life began to end.

He rolled the body over and felt along the back of the neck then upward until his fingers moved over the synthetic square that was the cover to the port. He stuck the knife into the edge of it and tried to pry it open. Normally a port opened automatically when a body ceased functioning, but this one remained firmly closed, defying his attempts at opening it.

“Fuck,” he uttered as he stood and looked down the body refusing to release its treasure. “We’ll do it the hard way.” The chip worth too much and he had gone too far from the main mission, so he was not leaving it behind.

He looked around the room finding a garment bag in the corner. It was unusual to find something that usually held a suit, or other nice clothes, but he didn’t dwell on it for the addict probably gotten it from some apartment he robbed. He brought the bag to the bed, then climbed onto the back of the addict and began cutting.

D-Wave came out sweating, both from his exertions and from taking too long. It made him so nervous for any operation to take too long, but his knife was not ideal to the task he had assigned it. But after cutting and hacking away at the spine, he finally freed the head of its body, which he now carried in the garment bag, wrapped in plastic to keep the blood from oozing through. He raced down the passageway and across the tube Overtown. He had to get back to his place for it was dangerous to be carrying a man’s head, especially one with such a treasure locked away inside it.

Standing at the window, looking down twenty-one floors to the courtyard that ran down the middle of nearly half the length of the vessel, Jackson stared down at the trees in the park area. He remembered what his grandfather had said about choosing the interior side facing the courtyard in lieu of the exterior side facing the open ocean. Most of the first citizens who moved aboard chose the exterior side thinking they needed a view of the open ocean where the only deviation was the four other floating city platforms that could be seen on the horizon. The other nineteen were over the horizon in one direction or another. It took only a few years for people to begin to seek out interior units that at least afforded a view of other people and down below the rare sight of trees and other landscaping.

“Hey, come back to bed,” said Cameron who sat against the padded headboard.

Jackson turned and smiled back at him.

“I don’t know how you got the afternoon off but I’m glad you were able to do so,” Jackson whispered.

“I know the last few months have been tough. I can’t believe the mayor blamed you guys for what happened,” said Cameron referring to the failure to capture those responsible for the damage to some boats in the mariner.

“I still think it was some teenagers who had access to the mariner.”

“In other words, teenagers of friends of the mayor.”

“Yeah,” Jackson replied as he moved to the bed.

“Come on babe,” said Cameron patting the bed next to him.

Jackson looked down considering how Cameron viewed him. Babe, Jack, and ‘my husband’. To his mother he was Randall Jackson Miller and to uniforms at work he was Detective Miller or to those within the department, Detective Jackson, using his middle name in lieu of his last name. Each spoke to someone different and yet they were all him.

He moved back to the bed and eased down next to Cameron. As before they kissed as hands moved over familiar bodies. Each touch, each rub or manipulation was familiar. The knowing of how to bring pleasure to the other made their love making slow and gentle. There was no rush or anxiety. They knew what the other wanted, and soon Cameron pushed Jackson to his back and moved over him. Cocks were manipulated to full erection, then Cameron entered Jackson. Gently, pushed inward until nearly all the way, then he began to fuck. A tug outward, then another push inward, over and over. Cameron moved on top of Jackson until slow breaths became gasps and moans and utterances of their pleasure.

Cameron pumped cock faster and faster until they were fucking with a physicality. The bed squeaked and rocked beneath them. Jackson clutched the bed with a tight grip as he lay back feeling Cameron’s fuck. The push into his depths, the tug outward. How the rhythm of it inflamed his own desires, made his own cock rock hard.

Cameron pulled out.

“Roll over,” Cameron uttered breathlessly.

Jackson quickly rolled over and got on his knees and elbows. Head held down, he waited. A hand on his waist, then cock at his opening, pushing inward. Then hips pressed against his ass. A hand reached around his waist and took his cock, stroking it until his cock was slick. Then Cameron began to fuck again. To hammer cock into his depths while stroking his cock. He moaned and pushed back to take every inch.

Cameron fucked until gasping for breath, then he shoved inward, hard, and shuddered and jerked with release.

Jackson rolled to his back and knew Cameron would give him the final pleasure of his own release. He watched Cameron move up between his legs, take his cock and suck. He was so aroused it took over a few seconds and he shoved upward and filled Cameron’s mouth.

The phone rang and Jackson fumbled it the dark for it. He felt the wristband and grabbed it up. The screen glowed when he moved it, showing the call coming in. A swipe of a finger and the ringing stopped.

“Yeah, this better be good,” said Jackson.

“Sorry to call at this hour, but we need you at a crime scene,” replied the night shift Captain.

“You have you own crew, send one of them.”

“Do you remember a case about a year ago that ended up involving Sen. John Stevens?”

“Fuck,” Jackson uttered, sitting up in bed. “Yes. His son was down here causing trouble and the old man stepped in and hushed it up.”

“Well, he won’t hush it up this time.”

“Jesus, what happened?”

“Your partner will be waiting at the freight elevator in section 14, courtyard level.”

“Got it. Let Detective Gonzalez know I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

Jackson ended the call and sighed in resignation.

“Bad?” Cameron asked.

“I do believe this is going to be one hell of a long day,” Jackson uttered, then he leaned over and kissed Cameron. “Don’t wait up.”

“Just be careful.”

“Always.”

Jackson left their apartment still pulling on his coat. It was light-weight, and only meant to conceal the firearms he carried strapped to his body. The main pistol that fired rubber bullets meant to suppress someone, and tucked under his left arm, a 9mm, meant for the more serious situations. He had used the latter only twice in his career as a detective and each time swore it was the last time.

Rushing down the corridor he finally came to the elevator that served his section of apartments. Due to the late hour, not yet three in the morning, the elevator was quickly to his floor. He went all the way down to the courtyard level knowing the walks along the mercantile and business areas would be nearly desolate. During normal hours, he would have gone up to the twenty-fifth level and made his way to the other end of the vessel before going down.

Exiting the elevator, he rushed down the corridor and came out to the portico that ran along the courtyard with its trees and shrubs and patches of struggling grass. The train of the main level transit system approached, and he stepped on the platform to ride to the other end. The passenger cars were nearly empty. It was around six and after when the working shifts changed the cars would become packed with people. It took only a few minutes to pass through the smaller mid-ship courtyard and into the rearward courtyard. The train curved around and stopped at the station where riders heading further back would have to either go down to the transit system down in the tubes, or up five levels to the main courtyard level for this section.

Jackson always wondered why the assholes who designed these floating cities had to make so many level changes. He had heard one reference the greater equipment needs at the rearward section with its docking stations for airships, more helicopter pads, and the main power generators which forced the courtyard level up four levels higher than the forward courtyard. All he knew was how it was a pain in the ass to go from one end to the other.

Coming out on the higher courtyard level, he could see the far end a quarter mile away. He walked at a fast pace, keeping out along the edge of the landscaped center so what breeze that managed to swirl down into the vessel kept him cool. A few minutes later he passed through the doors labeled ‘Service Elevators: Do Not Enter’ to find Agredo Gonzalez waiting. She was two years older but due to her sex, hadn’t made detective until a year after he had done so. It was something she held against him for a month when they were partnered up.

“Detective, what brings you out on this fine morning?” asked Det. Gonzalez, voice full of sarcasm, something Jackson came to appreciate for the way it helped defuse ugly situations and make light of those moments the job began to get to them.

“Same as you. The thrill of the job and the chance to get a jump on the bad guys.”

“Well, let’s go catch some bad guys,” she replied as she waved the department issued pass card over the screen to summon one of the freight elevators.

They descend to the tube known as SoBe and rushed out to the walk that ran down the middle of the it. Like all the other tubes, it was a sixty-foot diameter pipe that made up the central passage. It was even darker, the only light garish blue lights of signs and the golden glow of light through the few windows that faced the walk. And it was still crowded with people, as it was during the nighttime hours.

“Jesus, this place never fails to be disturbing,” uttered Det. Gonzalez.

“Tell me about it. Which way?”

“This way. We need to cut over to Overtown then down one of the side passages.”

Jackson followed Gonzalez through part of Overtown and when she turned down a side passage, one narrow and dark with liquids dripping from pipe, he followed in her steps avoiding the puddles and obstructions lying on the floor. Near the other end where he knew it opened into Hell, the last tube section, one of nothing but the most broken and damaged of their society. A place they had carved out places to live, as unstable and damaged as it may be.

“Why does it have to be down here,” Jackson uttered as Gonzalez stopped at a ladder where four policemen were standing. Looking up he saw others four levels up.

“Come on Jack, let’s go up and get it over with,” said Gonzalez.

She climbed easily up the ladder to the fourth level, and he followed. The police stood right to the railing letting them pass as they made their way down to the container that the door stood open with bright lights shining out. Jackson saw the looks of the officers. Most a look of sympathy, but one smirked and he knew it was the one look that troubled him the most.

Dr. Williams, the coroner for MFC-6, Miami Floating City-6, stepped out removing his gloves.

“Jack, Gonzalez, just in time.”

“What have you got for us?” asked Gonzalez.

Dr. Williams looked at Gonzalez, then over to Jackson as he grimaced with what he had to tell them.

“That bad?” asked Jackson.

“Come in and see for yourself,” Dr. Williams replied, stepping back into the room.

Gonzalez stood the side and motioned theatrically for Jackson to enter first. “After you,” she said, voice full of her usual sarcasm.

“Thanks,” Jackson replied in a dead flat tone and entered the small space. It took his breath away, shocking him that a space could be worse than the passage outside. That had smelled of burnt oil, fouled and stagnant water and beneath it a rotting stench that no one wanted to find the source. But inside the room was something altogether different. A sour smell mixed with the sweat smell of rotting food and over it all, the smell of a body that had been compromised and left to its process of decomposition.

He scanned the room quickly wanting to get out as fast as he could. It was shocking the garbage that was strewn across the floor and piled along the walls. At the back of the small space where the bed sat was the most disturbing thing. A young male, both arms showing old school drug use, lying on a blood-soaked bed, and it was quickly obvious the head was missing.

“Do we know who it is?” asked Gonzalez.

“Yes, and you’re not going to like it,” Dr. William replied holding up his tablet, the screen glowing white. A one John Bryan Stevens, the son of…”

Jackson interrupted as his stomach knotted up tight, “son of Sen. John Stevens.”

“Yep.”

“Are you sure?”

“Fingerprints and DNA scan both confirm it.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jackson uttered rotating in a circle in the small space. He looked at Gonzalez shaking his head, then back at Dr. Williams. “Why did they remove his head?”

“My best guess?”

“It’s all I got to go on right now.”

“He probably had a port inserted in his head and was using those chips.”

“And someone wanted the one he had just acquired?”

“My best guess,” Dr. Williams replied. “When you are done looking around, let my crew know so they can get the body back to my lab.”

Dr. Williams stepped out to coordinate with his crew leaving Jackson and Gonzalez to look around.

“There is so much garbage I’m not sure where to look or what to look for,” Gonzalez uttered giving Jackson a frown.

“I know. I doubt there is anything here but let’s get a team in here and go through it. What I want to know is why was the senator’s son here in the first place. I thought we were rid of him. Let’s get surveillance to check the camera footage to see what he was up to.”

“Why was he staying here of all places?”

“Out of sight, but I bet he stayed somewhere else first. The senator has a place here and I bet his son stayed in it when he first arrived. Let’s check the records.”

Jackson and Gonzalez strolled into the station and saw the other detectives look away. There was nothing like a headache of a case to get others to leave one alone. The captain stepped out of his office before they had a chance to sit down.

“Miller! Gonzalez! Come into my office.”

They moved into the office behind the captain and took a seat in front of his desk. He sat down, leaning back as he always did when he had a lot on his mind.

“I guess we’re in the shit again,” said the captain, finally breaking the silence.

“Yep,” Gonzalez replied.

“You need anything?”

“Some manpower,” Jackson replied.

“I know but none of the guys out there want anything to do with this case. The senator made such a fuss last time.”

“Can we get a couple of beat cops to do some of the leg work?”

“I was thinking about that,” the captain replied as he sat up and pushed a flash drive chip across his desk. “This has resumes of those downstairs who want to become detectives. Read through them and see which two we can offer the opportunity to show their worth.”

“Seriously? We can temporarily pull two officers?” asked Gonzalez.

“Not typically done but then again we usually don’t have a case like this.”

“Thanks captain,” said Jackson as he picked up the sliver round disk. “I’ll look over them tonight and get back to you in the morning. How soon do you think we can transfer them up?”

“Before day’s end. I’ll put a priority on it. Now we’ve handled the manpower thing, what is your first move on the case?”

“Find out where John Bryan Stevens was staying when he came back aboard and what he had been doing. I think the face recognition program should be able to go through the camera feeds of the last few months before the end of the day.”

“You know the senator has a place here.”

“Yes, but not sure where. Do you know?”

“Coral Tower.”

“Not surprised. We’ll want a search warrant to get into it.”

“You’ll need to prove the son was in it, even if for only a few minutes, then that won’t be a problem.”

“You think the senator would object to us going into it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we’ll just have to prove junior was in it,” Gonzalez interjected eliciting a smile from Jackson and the captain.

Jackson sipped the Kentucky whiskey Cameron had managed to find as he stared at his monitor with the files of police officers on it. He had gone through them and slid all but two to the side. He moved to the set aside files and clicked on them again. It made no sense the two he was considering. Both were some of the youngest on the force but there was something in each that made him consider them over more veteran officers. Men and women with years of experience, but each one was like a repeat of the other. Typical arrests, some sound police work, and the occasional moment that let them have a bit of the spotlight. But none had anything special about them. That intangible aspect he couldn’t describe but knew when he saw it.

He opened the first file and saw Maria Gomez’s photo come on the screen. She was only twenty-eight, but she had come from a foster home where the husband had tried to abuse her. She gained her independence at only sixteen after the jury sided with her and put him in prison, once he had recovered from the injuries sustained by her fighting back. It made Jackson smile to see someone who looked so slim and barely tall enough to meet standards have the power and cunning to take down a man more than twice her size. Rereading her history on the force did nothing to dissuade him she was one to consider. Several men complained at having to work with her, saying she didn’t know her place. Jackson could read between the lines and knew she simply showed them up.

He opened the next file and saw Ryan Bennett’s photo come on the screen. He was younger still, only twenty-seven. He came from a family of police officers out of Atlanta, and nothing in the file gave him the reason why this golden boy, one with the path to success all set for him chose instead to get a transfer from Atlanta down to MFC-6. It was a demotion in every way to Jackson’s way of thinking. When he read Ryan’s history, he saw someone very smart and bound to the duty of a police officer. He had served eight years in the Marines, but unlike all the others who gave detailed descriptions of their time, Ryan’s was brief. To Jackson, it was a hint that Ryan’s service would be much more interesting to read than the others., After leaving the Marines, Ryan joined the police department in his hometown, no doubt thinking it was a place he would rise up through the ranks, then eventually retire. The case history showed right before he asked for a transfer, an arrest of a certain state congressman by Ryan. The congressman was not charged in the end. Jackson could see it, a corrupt politician, and a police force willing to play along. There was even a reprimand against Ryan by his father, the police captain of his station, over the incident.

Jackson sat back and wondered if his captain would think him crazy to suggest them, but he knew Capt. Chlebek had put them in the file, so it was obvious he felt there was something worth a look in each one. Leaning forward he typed out an email to the captain inserting the two files. When word got out the others would be furious for being passed over by two so young, so he suggested the captain ask for volunteers for his case, letting them know it was the senator’s son. He knew after a day no one in their right mind would do so, then they could just say they had to take what they could get.

Closing the screen, he stretched, stood up and headed to the bathroom. He had heard the shower come on and suddenly felt a bit frisky. He went into the bedroom, stripped off his clothes, then eased into the bathroom. He could see Cameron through the shower door, blurred by the fogged up glass. He eased the door open and stepped in.

“Hey,” Cameron uttered, smiling at Jackson as he moved under the spray.

“Wash my back?” said Jackson.

“I’ll do more than that,” Cameron replied, moving up behind him.

Bodies pressed together Jackson felt Cameron grow erect. He felt the cock pressed to his ass stretch out longer and thicken until he knew it would be rock hard. He leaned forward as a hand moved around his waist and took his own cock. The manipulation by the fingers, then the loose grasp, the hand now moving along its growing length. Jackson felt his arousal. The feel of Cameron against his back, the cock against his ass, and the hand stroking him. He pushed back and moaned. Cameron kissed the back of his neck, then moved to the left ear.

“I love you.”

“I love you,” Jackson replied in a breathless whisper.

The hand let him go and he felt Cameron’s cock rake up and down his ass. He reached back and spread his cheeks. He wanted to feel that cock on his opening, to feel it rub over it then punch through its tightness. He wanted to feel the penetration and the fullness of Cameron inside him.

Cameron pressed against the tightness until Jackson opened to him. Slowly, he pushed inward, sinking inch after inch into Jackson until over half of his cock was inside him. Then he held Jackson by the waist and began to fuck. To tug outward and push back in. Over and over, until his pace was a fuck. He moved with determination and need, thrusting into Jackson’s depths.

Jackson leaned forward until braced against the wall on his hands. With the shower washing over his head, he took it, every thrust. His own cock flopped between his thighs as Cameron kept up his pace.

“You want it now…or do you want to get on the bed?” Cameron gasped.

“NOW; do it now,” Jackson exclaimed, pushing back.

Cameron kept up his pace, hammering cock in Jackson’s depths. He leaned forward and kissed Jackson on the right shoulder blade, then he nipped at the skin while keeping up his pace. He felt Jackson dig fingers into his thighs. The urgency of it, the desperate need, and he increased his pace until the sound of flesh smacking flesh echoed in the small bathroom.

“Fuck,” Cameron uttered as he shuddered with release.

Jackson held still as Cameron pumped his hole full of cum. Every thrust into his depths was another wad. Cameron finally fell still, gasping for breath. Jackson savored the feel of Cameron still inside him. The fullness of it was so satisfying he struggled with his desire for it not to end. Then he felt Cameron move and suddenly he was being turned around, lips were against his own, then moving down his neck, chest, stomach, until they were wrapped around the head of his cock. The slick heat of those lips taking his cock made it flex with his arousal. He felt the mouth work his cock, lips sliding up and down his cock, the tongue torturing the head. He moaned and shuddered with the manipulation. He slammed his hands against the wall behind him, then he jerked and thrust forward with his own release. He felt the suctioning mouth, then the tongue licking the head.

Cameron stood and they kissed again, then slowly bathed the other.

Shower shut off, they toweled each other dry, another aspect of their sex repeated often. Cameron hung their towels and took Jackson by the hand leading him to their bed.

Snuggled together, Jackson felt himself relax. His fatigue and tiredness overwhelmed him. Eyes closed, he drifted off into a deep sleep.

Ryan Bennett was stir-crazy, had been for the last two weeks. He had been a resident of the floating city for less than two months and had been so busy finding a place to live, make all his shifts, agreeing to extra hours to cover his expenses from the move, that he had no time for anything personal. No nights in a bar with a possibility to hookup, no dinners with someone from a dating app, or even a night out with some of the other officers. But after working his beat for seven straight days, he finally had two days off and he intended to make the best of it.

He had handled getting his apartment cleaned up, went grocery shopping so he could stop eating out all the time, and now he came to the Lower Allapattah Plaza and entered the area for the Blue Light District. It was all the legal clubs of the city, and he knew down below there was another blue light district that was anything but legal. He had no desire to test his luck and what he wanted was easily found through the double doors he passed through into the cool mall of garish lights and men roaming around in various costumes that spoke to their fetishes and desires. He blended into the crowd, a white t-shirt a size too small revealing his muscular body and pants that hung low on his waist, making him one of many dressed similarly.

He had not gone far when he saw the club he sought. A voyeurs’ paradise from its description, and for him, it was all he wanted. He wasn’t in the mood to try the dating app or the going bar to bar looking to hookup. Tonight, he just wanted to get off and the club promised the stimulation to make it have a bit of pleasure.

Inside the reception with others staring at him wondering why someone so young and attractive was at the club, he paid the fee, took the towel and robe provided and headed to the locker room. He followed the signs down a maze of corridors until he came into a locker room no different from the one in the police department. Ugly brown tile covered the floor and lockers covered the walls up to head height. A shower room was straight ahead and to the right a bathroom. He found his assigned locker, punched in the code to open it, then began to strip.

Robe secured around his waist, he smirked at his reflection in a mirror by the door seeing how short the damn thing was on him. His cock hung barely out of sight, but he knew it didn’t matter for those in the locker room had been boring holes in him with their eyes and soon, anyone in the club would see him too.

There were two rooms of entertainment, and he went to the one with the faster, more upbeat music. The room was so dark he had trouble distinguishing the aisles from the lounge seats that circled the stage. The only real light was the spotlights on the stage that projected out into the room. The arrangement made sure no seat was too far from the action. Ryan moved to the opposite side, so he didn’t have his back to the door and took a seat up front near the end of the stage. The stage was empty, so he settled into the lounge chair and waited for the next round of entertainment.

Maria Gomez entered the bar and saw some eyes turn toward her. She recognized each look. The hunter, the hopeful, the curious, and the one seeking a sympathetic ear. She ignored them all as she made her way to the bar. She took a seat at the end away from the others at the bar.

The bartender took her order and moved to the shelves behind him to retrieve a bottle of tequila. She had promised herself not to do any work but before the drink was sitting on the bar, she had her hand-held out and scrolling through files on the case. She just didn’t understand why the perp’s wife covered for him. It was obvious he abused her. If only she could get the wife alone for a few minutes. But her partner kept getting in the way, fucking it up.  

Before long Gomez had her second drink in front of her. She was looking at travel logs of the perp’s movements. His movements through different areas of the floating city. His movements down in the tubes were the ones that interested her the most, and she made a note to ask for surveillance from the tubes he had been in

.

A look her way, then the diverting of the eyes. She smiled as she studied the guy just around the corner of the bar from her. Neat haircut, clothes of someone in a white-collar job, and introverted to a fault. He was no predator, but to her, more like prey. She sipped her drink as she kept her eyes on him. He looked over and was about to turn away again when she spoke.

“Tough day at work?”

“Huh?”

“Tough day?”

“OH, yeah. My manager made a mistake in an order, then blamed me for it.”

“You got his signatures in the transactions, right? Doesn’t your system record who does each transaction and communication?”

“Yes, but…”

“Leak it out to whoever is above him. Throw his ass under the bus.”

The guy laughed, nodding his head.

“That is what Cheryl told me to do.”

“Who’s she? Your girlfriend?”

“Nothing like that; she’s with another group but we share a space.”

“Well, she’s right. Don’t let them push you around.”

“I know you’re right.”

“I’m Maria.”

“Maria?” he repeated as if it were an alien name. “I’m Kole.”

“Kole…with a ‘c’ or a ‘k’?”

“K.”

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“That would be nice.”

Ryan set his empty glass down and pushed back to a reclined position. The shows were about to begin, and he was more than ready, feeling his cock stir under the soft cotton robe. A man comes out wearing a jock strap. A lean body that made him look young, and for the men around the stage, the fantasy of innocence. He moved out until in the last spotlight and went to his knees. He had them spread allowing the pouch of the jock strap to hang heavy between his thighs. He leaned back letting the light illuminate his body. The flat chest and stomach. He ran a hand up his stomach and over his chest. The pouch flexed as he raked his hand over hardening nipples. And Ryan, along with all the other men, watched his every move.

A man came from backstage and came into the second spotlight where he stood looking around

the room then toward the young guy who knew he was there without having to look back. Ryan looked at the man’s dress, a harness and leather pants. The harness fit tight around a muscular upper body and Ryan’s eyes followed each strap across the chest, then scanned down at the bulging crotch, realizing it was a cod piece zippered up each side.

A few steps, and the man is behind the young man who turned on his knees and rose until he could push his face into the cod piece. The young man kissed it, rubbed his face over it, then he mouthed it.

            Ryan watched as the young man struggled to bite down on one zipper and once it was between his teeth, he tugged it down to its bottom. The young man moved to the other side and Ryan could see a glimpse of cock struggled to free itself from the confines of the cod piece. The young man moves down dragging the other zipper down and the cod piece falls allowing a half hard cock to rise. Ryan pulls his robe open until he is exposed from head to toe with his own cock getting hard. He took it in hand and stroked slowly as the young man takes the man in his mouth.

            Ryan watches the young man suck cock as he strokes his own. A quick glance to each side and he sees he is not the only one. The sucking continues until drool drips from the young man’s chin, then the older man says something and quickly the young man is on his hands and knees. Ryan has a side view of the lean young man, with the pouch of the jock strap bulging down with hardening cock. The older man drops to his knees and puts his cock to the young man’s ass. A slow push and Ryan watches intently as the cock disappears. It doesn’t take long and the slow push and tug of cock into the young man becomes a fuck. A hard brutal fuck, hips smacking against ass. The young man drops his shoulders to the stage floor and holds up his arms. The older man takes them and like reins for a horse, uses them to hold him in place as he hammers cock inside him.

A grunt to his left, and Ryan looks over to see a cock spurt cum into the air. He turns back to the stage as another grunts and moans with release. Like toppling dominoes, one after the next cums. But Ryan isn’t ready to cum, and he slows his stroking, hand barely moving as he watches the older man pull out and spray a huge load over the young man’s back.

Ryan watches them leave disappointed he only got to see the older man get off but wonders if it is to keep the young one horny and willing. He expects to see him again before the night is over. He doesn’t have to wait long before a low platform bed is rolled out with two men pretending to be asleep under the cover draped over it. They appear to be about thirty, average muscular builds. One is blonde and the other a rare redhead. The other stage lights go out leaving only the one over the bed. The cover is pulled from the bed by one of the men who pushed the bed out, leaving the two pretending to be asleep uncovered. There will be no teasing strip for both are naked.

The two men stir, kiss slowly, then fondle the other’s cock. They quickly move into a sixty-nine sucking the other’s cock. Heads move up and down dragging lips over thickening cocks. They suck noisily, sloppily, leaving the cock slick with drool. Ryan found himself stroking his cock in rhythm to the up and down motion of the redhead. He felt his arousal increase, his cock hardened to the point it flexed in his hand. Then let go determined not to cum yet.

The two men began moving around and Ryan watched with a smile as the blonde got on his back and rested his legs on the redhead’s shoulders. It excited him to see the redhead on top, moving over the blonde folding him in half. Once the redhead’s cock was hovering over the upturned ass, he knew it was going to be time to get off very soon. With eyes glued on that redhead’s cock as it sank into the blonde, he resumed stroking his own. As the redhead held the blonde down and worked his hips, pulling up until his cock nearly slipped free, then plunging down, sinking it back into the blonde all the way, Ryan stroked his cock. The redhead pulled out once, let his cock hover over the blonde’s hole, then he punched through the closing opening and buried it inside him.

“Yeah…fuck that ass,” Ryan uttered as he watched the redhead’s pace increase.

The sound of flesh smacking against flesh filled the room as the redhead hammered cock into the blonde. The blonde’s cries grew louder. Moans and grunts and a whimpering that made Ryan smile. He watched the blonde clutch at the bed, then hold the redhead’s waist.

Ryan felt his own arousal, the need for release, and he was going to stroke to the end, but when the redhead got up on his knees, he released his cock from the tight grip he had on it and watched as the redhead manhandled the blonde, getting him on his knees. The blonde’s cock was angled up fully erect and the head was wet. The redhead entered him again, then slipped an arm around his neck pulling him back. With back arched and hips pushed out, the blonde’s cock was on full display and just as quickly in the redhead’s hand.

The redhead fucked the blonde’s ass while stroking his cock, and Ryan kept pace, stroking his own with the same brutal pace. He focused on the fuck, the shear physicality of it, not seeing or hearing anything around him. Not the two men sucking another, not the one to his right pushed down on the floor getting fucked. He didn’t notice on the other side of the stage a man riding another’s cock. All he saw was the redhead holding the blonde while fucking him. The blonde’s hips rocked forward with every thrust inward making him cry out. He moaned and begged the redhead to fuck him. His pleadings echoed in the room and aroused Ryan to the breaking point.

The blonde began to shudder and jerk in the redhead’s arms, then cum spurt from his cock. Thick wads that rained down on the bed as the redhead kept pumping cock into his depths. Ryan pushed up with his hips and grunted as he came. Cum hit him on the cheek, then a thick rope spattered his neck and upper chest, then more wads landed on his chest and stomach as he kept stroking his spurting cock. On stage the blonde shot wad after wad until spent, begging the redhead to stop. Then he was on his back with the redhead stroking slick cock over his face. It took mere seconds and the blonde’s face was covered in cum. Then he sucked the redhead’s cock clean and lay back smiling.

“I’ll lick it off,” said a voice to Ryan’s right and he looked over to a man staring at his chest.

“No, I want to feel it dry on my skin.”

The man smiled, nodding his head. “Don’t blame you,” he uttered, disappointed but understanding, then he was just as quickly over to another man where he was rewarded with a nod of acceptance.

Ryan lay back and looked at the stage with only one light on wondering what the next show will be like. He felt the cum trickle over his sides and with a look down his body he saw the shiny pools spread out. His cock was flaccid, but he knew it wouldn’t take much to renew it to full erection. He considered going to the bar but thought better of it.

A young Latino came on the stage wearing loose gym shorts. They concealed nothing of the cock moving with his stride. Ryan looked at the tanned skin tone and the dark wavy hair and when the guy looked over his audience, Ryan saw the brown eyes and mischievous smile. The soft music that played in the background stopped and a man’s voice came on.

“Gentlemen, please welcome Garcia to the stage. For your pleasure, he will now submit for tonight’s bukkake. Those who wish to partake, please come to the steps at the ends of the stage area. We will limit the number to fourteen men.”

The music came back on as Ryan watched men make their way to one end or the other of the stage area. He had no interest in participating for tonight was about getting off and nothing else. He lay back and watched Garcia come out to the end of the stage and start to fondle himself. He looked half hard already and soon a thick tube of flesh was pushing against the front of the gym shorts. Ryan let his own arousal grow with Garcia’s. He toyed with his cock, stroked it, ran fingers over the head with soft touches that made him moan. As he manipulated himself, he watched Garcia go down to his knees as men filed out and made a half circle around his back. They were stroking cocks to renewed hardness as Garcia toyed with the audience. He played with his cock through the gym shorts, slipped a hand inside them working it around, then he pushed the front down enough to expose pubic hair, then teased everyone with the exposure of the head of his cock.

“Fucking tease,” Ryan uttered to himself, smiling at how it gave him a twisted pleasure.

Garcia pushed his cock down until the head was visible at the right leg opening. He pushed it down further and an inch, then another came into view. With a look back at the men behind him, one moved forward and rubbed hard cock over his face, across his lips, then held the head at them. Garcia smiled then opened his mouth taking the cock.

Garcia sucked the man, then another, and another, until most had taken a turn at feeling his mouth on their cock. Garcia moved to his hands and knees and looked over his shoulder and the men took everything to the next level. One came forward and dropped to his knees behind Garcia. He tugged off the shorts and bent to his ass. Face buried between the round cheeks, Garcia held his head up and moaned. Another moved in front of him and plugged his mouth.

Ryan felt his arousal grow as he watched Garcia get his ass eaten out and his mouth fucked. Then he had to release his cock when the guy behind Garcia stood on knees and plunged cock into the depths of Garcia’s hole. Garcia moaned around the cock pumping his mouth. Ryan watched as the men rotated, coming in pairs taking their turn at Garcia’s ass and mouth. He could hear the muffled groans and noisy sucking and lewd comments by the men. He tightened his grip and stroked slowly as he watched.

Then the men stood back while Garcia stood on his knees stroking his cock. Staring out, Garcia was the ultimate tease, stroking his cock slowly, so very slowly, as every eye was glued to it. Ryan saw how the head flared wider and the shaft filled Garcia’s hand. The sac drew up tight showing just how close Garcia had become. Then men came closer, each with hard drooling cocks. One came forward stroking faster and faster. Garcia angled his head back with mouth open just in time for rope after rope of cum to splash across his face and into his open mouth. The man stepped back and two more came forward, one on each side. Garcia took their cock and tongued them, sucked the head of both into his mouth, then stroked each until his face was plastered with two more loads. Two more came forward and within seconds stroked themselves to release covering Garcia’s face with more cum.

Ryan watched as two more came forward then one alone whose release had been shocking. Thick wads splattered Garcia’s face, then down his neck and chest. Two more came forward and far too quickly, rained down their loads over Garcia’s head and face.

Ryan was close, felt his own need for release as the remaining three approached Garcia. The one behind Garcia grabbed him by the hair and tugged his head back until Garcia was bent backwards resting on his hands. The man came, shooting a rope of cum that went from Garcia’s open mouth, down his neck and over his chest. One came in Garcia’s face, then turned to pump the last of his load across Garcia’s chest. The last one moved between Garcia’s knees, angling his cock down and sprayed wads of cum over Garcia’s cock and hand.

“Fuck,” Ryan uttered as Garcia stroked his slick cock while cum trickled down his face and body. The men stood back, encouraging Garcia to cum. Ryan found himself echoing them as his own release surged through him.

Garcia threw his head back and cried out, body shuddering and jerking. Then he came, thick wads shooting out in a huge arch in front of him.

Ryan watched the rain of cum then shuddered with his own release, his cock flexing in his hand as it spewed wad after wad into the air only to have it rain down on his face and chest.

The scent of cum filled the air as everyone lay in a stupor, with spent cocks going flaccid. Some men left while others lay still. Ryan was one of the latter for he wasn’t leaving until he knew he was totally spent, too wiped out to get another erection.

While laying still his mind drifted, until he wondered how long he could continue living as he had been, too focused on his new job to have any personal life. It was just long hours on the beat, then quiet nights alone in his apartment. He had become so stir crazy and desperate to just get off to something other than online porn. It was the reason he was here, in this club in the middle of the night waiting for the next show to begin. He didn’t have to wait long.

Gomez stepped out of an apartment; one she hadn’t even noticed the number on the door that gave it a place among the many along the long corridor. She leaned back against the closed door wondering if she should have untied him. He was still tied up on the bed and she wondered how long it would take him to work himself free. It made her smile at how he had begged her to tie him up. She chuckled with the memory of him telling her to look in the nightstand drawer where she found a strap-on. She had made him do things that gave her pleasure, then she had strapped on the massive dildo and done him until everything was wet.

She felt the tension leave her body. I had been building up for the last couple of weeks, ever since that asshole Jerry kept giving her shit assignments after her rejection of his advances. She had been tempted to let his wife know but decided to hold back not wanting to get into any more trouble with the guys than she already found herself.

She pushed off the wall and made her way to the elevators. It didn’t take long for the hour was very early morning on a weekend and very view would be stirring about. She rode down to the main level and came out on Lower Allapattah Plaza. A breeze swirled down into the courtyard rustling the tree canopies and blew the debris and garbage tossed on the ground during the night. She turned left and walked quickly to release the final tension she felt. The exertion felt good to her tired muscles. She moved in the shadowed courtyard the early morning sun never able to penetrate its depths. She passed through the breezeway into Brickell Plaza and to the foyer of her apartment building. She was four floors up, the first of the apartment levels. It was undesirable to most for how low it was among the levels, but she loved the view out into the small plaza with its artwork and large pots containing small trees. She was going to go up and take a shower and fall into bed. Come Monday she knew she would feel refreshed, ready to handle more of Jerry’s shit.

Ryan looked down his body at the stage. There was his wet skin, pools of cum he had been running his fingers through, then there was his flaccid cock and below that his long legs stretched out and spread apart letting him feel his nakedness. The exposure to anyone who wanted to look. He normally didn’t go for the exhibition, but in this place, he knew it was expected, a part of its charm he amusedly thought. But the thing that captured his eyes the most was the three guys coming on stage. He looked at them wondering if they were old enough to be here. He knew the age limit was eighteen and this club was all legal, keeping records of everyone who performed and those who came as patrons to watch. He had seen the strictness of the door policy, one guy being turned away for not having his identification with him, even though he was obviously much older than eighteen. Two were tall with lean builds and the third was short with a build that was skinny in lieu of lean.

The boys kissed and fondled each other until erect. The short one went to his knees and began to suck one then the other. On his knees with them spread apart, he gave everyone a full view of his body. He sucked cock and stroked his own enough to keep it angled up hard. The other two became rock hard, one’s cock curved upward with a flared head and the other’s stuck straight out, thick as a wrist with a tapered head.

Ryan began to toy with his cock as he watched the short boy suck. The bulge of a cock head pushing out his cheek, the drool that ran down his chin and dripped to his chest, and the noisy slurping sounds that made the men watching grow aroused.

The tall boys pulled back and got on their knees. They kissed the shorter boy then guided him down on elbows and knees. It wasn’t long before he was getting fucked at both ends. Curved cock pushed into his throat and the other, thicker, and longer, bore into his depths.

Ryan watched fascinated by how easily the short boy could take cock. He had seen it online, some guy small in stature take some massive cock, but never in person had he seen such a feat. There was the slurping sound of a mouth being fucked, then the steady rhythm of flesh smacking against flesh as the other boy hammered cock into the short one’s hole. How long it went on, Ryan had no idea, but he heard other men grunt and cry out with release. Across the stage two men got on their knees on the lounger and stroked off to release. He kept a low rhythm, running his hand up to the sensitive head and all the way down to the base. He was pacing himself for he just knew the best was yet to come.

The tall boys pulled out of the shorter one and lay on the stage, working their legs by the other’s torso until their ass were touching. They held up their cocks, rubbing them against each other, then tapping them together for the show of it. The short boy moved over them, turning sideways. It gave Ryan a full frontal view as the short guy eased down to the two cocks.

Ryan leaned up his head and despite his intention to hold back, felt himself stroking faster and faster as he watched those two cocks stretch that boy’s hole open then disappear inside it. Inch after inch disappeared as the boy eased down as far as he could, the point the two cocks angled apart too much.

“Goddamn,” Ryan uttered, an old blasphemy that had lost all meaning except as a good profane utterance. He leaned up and looked around his hand that was becoming a blur to the stage where the short boy was moving up and down. A quickening of pace and the short boy was fucking himself on those cocks. Ryan watched how the boy’s cock flopped up and down with his movements. He watched the ecstasy of the boy’s face wondering if it was theater, or if the boy was truly enjoying their sex. It wasn’t a lingering question for the fuck was too intense and real.

When the young boy took his own cock in hand and began to stroke it, Ryan found himself falling in rhythm to his masturbation. The fuck continued and the boy stroked his cock while moving up and down. Ryan stroked his own until he felt the surge of another release building. The two tall boys became animated, begging the short one not to stop, to keep going. They were close. One boy began to shudder and push upward, then the other followed suit. It was obvious they came inside the short boy, both jerking and shuddering. The short boy kept moving up and down on the spurting cocks until cum trickled out of this stretched hole and down them. Then he came too. He sat down lower than any time before and shuddered with release as cum spurt from his cock. Ryan watched cum fly through the air, shocked at how much there was of it, then he shuddered with his own release feeling cum land on this stomach then dribble from the slit.

For a few minutes, Ryan lay gasping for breath, then he closed the robe over his body to soak up some of the cum and got to his feet. He felt drunk with his fatigue and release, and it made him smile as he made his way among the lounge chairs with men waiting on the next show. Some were new, having just arrived, but those messed up with cum he knew had been there as long as he had been.

Back in the changing room, he took a quick shower and got dressed. He tossed the dirtied robe and towel in a hamper and strolled out into the early morning of a new day. The courtyard was in shadow but looking up the upper floors were shining with the morning sunlight. He made his way toward his apartment ready to crash for most of the day. It would fuck up his sleep hours, but he knew by Monday morning he would be forced back on schedule.

He rode the escalator up to Upper Allapattah Plaza and strolled to the other end and into the foyer for his apartment complex. He felt lucky to get on a courtyard, even if it were only the third apartment level and so close to the end that it never got any sunlight. The option had been two on the ocean side and he couldn’t image a view of nothing but open water. He rode up the elevator and came into the corridor. He moved down the corridor reliving the last few hours smiling how degenerate some would have found it. He was halfway to his apartment when he saw a man leaning against the wall next to his door. It felt wrong and he tensed while slowing down. Had his father sent someone or was this something else. He approached cautiously, wondering if he would have to defend himself.

“Relax Mr. Bennett, I’m here to talk,” the man said without looking up. When he finally raised his head, Ryan recognized him as one of the detectives.

“What seems to be the matter?” asked Ryan.

“Can we talk inside?”

“Sure.”

Ryan unlocked the door and let the detective enter first. He saw his apartment in a new light. A sofa and monitor in the living area with nothing personal that spoke of someone actually living there. To the left the small bistro table and two chairs, one piled with dirty clothes. It looked like a person who had no life or didn’t intend to hang around very long.

“Can I offer you something to drink? Water?”

“No thanks,” the detective replied, moving to the window. “Not a bad view of the plaza.”

“I like it.”

“I’m Detective Jackson Miller.”

“Why are you here, detective?”

“A proposition, a chance to take the next step in your career.”

“And what is this proposition?”

“We need help upstairs with a case, a couple of people to help with the leg work of the investigation. It is not a case most want any part of and…”

Ryan interrupted Jackson, moving to the back of the sofa. “It’s the case involving the senator’s son; John Bryan Stevens.”

“Yes.”

“And I’ll be made a detective?”

“Not at first, not officially, but to the public, yes.”

“And when the case is over, I’ll have to go back downstairs?”

“Maybe…” Jackson replied, looking back at Ryan, then he looked back out the window, “maybe not.”

“What will determine my success or failure?”

“Good question. I’m not sure. It took some maneuvering to make this happen and we’re still figuring it out. You know the internal politics of it.”

“Unfortunately.”

“I think you’ll be a good fit.”

“And all I have to do is say yes?”

“And show up Monday morning ready to work.”

Ryan didn’t know what to think. It seemed impossible he could be made a detective so quickly and over so many others he knew were on the list. He also knew never to turn down an opportunity.

“Okay, I’ll come on board. But one more question.”

“Shoot.”

“I will not have to wear the police uniform, will I?”

Jackson chuckled, shaking his head. “No, coat of some kind that is light but with lots of pockets and a decent shirt and pants. Come in early to get your badge and Identification changed.”

“So, that’s it. You show up at my door on a Saturday morning and on Monday I play detective.”

“Yep,” Jackson replied, moving around the sofa and back toward the door. “I’ll see myself out. You get cleaned up from your night of fun and get some sleep.”

Gomez strolled down the corridor to her apartment wishing she had her gun. Someone was sitting on the floor by her door. It felt wrong. She never had visitors and at this hour of the morning nothing good could come from someone being at her door. She slowed her stride and approached ready to defend herself.

“Relax Gomez, I’m here to talk,” said the person and Gomez realized it was a woman.

The woman stood and watched her approach. She recognized her as one of the detectives upstairs, one she admired. Agredo Gonzalez who was partnered with Jackson Miller. They had a reputation of being thorough and professional, and more importantly to her, not taking a bunch of shit off people, either form higher up with their politics, or out in the public.

“You’re Detective Gonzalez.”’

“Yes, and I need to have a word with you.”

“Okay, come on in.

It was only fifteen minutes later, and Gomez found herself sitting alone, staring out the window at Brickell Plaza. Fifteen minutes to have her expectations of life on the force changed. She was going to arrive on Monday a detective, even if it were not promised as a permanent position. But there was the tease it could be, if only she earned it, performed her duties with excellence. She smiled, for she knew this was the kind of opportunity she had dreamed of.

Jackson came to the door for the foyer of government services. There was the mayor’s office on the top floor, the council offices one down and between the lobby and those floors were the Planning office, the Rental Office, Sanitation, Water, and on the third through fifth floors, the police department. When he reached for the door, he saw in its reflection Gonzalez coming up behind him. He moved to the side to let her enter first.

“Good morning, how was your weekend?”

“Good. And yours?” Gonzalez replied.

“Good. Are you ready to break in our rookies?”

“Something tells me we won’t need to.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I can’t wait to hear what the others say.”

“They can’t say anything. We put up a notice last Wednesday for volunteers to come on board.”

Gonzalez laughed, shaking her head.

“You knew no one would volunteer.”

“But they would act like jealous children if someone got promoted above them.”

“So, now they cannot say shit about it.”

“Not to me anyway.”

They fell in with others waiting for the elevators and after letting one full cab go on, they stepped in the next one to open. Standing at the front they smiled at each other for two men had stepped in before them that were passed over. They could hear the two men whispering behind them.

On the third floor the two men and a woman got off the elevator, then on the fourth floor Jackson and Gonzalez stepped off heading to the office area for the detectives. Through the glass doors they could see Ryan Bennett and Maria Gomez sitting in the chairs used by the public while the detectives went about their business.

“They’re ignoring them,” Gonzalez stated as they approached the doors.

“Yep. Let’s get them settled,” Jackson replied.

After the detectives greeted everyone and made introductions, explaining in vague details what Bennett and Gomez would be doing they excused themselves, calling for a meeting on the case. Bennett and Gomez sat opposite each other at the small conference room table as Gonzalez brought up the online files. Jackson moved to the front of the room next to the monitor.

“As you know, we’re investigating the death of Senator Stevens’ son. His head had been removed and we think it was to retrieve a chip from an implant John Bryan Stevens had done.”

“What’s our evidence?” asked Gomez.

“It’s been done before.”

“Those things were a problem in Atlanta, but the black market was so good the police…” said Bennett, letting his voice trail off.

“Did nothing?” asked Gomez.

“Yeah,” Bennett replied in a low voice.

“Three and fifteen had a similar problem and the FBI came in and purged the department and the city councils,” said Gonzalez. She smiled like it was a win for the good guys.

“So where do we start? I’ve read the file and there isn’t much to go on,” asked Gomez.

“We start with security cameras. We want to track the victim’s movements, see who he met and where. We have the city system doing facial now on all their cameras, but they have very few in the tubes and even less around the high dollar apartments,” said Jackson.

“Where the Senator has a place and we think his son was staying for part of the time,” added Gomez.

“There are private citizens who have security cameras at their front doors, private companies that monitor the area around their businesses, and the tele-communications guys have their own system. We need you to go through them, every one you can get access too.”

“We’ll need warrants,” said Bennett.

“Taken care of,” Gonzalez replied, sliding several warrants across the table.

“And just so we’re clear on this, and this stays amongst us, we want reason to search the Senator’s apartment. Last time we had an issue with junior, he refused any access to his apartment. We want to get ahead of him on this and find reasonable cause to search, and we need to do it before he gets here tomorrow, if possible,” said Jackson.

“Tomorrow?” exclaimed Bennett and Gomez together.

“Yeah, we know. That is why we got you on board. The four of us might get lucky and find what we need. We’re sending you two to do the Senator’s apartment building. No one should recognize you and you’ll have the ability of plausible denial if you get questioned.”

“And we’ll be down in the tubes looking for security cameras belonging to those fine establishments down there to see what they may provide,” added Gomez.

“You’re doing the tubes and letting us have the luxury apartment building?” asked Gomez.

“Believe me, if anyone in that building figures out what you’re really after, you’ll wish you were in the tubes with us,” said Gonzalez as she checked her handheld.

Bennett looked out the interior window to see the other detectives watching them.

“What do they know?”

“Not much and we need to keep it that way,” Jackson replied.

Jackson and Gonzalez made their way down to Overtown, and began to look for private cameras, the small red lights giving them away while they didn’t record digital images but infrared and heat signatures. The illegal drug houses, night clubs, and bars had nothing but the best when it came to security and looking out for a police raid. If one were to every come down into the tubes. Jackson knew it was unlikely, for everyone knew the areas between each tube offered a labyrinth of passageways for people to flee capture.

Outside all the bigger establishments there would be one or two cameras, and Gonzalez or Jackson would bang on the office door until someone finally answered. Most told them to get a warrant and when Gonzalez would hold it up, they would grimace then let them in. They scanned recordings, running facial recognition hardware until after their fourth night club, finally got lucky. John Bryan Stevens showed up, moving in the shadows on the opposite side of the street. By the end of their shift, they had recordings of Stevens coming and going for nearly two weeks, up to the time of his murder. The best finding was the camera set on the far side of the tube facing the passage that led to the small dwellings built among the pipes and steel framing. Not only did they capture Stevens coming and going for the whole time, but three times they captured someone following him. But the distance was too far and the guy that appeared to be following Stevens never looked around letting the camera capture his face.

“There has to be a better angle,” said Gonzalez, back in their offices watching the recording for the sixth time.

“We’ll keep looking,” said Jackson as he stopped the recording.

As Jackson pushed back from the monitor, Bennett and Gomez came in all smiles.

“What are you two so happy about?” asked Gonzalez.

“We have the son in the Senator’s penthouse right up to the day of his murder,” replied Gomez.

“Seriously?” replied Jackson.

“Yep. He went in the night before and came out the next morning about ten o’clock,” said Bennett.

“Why was he in the tubes if he was staying in the apartment?” asked Gonzalez.

“Don’t know but he was definitely there.”

“Have you requested a warrant to search the premises?” asked Jackson.

“We put in the request upstairs before coming here,” said Gomez.

“Will you have it today?”

“We told them we were concerned about evidence tampering by cleaning staff and wanted a rush on it.”

“We should have it within the hour,” said Bennett.

Jackson pulled up his monitor and typed in a request.

“A forensic team will be standing by. As soon as you get that warrant get to that apartment and go through it with a fine-tooth comb.”

“What are we looking for?” asked Gomez.

“Anything about those chips, drug dealing or buying by the son, and anything that looks suspicious that might be a reason to take out junior,” said Jackson.

“Do you think there may be some connection to the senator?” asked Gonzalez.

“I’m not ruling it out.”

“We got it!” exclaimed Bennett, shattering the silence that had settled over the room.

“The warrant?” asked Gomez.

“Yes, so let’s go.”

“Is the forensic team ready?” asked Jackson.

“I had them waiting downstairs ready to go,” Bennett replied as he led Gomez to the door.

“Good luck,” Jackson replied as he watched them rush out the door.

In lieu of the evidence room downstairs, Jackson chose the conference room on their floor, wanting to avoid prying eyes. The room had a view of the ocean and on the dark horizon barely visible by the moonlight, were the glow of lights from other floating platforms. Number One, Three, Five, and Eight were all visible, the other platforms just over the horizon. To their left, toward the western horizon, lights from the Ocala Islands lay on the horizon, the remaining inhabitants struggling fisherman and cargo runners, most of which Jackson knew was illegal contraband.

Jackson stood at the side of the table with an array of things laid out, items Bennett and Gomez had deemed important, or at least worth another opinion. He picked up a round flash drive, fingering the smooth crystal.

“What’s on this?”

“Mostly campaign tactics for the next election, campaign financial statements, some files for the penthouse, such as the cleaning and maintenance records, but there are two things of interest,” replied Bennett. “Gomez, can you pull it up,” he added looking across the table at his partner.

The monitor came on and soon files lined the left side of the screen.

“These are email communications between the senator and an unknown person with an address of 4Tcev@Domain1,” said Gomez.

“Domain1? Isn’t that the one being investigated for allowing coordination of illegal trade and criminal activity, such as the communications relating to that kidnapping in Paris?” asked Gonzalez.

“That’s the one,” Gomez replied.

“Why is the Senator using it?”

“Not sure. The communications are too cryptic. These are the three we found in a file labeled Fishing Trip.”

“Fishing trip? Not one for real fish I’m sure,” said Jackson as everyone watched the files open on the monitor.

(Message 1)

It is suggested you get your house in order. Something bad can happen. __4Tcev 

You can’t be serious.  __Sen. Stevens

You shouldn’t risk it.  __4Tcev

(Message 2)

I read it. It will become public.  __Sen. Stevens

Things will be taken care of by that time.  __4Tcev

How?   __Sen. Stevens

Don’t you worry your sweet little head about it.  __4Tcev

Do you know the repercussions for the state? For me?  __Sen. Stevens

Yes.  __4Tcev

(Message 3)

Don’t make a mistake you’ll regret.  __ 4Tcev

We can’t do this.  __ Sen. Stevens

You will, or else.  __ 4Tcev

“First, do we have any idea who the senator is communicating with?” asked Jackson.

“No, but I’m working on it,” replied Bennett.

“You have the guys downstairs on it?”

“Not exactly. There is someone I served in the Marines with who is an IT geek.”

“You can’t share this with just anyone off the street, it’ll be…”

“Sir, it’s good. Trust me on this.”

Jackson looked over at Bennett. He saw the look; one he knew well. He nodded in agreement and turned back to the monitor. Bennett had someone he could rely on, something he himself had as well. Lucy McAdams at NSA was a weapons genius, knew every gun and bullet ever made. He had relied on her more than once to identify some old gun and its ammunition that was no longer on the market. There had been one case with a gun that had not been seen in decades.

“Messages one and three are obviously about a shake down of the senator, three insinuating harm to the senator, or someone he loves,” said Gomez.

“Which happened. Any evidence to suggest this was an attack to get at the senator?” asked Jackson.

“Nothing but these communications.”

“What about the second message?”

“Not sure, but there is a table of contents of a report on the floating platforms.”

“You think they’re related?”

“We’re not sure, but the flash drive and the table of contents were together in a safe,” added Bennett.

Jackson leaned forward searching for the document. It lay in the center of the table. He picked it up and read down the list of chapters. There were six and at the bottom a date showing the last revision of the report was less than five months old. Gonzalez sat opposite waiting to find out what it stated.

“See what you think about this,” said Jackson, then he read aloud the list of chapters, “One, Synopsis of Floating Platforms Structural Configuration and Method of Construction; Two, Analysis of surveys performed in 2054, 2060, and 2073; Three, Recommendations for maintenance; Four, Predictions for delayed maintenance; Five, Costs analysis; and Six, Alternative solutions.”

“Delayed maintenance sounds like it could be a real issue…or maybe it is just broken air conditioning systems and water leaks,” said Gomez.

“Any reference anywhere on where this report might be?” asked Gonzalez.

“No, we found no report or reference to one other than this table of contents,” replied Gomez with Bennett nodding in agreement.

Jackson went the satchel he had carried into the room and pulled out blank paper and some pens.

“What’s this?” asked Bennett.

“Old school; isn’t it?” asked Gonzalez.

“Yep, but we may not be able to hold this evidence very long, so start writing everything down,” said Jackson.

“Why not just scan or photo it?” said Bennett as he took some of the paper, looking at it as if it were totally alien.

“If we lose access to this, it’ll be every file copy, and they can track it, so we need to make copies they can’t track. Just remember, if we get raided, no references to this material can be done in any report,” said Jackson.

“Would they really do that; confiscate evidence?” asked Gomez.

“Yes, especially if it involves a senator.”

“Fuck. How corrupt are those bastards?” asked Gomez as she pulled several sheets of blank paper and began to look at the documents on her screen for where to start. No one replied, all knowing the truth was far worse than any of them knew.

For a couple of hours everyone copies emails, the table of contents and documents that might hold some importance. They had gotten through less than a quarter of the evidence when everyone’s screens lit up.

Warning – Warning – this data is confiscated by the Department of Homeland Security, per regulation US-HLS 23.3406. All data will be removed from all systems effective immediately.

“Fuck,” Bennett uttered as the others groaned. Jackson threw his hands up, then lay them back on his desk and frowned.

“That’s it, I hope everyone got the most important pieces,” said Jackson.

“I think so,” said Gomez.

“Let’s get everything sorted and remember, no copies, no scanning anything, or making any reference to any of the documents. They’ll come in person next time and take everything,” said Gonzalez as Jackson nodded in confirmation.

They knew what they were doing was illegal, but when the law had been manipulated to protect the worst criminals, those in power, they felt they had no other choice.

“What do we do next?” asked Bennett.

“Look for the man who killed him for the chip and see if we can find where he sold it,” Jackson replied.

“If he sold it,” Bennett uttered under his breath as he organized his written pages.

“But first, go home and get some rest and be prepared to search security systems and do the foot work to talk to people.”

Gonzalez would go home to find her husband in the kitchen cooking dinner as their son did his homework at the small table sitting to one side of the room. She would leave the day at the front door, smile at her son, and hug her husband from behind as he asked about her day. She told him of the stress and aggravation, and he listened, as he always did.

Jackson would get home before Cameron and for the first time in a long time, he found himself in the kitchen cooking dinner. When Cameron finally walked through the front door, dinner would be nearly ready and the table would be set, including artificial candles glowing like ember coals giving the room a comforting warmth.

Gomez would go home and after eating the dinner she had ordered, would take a long hot bath and crawl into bed for much needed sleep. There had been three nights before when her excitement of working as a detective, even if temporary, made her so wound up she had barely slept. She would make up for it with a long sound sleep helped along with a couple of pills and a shot of whiskey.

Bennett would find himself unable to relax or feel like he could sleep. He found himself pacing from living room to kitchen, as anxious as he had been when in the Marines. He flexed his right hand over and over, sensing the times in the past when he had done so to make his grip loose and relaxed, and his index finger’s movement smooth as silk as he squeezed a trigger.

A hot shower, he stood naked at his closet debating whether to crawl in bed and try to sleep or to put something on and head out for release from the tension he felt. He pulled down a pair of pants, the fabric worn soft and slipped them on sans underwear. He took down a t-shirt, one that was black and tight fitting and pulled it on. He pulled out the shoes he could easily slip-on sans socks, grabbed up his wallet and headed out.

It was late, nearly midnight when he crossed Lower Allapattah Plaza and entered the Blue Light District. He ambled in seeing the stares of other men, some seated watching everyone who passed, others strolling along, all seeking someone for sex. He kept his eyes focused in front of him as he approached the club he had been to before. There were four men at the door about to go in and he saw how they looked as he imagined he himself looked to others. Fidgety, anxious, unable to stand still. He headed to a place behind them, thinking he make tonight a return visit when a loud laugh came from further down.

Outside a club two doors down, a small bar nestled between them, two guys were animated in their discussion, one using his hands to make a point while the other laughed. Bennett’s eyes went from the two men up to the garish purple LED sign. An outline of a penis and below it the name in blue. Daedalus.

Bennett had a vague sense he had heard the name before, maybe in some college class, but he had no idea why a sex club would have the name. Curious for what it meant, he passed the first club, the bar, and moved through the metal door into it.

The lobby was dark, lit by a purple light, and along one wall was as counter where patrons were to check in.

“It’ll be 60 and I’ll need your ID,” said a man behind the counter.

“What kind of club is this?” asked Bennett. “I’m new here and never been here before,” he added thinking he needed to explain.

“The space is a labyrinth with special areas. Before you enter, there is a locker room to change or get undressed and when you’re ready to leave, there are showers to get cleaned up,” the man replied as he scanned up and down Bennett’s body.

Bennett held out his electronic bank card and ID, then nodded to the first door to his right. “I go through there to get to the locker room?”

“Yes. It is straight ahead, and you’ll enter the labyrinth from it.”

Bennett entered the labyrinth with his shirt, ID, and wallet locked away. He felt the conditioned air over his bare upper body and how his pants hung low on his waist. His cock stirred with his anticipation as he made his way along the flat black passageways. In places it was wide enough for two or three to pass, in other places two men would have to touch to slip past each other. Following one passageway, he came to a dead end where two men were getting sucked by one. He backtracked, not caring to be a voyeur.

Down another passageway he came to a space made up of stepped platforms allowing the men sprawled out on each one to look down at a black mattress where two men were fucking a third. Those on the platforms were stroking cocks, their own or someone sitting next to them. Others were sucking cock, backs turned to the action below, concentrating on their own sexual pleasure.

Bennett watched for a minute, amazed at how it was so easy, this sex among men. He knew straight people and lesbians had their own areas of pleasure and he had heard of one area that was for anyone not wanting to be labeled.

He tugged on his hardening cock, then eased back a few steps, turned, and strolled away to seek out other sights and eventually his own adventure.

Bennett didn’t know what he was looking for, not really. He just felt frustrated and anxious and in need of release. He wished he was in a relationship, like Jackson. Someone waiting at home to talk about the day, to share dinner, and later, share the bed. But he was new to the floating city, so he was roaming around this place to get some of what he needed. The physical sex and the release it afforded him.

He eased down a narrow section working his way past other men. Hands groped him, rubbed his stomach or back, but he wasn’t ready, not yet, and he kept moving deeper into the place, imagining it was like going down into a cave. The further he went, the further away from any civilization he found himself.

Around a corner he came into a wide section, and along one wall the lower half of men were laid out on platforms protruding from the walls. Legs dangled over the side, or feet were up on the platform, knees splayed apart, and everything visible to their waist. Some were flaccid, wet slimy cocks laying in pools of cum, others were hard and leaking. All were getting fucked.

Bennett strolled past slowly watching how each man fucking, moved at a different pace. Some took long slow thrusts, others were moving at a steady pace, and some were slamming into the bottom’s depths so hard the sound of flesh smacking flesh filled the small space.

After strolling down another passageway, then another, Bennett felt like he had to be in the back of the club. The music was louder, the passages narrower, and the lighting dimmed down so low it was hard to see. He entered a space about eight feet wide and down each side were openings. As he passed the first few, he saw each was about eight feet wide and eight feet deep, with a black pad covering the bottom which was about thirty inches above the floor. He saw men crawling over each other, sucking and fucking. He watched the sex in a couple of the alcoves, then moved further in the room. He passed a couple of guys, one about his own age wearing a jock strap and one a bit older who was completely naked toying with a half hard cock. There was eye contact, a brief smile, then Bennett moved down the passageway until he came to an empty alcove. He crawled into it and laid on his stomach, wondering if he should lay on his back instead.

A hand on one leg, then a hand on the other leg. They moved upward until one was squeezing his ass and the other one was slipping beneath him. He raised his hips and let it undo his pants. A tug down and the pants slipped over his round ass. A hand rubbed his cheeks, then lips kissed them. Another tug and his pants went down his legs until gathered around his ankles while the lips kissing his cheeks moved between them where a tongue worked its way deeper until touching his tight opening. He moaned and raised his hips as hands pulled his cheeks apart.

Bennett raised his head and moaned as the tongue dragged over his opening and a hand tugged on his tightening sac. He shivered when the tug became painful then spread his legs further apart. Soon one of them men was hovering over him, and he could feel a wet cock drag over his ass cheeks, then push between then. Movement to his left and he saw the man about his age come around to his head. The jockstrap hung loose around one ankle and in Bennett’s face, a fat cock. He stretched his jaws wide to take it as cock stretched his opening. He moaned around the cock as his hole took the other one. Soon he moved his mouth on the fat cock in rhythm to the cock fucking his ass. Slowly, sliding lips up along the shaft until he could tongue the head, then slowly down until it was once again buried in his mouth. His own cock painfully pinned beneath him, pushed into the mattress with every push into his depths.

When more men crawled into the alcove, Bennett wasn’t sure. but another man was sitting next to the one he was sucking stroking a hard curved cock. He felt a hand slide between him and the man fucking him, fingers pushing around this tight opening as cock piston through it. He pulled off the cock and looked up at the other man, then down to his cock. He leaned to it as the man held it at the base letting him suck the head into his mouth. A hand came to the back of his head and held him down as the man worked his hips, fucking Bennett’s mouth.

Bennett closed his eyes focusing on the feel of cock fucking his mouth and the feel of cock fucking his ass. He moaned around the one in his mouth as it fucked to the back of his throat. Far too soon cum filled his mouth as the man thrust into his mouth and cried out. As soon as it was spent the man pulled out, letting the first man Bennett had sucked push back into it. The cock pushed over his tongue a few times then filled his mouth once again.

Swallowing as fast as he could, Bennett felt the man fucking his ass slam hard into his depths. Hips smacking against his ass over and over. The man grunted, then moaned as he pushed in all the way and held still, and Bennett knew he was spent.

When the man pulled out of his ass, Bennett slipped out of the alcove, grabbing his pants as he moved back. His cock was rock hard, and he knew it would not take much to push him over the edge, but he wanted to hold back, keep his aroused state for a while longer. Pants tossed over one shoulder, he moved naked out of the space down another passageway.

A man about his own age stepped out and proceeded ahead of him. Bennett followed watching the bare back and the movement of ass cheeks in tight pants. The man turned into a side passage and Bennett stayed with him. A few turns and he came into a small room. A raised platform took up half the space. It was covered in a black synthetic imitating old leather. Along the wall were eye hooks and Bennett knew it was for various levels of play. But he didn’t feel like any distraction from fucking and getting off.  He wondered if the guy before felt the same or was looking for some fetish play.

“You wanna fuck around?” Bennett asked as he stroked his leaking cock.

The guy undid his pants, working them down until they fell around his ankles. He stepped out of them and approached Bennett.

“Hell yes,” the guy uttered.

Bennett watched the guy come close and ease down on knees. He closed his eyes as the guy grabbed him by the waist. The fingers dug into his sides, then a mouth slipped over the head of his cock, a tongue swirled around it, then the mouth moved along its length. Fully engulfed, Bennett moaned with the feel of the hot slick mouth on his cock. He struggled to stand still as the mouth began to move back and forth.

One hand released his waist, and he felt a tight grip around the base of his cock as the mouth pulled off it. A tongue moved over the head making him shudder, then it worked at the slit, digging into it.

“Fuck,” Bennett uttered.

The torturous tongue finally stopped, and Bennett opened his eyes to see the guy looking up.

“Fuck me,” the guy uttered, then he climbed to his feet, took Bennett by the hand, and pulled him to follow as he backed to the platform.

Bennett didn’t need to be told what to do. He held the guy by the ankles and spread the legs wide apart. He looked down at the masculine body. Not quite his height, a solid 180, maybe a bit more, and a nice fat cock drooling on the stomach. But what interested him the most was the exposed ass waiting to be fucked. He moved to it, put his slick leaking cock against it, and pushed. The guy cried out, arched his torso, and shivered as Bennett pushed inch after inch into him. Bennett pushed until over halfway inside the guy’s ass, then he moved over him, pushing the legs down to the platform. Folded in half and pinned down, the guy was at his mercy. He felt none, as he tugged outward then slammed back into the guy’s depths. Over and over, Bennett swung hips upward, then pushed down, hammering his cock into the guy’s depths. He fucked and fucked, building up a brutal pace. The sound of flesh smacking flesh echoed in the small room and soon drew the attention of others.

A man crawled on the platform and wasted no time in sinking his cock into the guy’s mouth. Now he was being fucked at both ends and Bennett smiled as he slowed, eased his cock outward until hovering over the gapped open hole. It began to close, and Bennett punched through and shoved into the guy’s depths. He did it again, over and over, until he was too aroused. It was just a tease, a way to make their fuck last, but he wanted to come. He needed to come. He shoved into the guy’s hole and hammered his hips on the upturned ass until sweat covered his face and trickled down his back.

“Jesus, fuck him. Fuck the shit out of him,” someone said from Bennett’s side.

It was a pleading tone. It was a cheer, urging him on.

Bennett kept up his pace until his muscles burned with his exertion. He gasped for breath and grew feverishly hot, but he didn’t slow. Then he felt it, the surge of release, and he buried his cock in the guy’s ass and came. He hammered his hips against the ass with every ejaculation until spent.

Bennett eased out of the guy’s ass and stepped back. Another moved in to fuck the cum leaking hole, then Bennett realized someone was in front of him licking his cock clean.

“Nasty fuck,” Bennett uttered with a smile, then he pushed him away. “That’s enough.”

He slipped on his pants and strolled down another passage to his right. He felt sated and wondered how long it would take to get back to the front. He moved unhurriedly through the passages, occasionally stopping to see some action in one alcove or another. He finally came to the front where he showered, got dressed, and headed home. It was late, far too late, but he couldn’t help but smile at how much better he felt. Some of the tension from the case was gone. He knew once he got home and had a serious shower, he would sleep soundly until morning.

Jackson entered the detective’s area wondering if it was going to be a long-drawn-out day of no gain, or would it be the one they got a big break. If felt like it could go either way, but deep down he knew the odds. There would be more grunt work before the case made any headway.

“I trust everyone got some rest,” said Jackson as he moved to his desk opposite Gonzalez.

“Yeah, sure,” Bennett replied hoping the drops in his eyes had had enough time to get the red out.

“I got some new security camera footage, and one was located at the end of that shitty passage,” said Gomez, eyes locked on her monitor.

Jackson and Gonzalez jumped up and rushed to stand behind her as Bennett watched the same image on his monitor.

“Here’s footage from that morning, and here…here it is. There’s John Stevens coming down the passage,” said Gomez.

“Damn, he’s fucked up,” whispered Bennett.

They watched Stevens climb up then watched his feet move along the catwalk, his body cut out of the video. A few seconds later another figure steps out of the shadows and moves to the ladder and begins to climb. Gomez reverses the video to the image of the guy standing at the base of the ladder looking down the passage toward the camera, and she freezes it.

“That has to be our man,” Gomez utters as she sits up and starts facial recon.

“Do you recognize him?” asked Jackson, looking over Gomez to Gonzalez.

“Looks familiar, but…I can’t place him.”

“We got a hit,” said Gomez, opening the file.

A file opened, with photos, birth certificate, tax records, education, and employment data. Gomez scanned the data, doing a long whistle.

“He was in college until two years ago, then dropped out?” said Gonzalez.

“He got caught dealing Puff, then found to have chips in his dorm room,” Gomez replied, reading the file.

“So, he got kicked out of college and sent home,” said Jackson.

“But home is in Virginia. How did he end up here?” asked Bennett.

“The chips,” said Gomez. “He booked passage to here two months after getting home, then his arrest record began.”

“Breaking and entering, assault, theft, and possession,” said Jackson, “all convictions of a desperate user and dealer,” he added.

“Dewayne Matthew Clarkson, 23, white male, 173 cm, 64 kg, scar on chest, left nipple up to collar bone and one on his right arm above the elbow. There are four tattoos and…various piercings, and…two missing fingers,” read Gomez.

“Sounds like he has had a run in with his dealers,” said Bennett.

“And now for his aliases: Deek, Opus, and D-Wave.”

“Last one sounds like a DJ name,” said Bennett.

“Maybe he tried to work in some nightclubs?” said Gomez.

“Send his last known address to Jackson and me, then put out a warrant for his arrest, noting any sighting is to be reported to us immediately,” Gonzalez stated as she stood up and looked at Jackson. “Let’s hope this is the break we need.”

Jackson nodded then looked back at the screen noting the difference in appearance from the college photo to the imagine in the video. It was hard to believe someone could change so much in only two years.

“What about us?” asked Gomez.

“I like your nightclub angle,” replied Jackson. “Pursue it.”’

“Where should we start?” asked Bennett looking over the monitors at Gomez.

Gomez frowned shaking her head.

“You know as well as I, it is not going to be the nice joints.”

“So, its back down into those filthy tubes.”

Jackson stood in the doorway as Gonzalez stood in the middle of the small apartment. It was an interior unit with one small window next to the door. Along one wall the kitchenette, storage compartments, a watercloset, a shower, and a couple of open shelves. On each shelf the paraphernalia of a drug addict. The unmade bed was filthy, and trash was scattered over it and the floor. It would have seemed impossible to find evidence, except for the fact blood stains were on one side of the bed.

“What do you think?” asked Gonzalez.

“I think he brought the head back here and dug out the chip,” Jackson replied.

“Yeah, sounds about right to me.”

Gonzalez kicked a box over then looked in a couple of the larger bags.

“There is no head here now,” said Gonzalez.

“Or suspect.”

“There’s a bar just up the passage where we can wait for him.”

“A club soda afternoon?”

“Yep,” Gonzalez replied smiling back at Jackson.

Jackson pulled the door closed making sure it locked, then fell in next to Gonzalez as they strolled up the passage toward the Blue Fox Tavern, its garish blue sign and outline of a fox illuminating the dark passage.

Gonzalez was reaching for the door when Jackson’s phone rang. He swiped the pad on his wrist and stepped back from the door.

“Jackson.”

He looked at Gonzalez with a worrying expression as he listened. Then he grimaced.

“Where?” Jackson asked. “Yeah, I know the place. We’re on our way.”

“What’s up?” asked Gonzalez.

“That was Murphy. Lopez and he got a call about a murder. Out in the open, two guys came upon a third and stabbed him repeatedly.”

“And this involves us because it’s our suspect,” Gonzalez replied matter of fact.

“Yep. A one Dewayne Matthew Clarkson, alias D-Wave, is lying under the track platform down in SoBe.”

“Fuck. Anything on him?”

“Wouldn’t say; just said to get our asses down there before someone shows up to confiscate everything.”

They headed to the nearest service elevator that would take them down into the tubes. Gonzalez called Gomez.

“Where are you two located?”

Gonzalez listened as she followed Jackson into a service passageway.

“Well, we found him. Meet us in SoBe. Murphy and Lopez are fishing him out of the drainage channel under the track platform.”

She listened for a second, nodding her head.

“That’s right; he’s dead. We’re on our way.”

Jackson and Gonzalez passed through double doors from a service corridor into the tube known as SoBe. To their right a couple of hundred feet away, they saw the familiar blue flashing lights of the scout vehicles and a group of uniform cops standing around. They rushed down the raised platform past the gay nightclubs, stripper bars, and other establishments that supported the underground gay citizenry. As they neared, they saw Murphy, Bennett and Gomez standing at the edge of the platform looking down into the bottom of the tube where effluence was allowed to flow to one of the sump pumps that would then dump the filthy oily mess into the ocean. There had been a recycling and scrub process, but lack of funding for maintenance and the piping was rerouted around the equipment allowing for direct dumping into the ocean. Lopez, Murphy’s partner was talking to a citizen and two beat cops, obviously the ones who witnessed the murder.

“Damn, they had to push him over the side into that foul gunk,” uttered Gonzalez as they made their way through the cops and bystanders.

“What have we got?” asked Jackson as they stepped to the edge of the platform next to Murphy.

“Not much. The victim was stabbed several times by two assailants and pushed over the side,” Murphy replied.

“Anything on him?”

“Nothing of note. A few coins, a flash drive disk, and a couple of keys. The guy didn’t have a wallet or any identification.”

“We’ve looked around up here and found nothing. No chips and no head,” added Gomez.

“Could anything be in that gunk?” asked Gonzalez.

“We’ve scanned it, going up stream thirty feet, then down stream to that cross channel. Unless it had buoyancy, there is nothing else,” replied Murphy.

“What was he doing here?” asked Jackson, more to himself than to anyone standing next to him.

“We’ve got a couple of cops checking security cameras and a few more asking owners of these fine establishments if they did any business with the victim or saw him,” said Murphy.

They looked over the side as the body was laid on a stretcher, preparing to lift it up. It was covered in black oily gunk and small items of debris that float in the effluence.

“God, that is disgusting,” uttered Bennett.

Gonzalez stepped next to him and looked down, then over to Bennett.

“Be thankful we have the scanners to search through that shit. There was a time we had to rake it,” said Gonzalez, then stepping back.

“Where do we go from here?” Gomez asked.

“We have forensics tear his place apart, we get a video trail of where he has been since leaving his apartment and follow it, and we have the uniforms keep an eye out for that head,” said Jackson.

“You know that head is gone. Probably dumped in an incinerator chute somewhere,” said Murphy, giving Jackson a shrug of the shoulders.

“I know, but…we should keep an eye out anyway.”

“Agree.”

Jackson’s phone rang and he looked at the number. It was the captain, so he stepped away from the others and swiped his pad.

“Captain?”

“Jackson, how’s the case going?”

“One step forward and two back.”

“Yeah, it’s a shit show, and it just got a bit worse for you. The senator is flying in tomorrow. He wants his son’s body.”

“Forensics isn’t…”

“I know and have called them to rush it. I realize how this makes the case difficult, but he has too much clout. My phone has been ringing constantly for the last thirty minutes about it. Not text communications, person to person phone calls.”

“I understand.”

“Get with the guys in forensics and give them another nudge. They know what they are up against, but it may help for them to see your pitiful face,” the captain joked, trying to lighten Jackson’s mood.

Jackson grinned while looking at Gonzalez.

“I’m headed there as soon as we finish here.”

“And Jackson?”

“Yes, sir.”

“With the head still missing, I’m going to need you to meet the senator during the handoff.”

Jackson knew the protocol, knew how it supposed to be handled, but the senator would no doubt have expectations of an unreasonable nature and he would have to bring him down to earth, and do it as politically correct as he could manage. He glanced over at Bennett and considered making the rookie be there with him, then thought better of it.

“Okay, just let me know when he is expected to arrive.”

Jackson entered his apartment and struggled not to slam the door close. He tossed his badge on the counter and went to the small bar behind the dining table.

“A shitty day?” asked Cameron turning on the sofa to look back.

“Yep.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not sure,” Jackson replied as he poured bourbon in a glass. He poured it two fingers deep, then slugged it back and poured another. He closed the bottle and went to the sofa where Cameron sat waiting.

“The case going bad?” asked Cameron.

“I don’t know…yes and no. Our main lead turned up dead down in the tubes so we’re stumbling around looking for that one thing that breaks the case wide open.”

“Sounds like a typical case, so what is the problem?”

“The senator showed up this afternoon to claim his son. Asshole…”

“And?”

“I’m not sure if he was here as a father, or a senator looking to cover his ass. And to top it off, he raised hell with me and the captain about there being no head, as if we took it. Asshole…”

“Surely he’s read the case file.”

“Oh, that asshole has read it, confiscated much of it, and…asshole…”

Cameron began to laugh.

“What? It’s not funny?” Jackson stated sharply.

“I know, but you’ve called him an asshole every time you’ve spoken of him.”

Jackson stared at Cameron, then realized he was right, and he grinned.

“Well, he is an asshole.”

“I was going to cook something simple but what do you say we get cleaned up and go to Giardini’s. They have polenta with raclette as tonight’s special.”

“How do they do it? Most restaurants struggle to provide a decent cut of meat.”

“You forget how much they charge,” Cameron replied, putting a hand on Jackson’s thigh. “Come on, let’s go out and put all of this to the side at least for tonight.”

Cameron led Jackson into their bedroom. He stood in front of him, working the shirt buttons free.

“I think we shower together; you know to save water.”

“To save water. Yeah, okay,” Jackson replied grinning as his shirt fell open. He reached out and undid the button on Cameron’s pants, tugged the zipper down allowing them to fall to the floor. He felt Cameron undoing his own pants as he reached up and began to undo the buttons on Cameron’s shirt.

Finally naked, Cameron led Jackson into the bathroom. The shower quickly grew hot, steam rising over the glass enclosure, and Jackson let Cameron guide him under the spray of water. It cascaded over his head and down his body and immediately the tightness he felt began to dissipate.

Hands moved up his back, around his waist, then hugged their bodies together. He felt the thickening cock against his ass. He pushed back against it as his own arousal increased. A hand slid down his stomach then fingers curled around his own growing erection. They moved on his cock, manipulated it until he was hard. He leaned forward with hands braced on the wall as water cascaded over his body. Cameron raked hard cock up and down his ass. He moaned and pushed back against it.

There were no utterances, no pleadings or demands. They knew what the other wanted.

Cameron pushed into Jackson, breached the tightness of his opening, and eased into his depths. Then Cameron began to fuck. Initially, it was a slow push and tug of cock. One that allowed Jackson to feel every inch move through his opening, to have a sense of the penetration. But neither could endure such a slow pace. Hands tightened on Jackson’s waist as Cameron increased his pace. Faster and faster, hips pumping cock into Jackson’s depth, Cameron fucked. Fucked until the sound of their bodies coming together echoed in the small bathroom. Jackson pushed against the wall, rocking with every thrust inward. His own cock flopped between his thighs, so hard it ached for release. He knew not to touch it. Cameron would take care of him.

Cameron fucked until Jackson thought he would come. Then he braced himself against the wall as Cameron thrust into his depths and shuddered with release. Cameron thrust against his ass, pushing hard, then he fell still.

Jackson held still as he felt Cameron finally tug cock out of his hole, then hands guide him to turn. He opened his eyes to see Cameron on knees before him. Holding his cock, Cameron took it in his mouth. It sent shivers up Jackson’s spine. The feel of the slick warm mouth on his cock and how lips moved along it. Each, and every time it was one of the most pleasurable feelings. Cameron pushed forward taking nearly every inch. Then there was the drag of a tongue along the shaft and over the head. Finally, almost painfully, the mouth worked the head until Jackson couldn’t take it. He shoved forward and came.

Cameron sat back on his heels and looked up at Jackson.

“Let’s finish and get dressed. I’m starving.”

Jackson and Gonzalez were at their desks, his feet propped up on his and she leaned forward with elbows resting on hers. Despite the noise of the room, other detectives busy with their own cases, they sat silently as if hypnotized.

Bennett and Gomez came in together each carrying two cups of coffee. They set one in front of Jackson and Gonzalez, then moved to their own desk. Swiveling around they faced Jackson and Gonzalez waiting to see what they would want to see what direction to take on with their case.

“The chip junky is dead and had no evidence on him, the senator has his son’s body, and we have shit,” Jackson uttered in disgust.

“I still think those email messages to the senator are important,” whispered Gonzalez.

“How does something to do with the senator connect to his son’s murder?” asked Bennett.

“Don’t know, but…” Gonzalez didn’t finish, just stared at the sheet of paper with the messages written on it.

“What if it were a message to the senator?” asked Gomez.

“Killing the son seems too extreme if someone is trying to control the senator.”

“Maybe that junky wasn’t supposed to kill him but did it for the chip,” said Bennett.

“Still seems like a reach,” uttered Jackson.

“So, what do we do?” asked Gomez.

“Indeed. Where do we go from here?”

“I say we split up, two of us take the murder of the son and two take those messages and see if they can find out what they are about,” said Jackson.

“Why not focus on those messages?” asked Bennett.

“To give plausible deniability if someone asked about it. We’re on the son’s murder, not those messages,” Gonzalez replied as Jackson nodded in agreement.

“We’ll take the messages,” Bennett blurted out.

Jackson and Gonzalez looked at Bennett with puzzled expressions.

“I have a military buddy that might be in a position to help,” said Bennett.

“Intelligence?” asked Jackson.

Bennett smiled but didn’t reply, and Jackson knew not to press further.

“Okay, you two take the messages. Might be best, for anyone who questions us, it’ll be Gonzalez and me they will be watching and asking for answers,” said Jackson.

Senator Stevens stood at the window of his apartment looking out over the city of Tallahassee. He tried to remember the last time John and he had had a civil conversation. He knew the first time they fought, really fought. John was sixteen and began to hang around some guys who were experimenting with chips. The gaming programs were not enough for them, so they began to seek out more exciting and interactive play, and nothing compared to a chip hardwired to one’s brain.

He had been one to push the ban years before after seeing the effects on those that used them. It was one policy he had been proud to be a part. Now he suffered the consequences of other decisions. The back door maneuvering he told himself was just part of the job. But he knew it had gone too far this time, and even though it was too late, he tried to bring it to light. But they caught him with the report, then forced his silence with threats against his wife and son. He had known his son was the most vulnerable. The one most exposed with his addiction taking him to places without any policing.

He sipped the bourbon, a pure golden liquid from the state of Kentucky, what there was left of it. Much of the state was in total chaos, as was much of the territory in the Mississippi River basin. ‘How long before something happened and the report wouldn’t be necessary, for everyone would be able to see what it warned?’ he thought as he moved to the sofa and laid down on it. He considered what to do if something happened. Could he endure it? Would he need to leave the country? He had broached the subject of living overseas somewhere in retirement with his wife. She had been against it but now that John was dead, would there be anything to hold her back?

Jackson followed Gonzalez into another bar, the tenth one for the day, and her questions to the manager were like listening to a voice loop, the same thing said over and over. Even the answers were the same.

“No.”

“Never seen him before.”

“Yeah, I heard about the murder, everyone has.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“Thank you for talking with us,” Gonzalez replied to the manager, then she followed Jackson back to the common area, the platform within the large tube. They looked down its dark, dimly lit length at the blue and red garish signs of other bars and clubs.

“This is getting nowhere,” said Gonzalez.

“Yep,” Jackson uttered in reply.

“No one is going to admit to knowing that asshole.”

“Yep.”

“What do you think he did with the head and chip?”

“He probably put the head in an incinerator and the chip; sold it is my guess.”

“But to give cover to Bennett and Gomez, we keep knocking on doors; right?”

“Right.”

Bennett and Gomez were in a gaming arcade. Gomez had hacked a monitor and gotten to the internet and searched sites that they could not open back at the station without red flags going up. She pulled up one dark site after the next, typing in keys words.

Senator Stevens

4Tcev

John Bryan Stevens and chips

There were news articles, conspiracy posts, and biographical information. There was arrest reports on John Stevens, charges of chip use back in New York and New DC. Except for the crazy conspiracies, there was nothing they didn’t already know. She typed in the log-in for another site, but hesitated hitting enter.

“Go on, what are you waiting for?” asked Bennett.

“This site is bad; I mean really bad. We busted a couple of guys who were using it to brag about what they had done,” Gomez replied.

“It involved children?”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to search this one?”

“No, I’ll do it. Just part of the fucking job, right?”

“Right,” Bennett replied giving Gomez a weak smile.

The site domain came on screen, and she typed in Senator Stevens and got the usual results. Then she typed ‘4Tcev’ and she finally got a hit that made sense. The post referenced an old company, a small floating oil platform maintenance company, 4T Corporation that merged with a contractor, Kar-Green. Later the company, after some rapid expansion and a partnership change, became Briggs Marine Construction. The company that built the floating city platforms. Upon completion Briggs sold the platforms to SynCorp, a partnership between a property management company and the states the platforms were located.  

“If 4T referenced that old company, what is cev?” asked Gomez.

“A person’s initials,” Bennett replied.

“This feels like something. The company merged with Kar-Green, who was building oil platforms.”

“A company with the expertise to do a floating city. But why merge with such a small company and rebrand?”

“Let’s see what we can find on 4T.”

A click on another post and a company brochure from decades ago came up. On the back page the company’s ownership were pictured: Matthew Stevens, Charles Vanoy, and Gabriel Briggs.

“Stevens? You wanna make a bet that Matthew Stevens is a great-great-granddaddy, or some such to the senator?” asked Gomez.

“No way.

“And Charles Vanoy would probably be the one who had the 4Tcev email address.”

“But that was over 80 years ago. He’s dead.”

“But someone could be using it, making a statement to the senator of his connection to this company.”

“Let’s search for ancestors to both Stevens and Vanoy.”

“And Briggs too. The new company was named after him,” said Gomez.

“So, that report really is about the platforms, like that table of contents spelled out.”

“And it can’t be good if the senator is helping keep it under wraps.”

“But there is nothing about the report. That thing has really been buried.”

Bennett began to dictate a synopsis to send to Jackson and Gonzalez when Gomez stopped him.

“Don’t use the system to communicate any of this. Let’s talk to them in person.”

“You’re right. Too many eyes looking over our shoulder.”

“Let’s do that ancestry search and get back to the station.”

Years before a storm could be tracked from the African coast all the way across the Atlantic, giving areas in danger of being impacted notice early enough to prepare. But as sea levels rose and the waters absorbed more and more heat, the Gulf Stream stopped, and weather patterns became unpredictable. Storms could develop almost anywhere in the widened subtropic zone, storms that defied old categorization.

To the north of Puerto Rico, a disturbance began to rotate, a counterclockwise motion that gained structure as the hours passed. By nightfall it was over 500 km wide with winds over 150 Km/h. The floating city platforms were put on alert, and all precautions taken. Small craft of the rich and politically powerful were stored inside. Other small craft were taken by desperate owners to the Ocala Islands in hopes the small land mass would not be hit and if it was, maybe the craft could stand a better chance of survival. Other craft were tied off tightly, hoping the floating mariners gave enough protection and the city would be spared a direct hit.

On deck, lounge areas had furniture stored away and windows were closed and locked. The lower windows with shutters still operable were secured.

For MFC-6, the police station set up special patrols and everyone was put in secure quarters for the duration of the storm. It halted all investigations, put on hold court proceedings, and made everyone stir crazy before the storm had even made its northernly turn.

Don, the name given to the storm, the fourth of the year, kept a western motion, then after two days turned north, heading straight up what had been the peninsula of Florida. It grew larger, over 2,000 km in width and winds gusted to over 335 Km/h as it moved slowly over the warm waters. On the fourth day, it bore down on the floating platforms of Miami.

The waves increased in size, rocking the platforms, and the winds blew so fiercely that it wasn’t safe to venture outside. MFC-1, MFC-6, and MFC 9 were the first to suffer damage, sections of the floating mariner twisting, then shearing off and sinking, taking all the boats secured to them to the bottom of the Atlantic. But it was MFC-4 that was in the most distress. There was something about the shape of the ocean bottom, a place where it curved upward, creating a shallow area, one thought ideal for securing the platform. But it intensified the waves, made them rise higher and higher until they were crashing over the side of the deck rail, eighty feet above the normal level of the ocean. Water collected in the plaza areas, with sump pumps struggling to remove it. The mariner was completely severed, sections floating away on the waves, but most of it sinking once the air tanks broke loose. Communication towers and radar were twisted and torn from their anchoring, the main tower crashing over the side, tearing into the side as it went down. One of the airship towers began to lean, and the greenhouses on deck and on roof tops came apart, the plastic panels not strong enough to withstand the winds. Windows began to crack, then blow out on the southern side of the platform causing furniture and personal effects to fall to the deck or blow out over open water. But none of this compared to what was happening between Sections 3 and 4.

The platform was at its smallest cross section between the municipal building in Section 4 and the luxury apartments in section 3. The luxury apartment complexes at the forward end of the platform were given space from the less desirable elements of the platform, thus the gap in the taller structures. The waves were perfectly spaced, their height massive enough to twist and rock the entire platform. Residents of the nearby apartments heard the groan of twisting structure. The water ponding in the plaza rocked from side to side, creating small waves that took out storefronts and windows.

Suddenly the water swirled down into lower sections from a breach in the plaza deck. The waves lifted the front, then lifted the platform from the middle, then the rear of it. Part of one apartment tower shifted suddenly, dropped five feet then leaned toward the center. Another wave and the front lifted, only this time it didn’t stop. The hull broke apart, allowing the entire front three sections to rise vertically. Steel beams sheared off and wall and floor plates were twisted free. The main section began to sink, Section 4 going down first as Sections 1-3 towered in front of it in a vertical position. Another wave and the front Sections crashed back against Section 4 pushing it down, causing the front of the remaining main platform to sink faster. The front section slid against the back, grinding and twisting steel. There were sparks from electrical shorts, then the rush of water as it sank even faster.

Emergency sirens were going off in every area, life rafts were pulled from emergency compartments, but like a great ship nearly two hundred years prior, there would not be nearly enough. By morning, the platform would be resting on the bottom of the Atlantic, the final resting place for over 36,000 of its 52,000 population.

MFC-6 was in clean up mode as soon as the sun rose over the easter horizon of calm waters. It was such a surreal view, the sun coming into view after the day and night before. Even the temperature had dropped to nearly a comfortable level. For the detectives, they were put with other police officers and emergency personnel to do whatever was needed. The damage seemed insurmountable with broken glass of windows and wall panels pulled from walls, in places entire doors torn from their hinges, and in the debris that lay strewn across the deck and interior plazas, was furniture and personal effects of a stunned populace.

Jackson and Gonzalez found themselves with a group of nurses going door to door in an assisted housing complex. It took too long at each unit, but no one saw any way to speed up their progress. The suffering and shock of each resident was too much. By nightfall, everyone still on their feet and exhausted beyond comprehension, Jackson and Gonzalez finally got a break so they could eat something. They sat in a corridor, legs stretched out and backs against the wall, while they ate the sandwiches and snacks provided by nearby restaurants.

“I wonder what Bennett and Gomez are up to,” said Gonzalez.

“There were sent to the docking station for the airships. I think to keep people from venturing in to gawk at the tower that went down.”

“How long do you think it’ll take to finish here?”

“I have no idea. How much of the building have we covered?”

“Less than half of it.”

“Shit. It’s going to be a long night, partner.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Jackson and Gonzalez heard their phones ring and swiped at their pads. Their captain’s face came on the screen and by his expression, they knew it was bad.

“Yes, sir,” Jackson and Gonzalez spoke in unison.

“Are you still at the Peterson facility?”

“Yes,” Jackson replied.

“Well, something has come up. Go get cleaned up and report to the assistant Mayor’s office at once.”

“What’s this about?”

“Not now. When you get here.”

“We’ll be there as quickly as we can.”

Jackson looked over at Gonzalez.

“What do you think?” Jackson asked.

“I have no idea.”

They let the nurses know they had to leave and headed to the station where its emergency generators and water system would afford them the ability to shower and change. As they passed through Hialeah Plaza, people were rushing past, then some were talking excitedly. At the municipal building and to their floor they found Detectives Murphy and Lopez sitting at their desk staring at their monitors.

“Have you heard?” asked Lopez when she saw Jackson and Gonzalez come in.

“Heard what?” asked Gonzalez.

“MFC-4; it went down during the storm.”

“What?” Gonzalez and Jackson uttered in unison.

“The whole thing went down so fast. They say it broke apart, literally split open.”

Jackson suddenly remembered the table of contents of the report they had been searching for. He had read it so many times he could recite it from memory, as he knew Gonzalez was doing too.

One, Synopsis of Floating Platforms Structural Configuration and Method of Construction

Two, Analysis of surveys performed in 2054, 2060, and 2073

Three, Recommendations for maintenance

Four, Predictions for delayed maintenance

Five, Costs analysis

Six, Alternative solutions.

“Do you think they predicted this if maintenance was delayed?” whispered Gonzalez.

“Bet on it,” Jackson replied.

Jackson and Gonzalez arrived at the Assistant Mayor’s office forty-five minutes later in clean clothes and concern etched in their faces. It was 9:38 P.M. Gonzalez entered first and they quickly saw Bennett and Gomez standing to the side of the room. Behind the Assistant Mayor’s desk sat the Mayor of Miami, come over from MFC-1. To the right side of the room sitting on the sofa was the Assistant Mayor and two council members. In the two armchairs sat their captain and Senator Stevens. The Senator looked as if he had been on the platform during the hurricane. Shirt rumpled and open at the neck, wrinkled pants and casual shoes, he appeared to have as little sleep as the others in the room.

“Okay, what’s this all about?” Jackson asked bluntly, anger rising up at the sight of the Senator. “No, let me guess. Senator, what do you know of a report that warned of structural issues that could have led to what happened to number 4?”

There were gasps, then stern looks from the mayor and assistant mayor, but Jackson ignored them for he now knew he was right in his assessment.

“Detective, I think that is…” the mayor began to protest, but the senator held up his hand for quiet.

“So, you know there is a report, but I’m sure you’ve not read it. Only a very few every had access to it. But you’re right Detective Jackson. There are issues with the platforms.”

“And what will be done about it?” asked Bennett from across the room, ignoring the looks from his captain and the others.

“I wanted to…there was a plan. You have to understand, we had done our research, but…”

“Someone wanted to sweep the whole issue under the rug,” said Jackson when the silence went too long.

“Not exactly, detective. More like cut it loose.”

“Excuse me?” Jackson replied.

“SynCorp has been lobbying to have Ocala Islands cut from the territory, you know, no longer a part of Florida.”

“And?” Jackson asked.

“It would put the platforms in international waters, and they could wash their hands of them. Declare them independent nations and cut them loose,” said Gonzalez.

“That’s crazy,” declared the mayor, thinking it was a joke.

Senator Stevens saw the questioning looks and he grimaced, leaned back, appearing his normal composed self.

“I’m afraid the detective is right. The corporation considered the platforms a liability, a cost overrun, and they wanted shed of them.”

“But what would we do?” the Assistant Mayor asked.

“I don’t know,” the senator replied, shaking his head.

“The platforms need major renovations and SynCorp had no intention of paying the tens of millions it would take to do them,” said Jackson.

“Hundreds of millions, possibly even a few billion,” the senator corrected him.

Jackson walked to the window, surprised to see it still intact, then wondering if it was replaced some time that day. He looked out over the ocean, with debris scattered over its surface. He turned to the senator.

“So, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Jackson,” barked his captain.

The senator held up his hand again and smiled at Jackson.

“I know how this looks, and I have to say I do like you. A man of conviction. You asked what the fuck I’m doing here. I’m here to offer evidence for your investigation. It has not gone unnoticed your junior detectives have been doing a side investigation into the me and that damn report while you and Gonzalez kept up appearances in continuing to investigate my son’s murder.”

“He wasn’t supposed to be murdered, was he?” asked Gonzalez.

The senator shook his head, and for the first time his composure crumbled.

“It was supposed to be a message. John to get roughed up, then told to give me a message. But the fools hired that punk to do the job, and he got greedy for the chip John had acquired.”

“Then they got rid of punk?” said Jackson.

“Yes. Covered their tracks.”

“So, I’ll ask again; why are you here?”

The senator held up a flash drive, the round disk reflecting the light for it was one of the more expensive models, with a stainless-steel case and the best tamper hardware and software within it that money could buy.

“This is the report, and some communications with the CEO of SynCorp.”

“Proof they knew of the problem, but what about the plan to cut the platforms loose?”

“The communications will cover that aspect.”

Jackson stepped forward to take the flash drive, but the senator pulled it back.

“But first I must impress upon you the importance of me being able to walk out of here. My wife awaits my return. You see, I find it best to relocate to safer climes.”

Jackson struggled with his temper.

“If you don’t honor my request and take me into custody, then this flash drive will, I’m afraid, become a useless lump of metal and whatever is inside will be just white noise for a computer.”

“How do we know it won’t be when you leave?”

“Once I’m out of the picture, I want you to burn them. They killed my son, and this is the best revenge I can get, so I’ll have to take it. But first you’ll just have to hold on to that and wait until I call and say it is safe to open. Otherwise, it’ll just erase itself.”

“How long will it take you to get clear and let us know?” asked Gonzalez, already strategizing on how to open it and get the data out before Homeland no doubt shut them down and confiscates the data.

“It’ll take me about fifteen minutes to get to the airport,” said the Senator referring to Miami’s floating airport just to the north.

“Is the airport open?” asked Gomez.

“For airships and small jets, but no big jets. Those are diverted to Atlanta.”

“You’ll call as soon as you are in the air?” asked Gonzalez.

“Yes.”

“Well, don’t let us keep you any longer,” Jackson interjected, ready for the senator to be gone.

“I’m glad to see you eager to pursue the case and not waste time on me. Remember, do not insert that into any device until I have called to let you know the security code has been loaded into it.”

“We got it,” Gonzalez replied as she went to the door and held it open for the senator.

“Good luck with SynCorp,” said Senator Stevens as he made his way to the door. Four uniform officers came to the door to escort him to the helio pad on the north end, the closet to the station.

As soon as Senator was gone, Jackson turned to Gonzalez.

“Get to the station and be ready to download what you can. I think we all know how fast Homeland will be on this.”

“Why do they constantly confiscate evidence,” asked one of the council members.

“Because they are protecting the source of the budget approvals. The leaders of certain corporations,” said Jackson, then he turned from the council member to Bennett and Gomez. “Go with Gonzalez and help her record the data.”

It had been over an hour since the senator left and Jackson paced in the Assistant Mayor’s office as the others sat around the room fidgeting with impatience. Jackson had seen the helicopter fly toward the north heading to the airport about twenty minutes after the senator left, so that that meant he had been at the airport for about thirty minutes.

“How long does it take to get a chartered jet into the air?” asked Jackson, looking over at the mayor.

“If it is fueled and ready to go, not long.”

The mayor’s phone rang, and he quickly swiped his pad bringing up the senator. From the background it was obvious he was on a jet and by the sound, in the air.

“Is the flash drive released for viewing?” asked the mayor.

“Yes. You can proceed,” the senator replied, then ended the call.

Jackson pulled up Gonzalez and as soon as she answered, he told her to download it. Then he raced out, heading to the station.

Jackson entered the detective’s office area and immediately saw the flashing red warning on the main monitor of the room.

“Fuck,” Jackson uttered as he slowed to a stop and looked at the others seeing the same disgust.

“We barely got it up when Homeland confiscated it. It’s like they knew we had it and were waiting on us to login,” said Gonzalez.

“Did you get anything?”

“We got a couple of documents and emails that gave us the names of three people who seem to be the leaders of the push to abandon the city,” said Gomez, sitting at the main computer.

“I assume the CEO of SynCorp is one of them?” asked Jackson.

“Yes, Justin Fuller is the main person, the one who created the policy and pushed it behind the scenes.” Gonzalez replied.

“The others?”

“CFO of Energy Systems, Inc., Benjamin Ceagan Murphy is who helped Justin Fuller write the policy.”

“Why would someone in Britain be involved?”

“Probably to test the waters on abandoning a floating city, England has two and those were built by the same company.”

“So, they have the same issues, and if our country can successfully do it, then they have a blueprint on how to do it there,” said Bennett.

“Who is the third?” asked Jackson.

“The person to do the politics, to work others in the Senate and House, the CEO of Americans for the Future.”

“Should have known that PAC would be involved,” said Jackson as he moved to his desk and sat. “Do we have actionable evidence?”

Bennett and Gonzalez shook their heads as Gomez just looked down at her desk. Jackson held up his pad and search contacts until he found the one in which he was searching.

“Hey Marcus, how are things over there?” Jackson said into his phone. He listened, laughing casually at one moment.

“Good, things are good. Yeah, still with Cameron. Nine years next July.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Why the call? We have a situation.”

“No, this is a bit trickier. Homeland.”

“Yep, they confiscated evidence we need for a big case.”

“Really? You guys will be by tomorrow morning?  Okay, we’ll see you when you get here.”

Jackson ended the call and looked around the room.

“That is my last grasp for luck to go our way for once on this case,” he said as the others look at him questioningly.

“Who was that?” asked Gonzalez.

“Marcus Riley.”

“As in, the FBI?”

“Yep.”

“You really think they can do something?”

“I don’t know, but we’re going to find out.”

Bennett walked up to the vending machine for coffee, got a cup of black with no additives, then stepped back to the bench on the opposite wall. He had the room to himself, only the soft hum of fans in the vending machines creating any noise. He leaned back against the wall with legs stretched out holding the hot coffee. He sat, cup in hand, trying to make up his mind to his next move. Did he reach out to them or let it go?  He had never felt so useless as he did now, with the case going so badly. Ever step forward brought up one roadblock after the next. They had nothing but knew everything. Justin Fuller and Benjamin Murphy were acting in coordination with that PAC to have the city of Miami abandoned because they didn’t want to spend the money to fix a design flaw in the design of the platforms.

He knew corporate leaders held such power that some bold politicians called the country an Oligarchy. But Bennett knew it had been for decades and getting the change needed was damn near impossible since money bought power, and no one had more money than the leading corporations.

A small sip of the coffee, Bennett grimaced at its bitter taste wondering what kind of synthetic coffee the department was using in the vending machine. He held up his pad, staring at the blank white face, then he swiped for contacts. A quick search brought up ‘Dentist’ and he smiled. Would they find it amusing he had them listed as his dentist? Probably not, but it was the least noticeable name he could give them. He hit call and listened to the phone ring. After four rings he heard the familiar voice.

“Damn, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call,” the person answered.

“You guys were looking at some local operations when I left. Did you ever start them up?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“How about this? We have gotten blocked out on investigating SynCorp’s CEO Justin Fuller, Energy Systems’ Benjamin Murphy, and Daniel Moore of that PAC, Americans for the Future. Any of those names ring a bell?”

“Maybe.”

Bennett knew a ‘maybe’ was good as a ‘yes’.

“I want in.”

A laugh, long and natural.

“What makes you think you can come back in? You’ve been gone for a while now and who knows, probably a bit rusty by now.”

“Trust me, I’m not rusty, and I’m not looking to come back permanently. It would just be for this one case.”

“Let me talk to the higher ups and see what they say. You were the best and I hated to see you go, so who knows…maybe for old time’s sake.”

“Yeah, old time’s sake. Let me know.”

“Will do.”

Bennett ended the call when one of the guys from downstairs strolled in. Caleb Jameson was one of the uniforms and someone Bennett had crossed paths but never shared a shift or a case. For that he had been sorely disappointed for Caleb Jameson was prime Kansas beef and what he was doing in Miami was a question he would like to ask. He looked at the round ass and how it made the pants tight around the hips. He looked up the long muscular body to the short light blonde hair, and when Caleb turned, he saw the eyes were blue.

“Hey, how are things downstairs?” asked Bennett.”

“Good. I got your beat when they kicked you up here.”

“Really. So, what brings you up?”

“Delivering some papers to your team on that case. Although from what Detective Jackson said they were useless.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Homeland. They keep confiscating evidence claiming national security. Its bullshit, of course.”

“Wow,” Caleb uttered in a low tone.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why are you here? I mean…I’m here to get away from my father and his minions in the Atlanta Police Department.”

“You’re dad on the take?”

“Worse.”

“That’s tough. You’re either guilty by association or an outcast.”

“Outcast.”

“I’m here because…well…you see my family are old fashion and I’m the only son and supposed to get married, have an heir and…well…I’m afraid that is not what I want.”

Bennett saw how it was. He saw someone similar to himself looking for their own path through life. He sat up.

“What do you want?” Bennett asked in a low personal tone.

“I’m gay, so…”

Bennett laughed, just a chuckle as he looked up at Caleb.

“I’m gay too.”

“I know.”

This time Caleb chuckled and stared at Bennett for a second then turned away while turning red. Bennett found it enduring.

“I’m about to clock out. You want to meet at The Pirate’s Cove for a drink?” asked Bennett.

The Pirate’s Cove was a small dive bar on the other side of the plaza down one level. Despite the storm damage, it was open. It was dimly lit and of questionable cleanliness before the storm, but the drinks were cheap and guys on the force and from the other emergency services like to hang out there after their shift.

“I don’t clock out until two,” Caleb replied, thinking such an hour too late.

“I need to go home and clean up, and that will give me time to do it. I’ll be at the bar waiting when you clock out.”

Caleb smiled, nodding his head.

“I’ll see you then.”

Jackson moved down the corridor slowly. He didn’t know if he was exhausted or frustrated beyond measure. He had cases that got away from him, but this one was too much. The power of money was too much, how it could buy such corruption, he didn’t know why they tried to police the small stuff.

Entering his apartment, he first became aware of the soft ambient music. The genre he would listen to when he needed to calm himself or wanted to read. Then he saw how Cameron had gotten their place cleaned up. Then he realized the ambience, with the lights dimmed, and in the living room the ice bucket with a few beers stuck down in it. He smiled at how perfect it all looked.

“I figured you could use a break from everything,” said Cameron coming out of the kitchen with a tray in hand.

“You don’t know how good this looks, or how good you look.”

For an hour they sat on the sofa. They drank the six beers that had been in the ice bucket, then Cameron stood holding out his hand.

“Come on,” Cameron uttered.

Jackson let Cameron help him up and followed him into the bedroom undoing the buttons of his shirt as he went. Nothing but a smile between them as each stripped, tossing clothes carelessly across the room. Cameron moved to Jackson, playfully pushed him on the bed and climbed over him. They kissed while hands moved over familiar bodies. Eventually Cameron was moving down, lips pressing against the chest, stomach, then over the hardening cock. Jackson lay back, eyes closed as he felt Cameron tongue his cock, then the slick warmth of being enveloped into Cameron’s mouth. He clutched at the bed as Cameron moved on his cock, tongue dragging along the shaft, then swirling around the head. Fingers toyed with his tightening sac as lips moved up and down his cock. He raised his knees, bringing each foot up to his ass. Knees apart, he opened himself to Cameron. A finger rubbed his tight opening, then breached it, sinking into his hole. He moaned with the feel of it twisting and turning inside him, then the stretch as two fingers pushed into him.

“Fuck,” Jackson uttered.

Cameron rose to his knees and scooted up close. He rubbed his cock over the tight entrance to Jackson’s body, then bore into it. Pushed until squeezing through the tightness, then he began a slow fuck. A slow push inward, then a tug outward, feeling every inch move through the tight opening. He let it build up his arousal, make his cock so hard it ached for release. Then he moved over Jackson, holding himself up on his hands and began to fuck.

Jackson moaned as cock piston inside of him. The thrusts inward that gave him the feeling of fullness, then the rapid tug outward leaving him a brief moment of emptiness. But as Cameron’s pace increased, he lost the ability to discern the difference. All he felt was cock inside him. He opened his eyes and saw Cameron hovering above, eyes closed, sweat trickling down his face. He raked the back of his hand down Cameron’s chest feeling the heat of the skin.

Cameron fucked to the point of release, shoving into Jackson’s depths and coming. He slammed his hips against Jackson’s ass with each ejaculation until spent then rolled to the side of him, heaving for breath.

Jackson knew to wait, to give Cameron just a moment to catch his breath. He saw him stir. He saw the mischief in the eyes, then Cameron moving over him. Then he watched as Cameron was taking his cock again. This time Cameron would not bring him to full arousal then stop. This time he sucked and sucked until Jackson as shuddering with release.

The Cove was still busy, the late shifts coming in for something to take the edge off after night of trying to maintain the peace and get the city cleaned up, or rushing to attend to someone injured or sick, or to a fire in a living unit. The bar was crowded, every stool taken with two or three more standing behind them. The noise of many conversations filled the small bar. Along the opposite wall, the booths were full, except for the one in back, the last one in the corner.

Bennett sat nursing his second drink. Others came over to speak and he let it be known he was waiting on someone keeping them at bay. He began to check his watch, watching the minutes slowly pass as it neared two thirty in the morning. A group of police officers came in, all in civilian clothes, having changed at the station. The door swung open again and Caleb came in with two others. A quick scan of the bar and Caleb was excusing himself, then coming toward the back.

“Hey, have you been waiting long?” asked Caleb.

“Not too long. What are you having?” Bennett replied as he motioned to the one waitress working the booths.

They sat in the booth for an hour, Bennett nursing his third drink while Caleb made up for lost time, starting his third. Caleb told of his night shift, having to deal with some looters around the Lower Allapattah Plaza and in the businesses underneath the upper section. Bennett listened as he reflected on his own experiences on the beat. Caleb fell silent, leaned in closer, lowering his voice.

“You guys make any break throughs on your case?”

Bennett shook his head.

“That sucks. I hate not getting closure.”

“Well, you better get use to it,” Bennett replied, meaning for it to sound like a joke, but he heard the bitterness in his tone and saw Caleb grimace.

“I’m sorry,” Bennett whispered.

“Don’t be, like I said, I hate it too.”

“You want to get out of here? Maybe come back to my place?”

“Yeah,” Caleb uttered, grinning foolishly.

Caleb was barely in the apartment and the door closed when Bennett was on him. Pushed against the wall, Bennett kissed him, ran a hand down the muscular body until feeling a growing erection in the confines of Caleb’s pants.

“I’m sorry to be so aggressive,” Bennett uttered breathlessly, “but…”

“I know,” Caleb replied, pushing Bennett back, then dragging him to the bed on the right side of the studio apartment. A rough push, and Bennett was bouncing the bed.

Caleb moved over Bennett, one hand rubbing along a thigh, then across the crotch, fingers squeezing the growing cock, then upward, under the t-shirt. Bennett moaned at the feel of bare skin against bare skin, the hand rubbing upward until fingers were toying with a nipple. A rub over it, then the pinching down, finally the twist that made Bennett arc his back and cry out.

“Fuck,” Bennett uttered, then fell flat on the bed, “don’t stop.”

Caleb sat on his waist and tugged his t-shirt off, then moved down, pinning the legs down as he undid the pants. He moved to the side and tugged them down with Bennett’s help.

Bennett lay back, naked, cock already hard. It hovered over his stomach flexing up and down, then he felt it flex in the tight grasp by Caleb. Caleb stroked it until hand and cock were slick, then Caleb stood on the side of the bed and began to strip.

A broad chest with a matt of dark blonde hair came into view. Bennett let his eyes roam over the muscular body, taking in the narrow waist, the firm well defined pecs with their nipples showing Caleb’s arousal. The nubs stuck out hard, and a reflection of light and Bennett realized silver bars were through each one. Caleb wasn’t the naïve farm boy he appeared. The pants were pushed down, then the boxers and a thick cock stuck out, hard and curved upward. Caleb stroked it as he moved back on the bed.

Bennett wondered what Caleb would want. Would he want to be on bottom or top? He watched Caleb straddle his waist, then grind ass on his cock. Working hips back and forth, Caleb rubbed his ass over Bennett’s cock. Then he rose on knees, reached back, and held Bennett up and moved down to it.

“I want you inside me,” Caleb uttered.

Bennett watched as his cock slowly disappeared inside him, then he watched Caleb’s cock drool onto his stomach.

“Yeah, ya nasty fuck, ride me,” Bennett egged Caleb on.

Caleb built up a furious pace, moving his ass up and down the length of Bennett’s cock. He slammed down so hard the bed squeaked and rocked beneath them. Up and down, he fucked his ass on Bennett’s cock. He leaned back and worked his ass faster. Bennett opened his eyes and watched his cock come into view then disappear rapidly inside of him. He watched Caleb take his own cock in hand, stroking it roughly.

Caleb sat back up, bouncing his ass off Bennett’s hips. The bed protested louder, rocked so hard it smacked against the wall. It seemed to spur Caleb to keep up his brutal pace. To slam ass down on cock, over and over.

“Fuck…I’m going to cum,” Caleb uttered.

Bennet watched as Caleb came, cock ejaculating thick wads of cum that rained down on his neck, chest, and stomach. It seemed as if Caleb would not stop coming, but then he fell still, sitting on Bennett’s cock, slimy cock in hand, and Bennett covered in cum.

Bennett was too aroused to lay still, and he rolled Caleb to his back and moved over him. Cum dripped onto Caleb and trickled down his torso as he lined his cock with the loosened opening. A thrust forward and he buried his cock inside Caleb and began to fuck. He fucked hard, pushing for his own release. He fucked to fatigue his body, to wear himself out. He laced fingers with Caleb and held him down as he worked his hips. The steady rhythm of a fuck. Sweat beaded up on his skin and he felt the heat of his own body. The exertion of muscle that burned within.

“Fuck. Fuck me,” Caleb uttered.

Bennett fucked to the point of release, threw his head back and cried out as he filled Caleb’s hole with cum.

It was late morning, the sun high in the eastern sky. Bennett stirred awake feeling the ache of muscles pushed hard. Next to him, covers pushed down to the knees lay Caleb. He looked at the naked body feeling more than simple lust for it. They had fucked to the point of exhaustion, then lay in bed for a long time talking. The differences in their backgrounds but the desire for the same thing in life. Bennett couldn’t admit it to Caleb, but he found him attractive in ways beyond the physical. He wondered if he deserved it, this possibility.

Caleb stirred, opened his eyes and smiled at Bennett.

“Hey, what time do you have to clock in?” asked Bennett.

“Three.”

“What do you say we get cleaned up and go for lunch. I think there are a couple of restaurants in Brickell Plaza that are open.”

“That would be nice.”

Bennett moved his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. He looked at his reflection in the mirror over the dresser. The messed up hair needing a cut, the flush appearance of his skin, and the scares on his shoulder of another time and place. Then he felt a touch on his shoulder blade. A light rub of a finger and knew it was over another scare.

“You have so many…what happened?” asked Caleb.

“Long story but let’s say my military days were a bit rough,” Bennett replied looking over the shoulder Caleb was touching. “Would you like to hear it some time?”

Caleb nodded.

“I’m planning on taking some time off, maybe a week or two, but when I get back, I was wondering if you’d like to get together.”

“Like a date?” joked Caleb.

“Yeah,” Bennett replied in a low voice, suddenly more serious than he wanted to admit.

Jackson and Gonzalez waited in the conference room, one at each end of the small table. Half finished cups of coffee were before both. The room was small, the table only able to sit eight. It was visible to the lobby, the door and wall solid glass. They saw Bennett come in, then Gomez come from their office area and say something to him, causing him to look their way. The two of them came to the conference room and took a seat on the opposite side of the table where they could watch the lobby too.

“What time are they to arrive?” asked Gomez.

“There helicopter landed thirty minutes ago, so they should be here any minute,” Gonzalez replied.

“You think they can help?” asked Bennett, looking left then right.

“Don’t know. Honestly, I doubt it, but we’ve got to do something,” Jackson replied.

“I agree,” Bennett replied, wondering if he would hear back from his contact.

The lobby door swung open, and two men entered. One was in a black suit and the other in a dark blue suit.

“They do stand out,” Bennett joked as the two men approached the conference room.

Jackson, then the others stood as the men came into the conference room.

“Marcus, it’s good to see you,” said Jackson.

“Same here, although I was surprised to hear from you. Guys, this is Nathan Hudson, my partner.”

“Nathan,” said Jackson as they shook hands. “And this is my partner, Agredo Gonzalez, and these are two of our junior detectives that have helped on this case, Maria Gomez and Ryan Bennett.”

“We have been put on a tight timeline so shall we get right to it,” said Hudson.

Jackson saw Marcus grimaced and knew what was coming.

“We have reviewed this case and based on Homeland’s security issues with it, must tell you to wrap it up. You have the killer for the senator’s son so the case should be closed.”

“What? You’re fucking with us,” Bennett blurted out.

“Bennett!” Jackson uttered, then turning to the two FBI agents. “Guys do you not understand the ramifications of this case if it just dropped? Have you seen the report on the platforms?”

“No, that is classified, but…” Hudson began to reply.

“Classified? Why is a maintenance report classified? Does that not tell you something?”

“We have no actionable evidence to even open a case on this and…”

“Who’s paying you guys to leave it alone,” Bennett exclaimed, leaning toward the two agents. “Is it SynCorp? Or is it Energy Systems?”

“Sir, we ask that you calm down and understand there is no case here,” Hudson repeated with a cold dead stare at Bennett, then over to Jackson.

“Well, let’s not waste any more time with this,” said Jackson, his tone harsh.

“We have to be back in Atlanta by this afternoon, so we’ll be going,” Hudson said as the rose to his feet, Marcus slowly following his lead.

Jackson and the others remained seated.

Hudson left the room and Marcus started out the door, then hesitated, sticking his head back in the room. In a low whispered voice, he addressed Jackson.

“This is coming from way up and it was made very clear to us, not to question it. I don’t know what you guys have stirred up, but some very powerful people want this case shut down. I’m sorry but our hands are tied.”

Jackson shook his head then looked up at Marcus.

“I know. I figured you couldn’t help, but what are we supposed to do?”

“Get off this platform and back to the mainland, and do it before next summer,” replied Marcus, staring at Jackson, then the others in the room. “But if anyone asks, I did not say that.”

On the other side of the world a Gulf Stream X1250 private jet was approaching Suvarnabhumi Airport. It was about to fly over the sea wall that protected Bangkok from the raised sea level. Landing gear down the jet began to nose up as it made its final approach. No one on board would see the Chinese HN-55 rise into the air from a small ship in the harbor. No one would see it turn toward the tail of jet. It would impact at the left rear jet engine and explode on impact. The jet would come apart, sections exploding outward, then falling to the ground with a trail of smoke.

Jackson sat at his desk as the captain talked of a new case. It was just white noise to Jackson and Gonzalez who sat opposite pretending to listen. Gomez looked worried, wondering if she was going to be sent back downstairs, while Bennett appeared defiant, staring at the captain as if he wanted to say something. When the captain finished, he turned to look around at the four of them.

“Well, any questions?” the captain asked.

“What about us?” asked Gomez.

“I know the case was a bust and it was not of your making but right now I’m trying to work with Tallahassee to get it opened back up, or at least get the FBI to take it.”

“The FBI won’t touch it,” Jackson uttered as he leaned back in his chair.

“How do you know that?” asked the captain.

“They were here this morning and told us as much.”

“The FBI was here this morning?”

“Yep, flew down just to tell us to drop the case, then left.”

“But what about the report on the platforms?” the captain asked suddenly getting an idea of what was happening.

“It’s classified,” Bennett uttered causing the captain to turn to him. “Sir, I’d like to request a few days off. Not sure when but I think it’ll be in the next couple of days. I’m waiting for a call…a friend to call and let me know when. We’re going fishing.”

“Fishing?”

“Yes sir.”

“Jackson? You okay with it?”

Jackson looked over at Bennett and sensed it, something Bennett wasn’t saying.

“Yes sir, I’ve no problem with him taking a few days. Gomez will be enough help on the case if he needs to leave soon,” Jackson replied, making it clear to the captain he expected Gomez and Bennett to remain detectives.

The captain nodded in agreement, still shocked at how the FBI wouldn’t pursue the case. He wondered if they would really do it, abandon the city of Miami, then told himself there was no way that it would get through Congress. But he saw how they treated Los Angeles a few years back, basically letting the city burn itself out. He stood to leave then looked back at Jackson.

“I’ll send you the files on the new case,” then turned back to the door and left without another word.

Detective Murphy stormed into the room, rushing to the main monitor.

“You guys need to see this,” Murphy exclaimed as he brought up a news site. A red banner moved across the bottom of the screen giving reports on the riots in Birmingham and Denver, while an image of scattered debris filled the main part of the screen. Murphy fumbled with the remote until the sound came on.

“…we repeat, at 6:25 P.M., Indochina Time, a private jet carrying Senator John Stevens and his wife, Elizabeth, was shot down while on its approach to Suvarnabhumi Airport, in Bangkok, Thailand. No word on responsible parties and there were no survivors. The jet was…”

“Turn it off,” Jackson uttered, and Murphy shut it off.

“You think it’ll get your case reopened?” asked Murphy.

“I think that was another nail in its coffin,” Jackson replied.

A phone rang, not one of the department issue models. The ring tone was different, and everyone turned to where the sound was coming. Bennett leaned back, getting his hand down into one pocket, then pulled out an old hand-held model.

“I need to take this,” Bennett stated as he jumped up and went out into the corridor.

Less than a minute later, Bennett came back in and looked over to Jackson.

“That was my friend, and our fishing trip is on. I need to leave this afternoon.”

Jackson sensed it again, how Bennett was hiding something, but he dared not ask.

“Okay, take off. When will you be back?”

“In five days.”

The next morning Jackson came in to find an old style envelop on his desk. He had not seen one in years, the last one a letter from his mother when she had been in Spain vacating and he had been left at home with his grandmother. He picked it up and looked around the room expecting to see the person who left it waiting to see him open it. On the other side Murphy was arguing with Taylor, then asking for Lopez to back him up. The captain’s door was closed, indicating he had not arrived yet or was in a private meeting with one of the detectives.

Flipping the envelop over, Jackson saw it was pure white on both sides with no markings or anything written, like his name or address. He slipped a finger under the flap and tore it loose and found a white card inside. It was good quality stock, a sense of weight to the paper. Again, no writing on the exterior, not even an image of something, like the card his mother had sent to him all those years ago. He suddenly remembered the image of a castle on a low rocky mountain had been the photograph on that card.

Opening the card, he immediately recognized the writing from when the team had tried to jot down everything in the case files before Homeland secured it. The neat block lettering that trailed upward as it went across the card.

Starting tomorrow, keep an eye on the news reports. Something interesting may crop up.

No signature, but Jackson didn’t need one to know it was Bennett. He smiled, finding his sense of what Bennett was up to might be right. He reconsidered his initial impressions of Bennett and how there had been something in his bio, the timing of his military service and vagueness of the exact duty he had performed. Most of the police officers came in with a full page covering their military duty, from the proficiency with firearms, their duties, none more spelled out than those that had served in West Africa or in Uzbekistan. But Bennett’s resume glossed over any mention of his duties. Not even a mention of proficiency with firearms. He knew from Jim Hastings downstairs, that Bennett had been frightening accurate with a rifle and a handgun. That Bennett’s request for time off was right after their case went to shit because of Homeland’s meddling was no coincidence. Those didn’t exist in his line of work.

Card back in the envelop, Jackson folded it in half and slipped it into his pocket. He didn’t even trust that their trash wasn’t being gone through. He’d burn it when he got home.

The delivery van pulled into a parking lot at the edge of the park. A man climbed out, box in hand and made his way across the street toward one of the office buildings. As the people of New DC went about their business, no one noticed someone drop down from the bottom of the van, slip a manhole cover over and lift it up to someone still in the van. The man climbed down into the manhole and was quickly followed by one more. A long black case was handed down, then another man climbed down. The cover was lowered back in place in case someone strolled by and happened to look underneath the van.

The park was ninety-two acres in the middle of the business district of New DC. There was a man-made lake with the prerequisite stone bridge and sidewalk crisscrossing the surrounding areas. There was a seven-acre open grass area, a playground for children under some trees, and near the center a concession stand. In one corner of the park, shielded from view by densely planted trees of various sizes, stood a stone tower. The ground level was the pump system for keeping the water level up in the lake. The middle levels were park ranger offices and in top, a lookout for watching the park.

Within the lower level, a grate was moved to the side by a man in park ranger clothing. He held out his hand and took the long case, then helped the three men climb up.

“Gentlemen, I’m Agent Milton with the local FBI. I understand I’m to help you get in place then vacate.”

“That is right, so you can leave now. I think we can find our way up the stair,” one of the men replied.

He was Lieutenant General Samuel Carter, three-star general and leader of special ops group that consisted of only ten men, one of which was delivering a package across the street, two more where in the van, and one stood in front of him, First Lieutenant Howard Bowman. The other man was someone he had pleaded with a few years prior to remain in the group, but after a particular messy operation in a small town deep in the forest of Columbia near the border with Venezuela, he knew Ryan Bennett, formerly a Second Lieutenant, wouldn’t sign up again. He watched Bennett take out the Mk40 MRF Long Range Rifle and started assembling it with ease, as if it were only yesterday, he had last held one.

“Bennett, you know how to shoot that thing?” Carter joked as he took out a small box of ammo. Opening the box, the brass tips shined in the light, each one black tipped on the very end.

“Better than you,” Bennett shot back. “Is that the new rounds?”

“Yeah. Supposedly stable for a much longer distance.”

Rifle assembled, Bennett stood up and looked at Carter, then at Bowman.

“Ready?”

“Ready,” Carter replied, then led the two men to the stair and up. The offices upstairs were empty as prearranged, and at the top, Bowman went first up the ladder to open the roof hatch. Bennett followed, handing the rifle to him, then crawled through. Carter followed and found the two men already setting up the tripod for the rifle.

“You remember what to look for?” Carter asked.

Without stopping or looking around, Bennett replied. “Two suspects will come to the park to meet at two o’clock. They will sit by the water fountain to distort any listening devices after their bodyguards sweep the bench and surrounding area for bugs, then stand in a perimeter to block any electronic devices trying to eavesdrop. The two suspects will be Daniel Asher Moore with the Americans for the Future PAC and Justin Rory Fuller of SynCorp. We’re to let them get seated and wait until 2:08 P.M. to take the shot so that in London our buddies in MI6 can be taking their shot at Benjamin Ceagan Murphy at 7:08 P.M as he heads to a dinner reservation at some overpriced restaurant.”

“Is that it?” Carter asked.

“No,” Bennett replied, finally looking around with a smile. “The angle and position of our shot will facilitate at this range and caliber of round, that we can put it through both suspects, thus taking them out simultaneously.”

“Why did I let you go?” Carter joked.

“Question for you, sir?” said Bennett.

“Fire away.”

“Are we sure this will stop the attempt to cut Miami loose?”

“With success today, this time tomorrow, the news will be moving from the killings to the report that will be leaked out early in the morning.”

“You got the report?”

“Some guys at NSA hacked Fuller’s system and retrieved it.”

“And when that report goes public it will be impossible to carry out the abandonment of Miami and other cities.”

“You got it.”

“Time?” Bennett asked.

“Two minutes after two,” Bowman replied.

“Time to get in position,” Bennett replied setting the tripod in place looking over the parapet.

“They are in the park,” said Bowman, listening to the report from the guys in the van.

“Let’s keep an eye out in case those bastards take a different bench,” said Carter. He knew the report by heart. How Fuller and Moore never met in an office or some public location, like a restaurant. In fact, they rarely met in person, but when they did do so, it was in this park at this location.

A minute passed, then two, and Bennett began to wonder if the curse of the case would strike again. Then he saw two bodyguards stroll into view, then two more, then Fuller and Moore. Two bodyguards were behind them, and it was obvious by the loose-fitting jackets each was packing a weapon.

“And there they go, heading to their bench,” Bowman whispered.

Bennett sighted them, following the two men to the bench where Fuller sat first, then Moore next to him, on the far side to Bennett. The men sat back and appeared to anyone walking by as just two businessmen enjoying an afternoon in the park.

“Time?” Bennett asked.

“Six after two.”

“At seven after, let me know when each fifteen seconds pass.”

“You want a countdown on the final fifteen,” Bowman whispered, chuckling softly.

“I don’t think so,” Bennett replied.

Bowman and Carter knew Bennett would do his own countdown, one timed with his process of aiming, relaxing his body, tightening his grip, then squeezing the trigger.

Bowman called out each interval until fifteen seconds prior to 2:08 P.M.

Bennett aimed on Fuller’s head, aiming small they liked to call it, and watched Moore’s head move into view then back out of sight. He counted down, adjusting his aim, settling his body, then squeezed the trigger.

Fuller’s head exploded as the large caliber round tore through it, then Moore’s did the same. In a split second both men were falling over, Fuller to the ground and Moore across the bench. The guards were moving to them, but it was obvious by their movements they knew it was futile. Two scanned the horizon, looking toward the trees, the roof of the concession stand, then the tower further away. By then Bennett, Bowman, and Carter had everything packed up. A minute later, they would be back in the service tunnel heading to the van. Two minutes later, the van would drive away as sirens echoed off the buildings around the park.

Across the Atlantic, Benjamin Ceagan Murphy was coming out of his apartment. It was a short walk across the sidewalk to the armored limo waiting for him. He moved rapidly, bodyguards lining his way. As he neared the limo, a guard opened the back door. Benjamin ducked down to climb in when suddenly he was blown against the thick door as a high caliber rifle shot rang out some distance away. Benjamin fell to the ground leaving a trail of blood down the door. The window was cracked where the round passed through him hitting it. Guards moved quickly to Benjamin’s aid, but it was quickly apparent that there was no aid capable of helping the dead man lying on the sidewalk.

MFC-6 glowed on the horizon with the electrical systems finally restored. Construction cranes hovered over different sections where three shifts of construction crews worked to repair the storm damage. Coming in low over the water, a helicopter rushed toward it. The sound of the rotating blades reverberated off the water’s surface. It rose higher as it neared the front section, flying over the mariner then coming down on the landing deck.

It was late, after midnight, and few citizens were out, as the crew of the helicopter planned. The blades slowed, the side door slid open, and only one passenger climbed out. As he moved away from the helicopter, the blades began to speed up. He looked back, waved once, then moved to the entry door for the lobby. The helicopter lifted off and pitched nose down over the side, then came into view rushing back over the waters in the direction from whence it came.

As the man reached for the door, someone stepped into view. He smiled then entered.

“Hey, what are you doing here,” Bennett asked.

“I heard you were getting back and thought I’d just see how you’re doing,” Jackson replied.

“I’m good.”

“I saw where our suspects came to an untimely end.”

“Yeah, I heard about that.”

“Congress is going to create a committee and investigate the accusations.”

“I heard. Senator Garcia said there would be no abandonment of any floating cities,” said Bennett referring to the person who took Senator Stevens place in a special session.

“Do you think there is anyone left who was involved in the plot?”

Bennett hesitated, knowing Jackson and he were dancing around his involvement.

“You don’t have to say anything,” said Jackson.

“Keep this between us, but there is a few involved but not the decision makers. I heard they have been rounded up.”

“Rounded up? I’ve not heard of any police action,” Jackson replied, grinning.

“Well, you know…”

“Yeah, well, I know enough. You ready to get home, or do you have time for a drink?”

Bennett smiled for he had been rushing since the day before, getting from New DC down to Atlanta, then on the flight to the platform, and during the final flight all he could think about was how nice a bourbon would be in some dive bar.

“Yeah, that would be great.”

The Cove was busy despite the late hour, or because of it. Police officers, detectives, firemen and emergency service crews filled the interior. Jackson held the door open allowing Bennett to enter first.

“We have a table in back waiting for us,” Jackson said, leaning in close so Bennett could hear him.

“Really?”

“Yep, go on back,” Jackson replied, nodding toward the rear of the bar.

Bennett made his way through the crowd, speaking or nodding to others from the department. He rounded the back of the bar and looked along the wall, then smiled. Caleb sat in a booth along with Gonzalez and Gomez. Two chairs sat at the end of the table, one occupied by their captain.

“Hey, this is a surprise,” said Bennett coming to the table.

“Welcome back, detective,” said the captain.

Caleb slid over and Bennett eased down next to him.

“How did you know?” asked Bennett.

“Gomez told me you were on your way back,” said Caleb.

“That was supposed to be…” Bennett stammered to a stop almost admitting it was top secret.

“Supposed to be what?” said Jackson sitting next to the captain. He smiled at Bennett, then winked. “You’re not the only one with fishing buddies.”

Bennett laughed, while patting Caleb on the thigh under the table.

“What’s happened since I’ve been gone?” asked Bennett.

“Not much. Repairs are truly underway and we’re expecting the mayor to make an official visit in two days,” said Gonzalez.

“When are you coming back?” asked Gomez looking across the table at Bennett.

“Well, I hoped to take a day or two off before coming back in,” Bennett replied, looking at Jackson then the captain, “if that is okay?”

The captain looked at Jackson then Jackson turned to Bennett.

“Sure, I think we can hold the fort down until then. But what about you, Caleb? Do you have shifts tomorrow or the next day?”

“He’s on vacation on those days,” the captain replied, winking at Bennett and Caleb.