The driver gave the horn a firm press; once, twice, thrice, and then faced Globe in the rearview mirror. He muttered something about human sludge under his breath. The driver did his best to conceal the heated insult of his fellow man. “I can’t sir. There are people in front of the car. They won’t move.”
Globe swirled the ice cubes in his scotch with anxious exasperation. He stared at the almost transparent peaks above the line of fine alcohol. He appreciated that like the iceberg that sunk the Titanic, most of the action was below the surface. He came to think of his new organization in the same way – mostly under the surface. Sure, he was the very public face of it, but only a select few knew what was actually going on. There were Middle East terrorist groups that were so difficult to root out because they employed the same level of autonomy. There was a vague master plan, but each cell was free to carry out their own interpretation of those grand plans. They were insulated from each other and from him. Globe set his glass on the polished wooden bar and wiped the condensation his fingers had gathered from the glass on a white cloth towel. He sighed at the bodies pressed against the glass.
“Well make them move, Jarvis. I don’t have all day.” Besides they’re leaving smudges on my car, he wanted to add but bit his tongue. It was never a wise idea to show that much indifference and douchebaggery all at once and in front of the more common people in his employ. Not that it made much difference, they were easily replaceable, but he had a kinder, gentler façade to maintain. Jarvis wasn’t even the driver’s name. Globe called each driver by the generic name. Although the current Jarvis had held the position the longest, Globe wasn’t about to snub his nose at the tradition.
“They will calm down Doctor Globe.” Jarvis glanced nervously at Globe in the rearview mirror. His deliberate swallow was audible in the tight confines of the car. Jarvis glanced at Globe’s traveling companion before continuing, “As soon as Miles Jensen is behind bars for life they will thank you for proving him guilty.”
With a small smile, his companion finished the thought: “The good people of this city will support you in your campaign. They believe in you just as I do.”
Denisha smiled at him from the opposite seat, but as soon as Globe’s gaze lingered too long on her, she dropped her eyes to the tablet in her lap and resumed scrolling through the visualized graphics. She furrowed her brows as she absorbed some piece of information displayed on the small screen. He would have to check the screen capture feed later in the day to see what garnered her attention from him.
Globe’s eyes had drifted to the empty seat next to him before he replied to Denisha. “Thank you, Denisha. You’ve always been the voice of reason. A sound advisor. I have no doubts in the faith of the people. I know that their faith, like yours, is something that I take very seriously. I only hope that I can live up to theirs and your expectations. It’s just…” Globe let his voice trail off until Denisha looked up from her tablet to meet his eyes. “It’s just that they worry. I understand their fears. Their poor children are gone after all, but even in death they can help us bring Jensen to justice.”
Denisha smiled shyly. Globe liked to see her do that. He had to remind himself that she was more than just a beautiful face to look at. She was an asset, and she still didn’t realize the importance she held within Globe’s plans.
Initially, the parents of the slain children hadn’t signed the necessary agreements to release the bodies over to Globe’s research team. That was at grave first for a man who had built a reputation in the military and medical circles for getting what he wanted. He was persuasive enough with his promises to get to the bottom of the Madison Massacre. His claims made for good sound bites – both as a medical doctor and as a mayoral candidate, but not all of the parents relished in the idea of the tiny bodies being examined by his staff. Silas and Bree worked quickly behind the scenes to ensure the appropriate level of compliance. He didn’t know or care if that compliance was purchased through flowery incentives, or some other methodology. He only cared about compliance. Now six ambulances waited behind his limousine ready to follow the escort once the path was cleared. The people had turned Globe’s procession into a funeral march. The teeming mass congregated around parents, concerned citizens, and the reporters that had molded the short drive from the city morgue to Globe’s compound into their new story. They labeled it a march of justice. In the current information age, news blogs ran with the sentiment, and the rest quickly followed suit. Globe liked the sound of the headline: March of Justice. It was hastily scrawled on the posters they carried and silkscreened on their shirts. Globe was the face and voice of salvation; his words were those of a prophet. They trusted him with such passion that the tears of anger on their faces had melted away to a loud weeping for help, for truth, for a cure to the superhuman problem.
Globe smiled when the path cleared, and his driver guided the limousine down the road. The ambulances followed behind in silent testament to the people’s fear. Jacob Globe knew what a powerful motivator fear could be.
Next: Insignificant Other