City of Dreams
By Stephen R. Lawhead
Rebound by Sagebrush
Copyright © 2003
Stephen R. Lawhead
All right reserved.
ISBN: 1417603224
Chapter One
Alex Hunter stepped out of the yellow cab and into the heat-flash
that bounced off the pavement. It was 10:45 A.M. He'd been in the
city less than thirty minutes, and already his head was pounding.
Sweat trickled down his collar and seeped into his shirt; he felt as
if he were swimming inside his uniform.
Just what I need, he
thought grimly,
a September heat wave in one of the dirtiest, most
crowded cities on earth.
New York, New York-so great they named it twice. Yeah,
right, he thought. Probably, they just couldn't believe it the first
time.
Hunter hadn't asked for this assignment. It had been dumped
on him from a great height. Smacking the heads of rabid radicals
was not his idea of a good time, and besides, it was a waste of
his considerable talents. What am I doing here? he wondered as
he gazed up at the ICON tower looming over him. He had asked
and answered that question a hundred times since flying in that
morning. You know what you're doing here, and you also know
why. The black-tinted windows of the tower shimmered in the
sun, making the enormous building appear to sway in its own
private, slow-motion earthquake.
He climbed the twenty-four steps to the entrance and placed
his palm on the metal push bar. It was hot and he yanked his
hand away. "Out of the frying pan," he muttered, "and into the
fire." Putting his shoulder to the door, he shoved his way in.
The reception area was a box of reinforced concrete and
bulletproof glass-a cramped, airless cubicle with sticky rubber
matting on the floor. Hunter shook off a feeling of mild claustrophobia
as he fished his ID from his pocket, waving it at the
nearest of the three armed guards waiting inside the door. One
of the guards motioned him through and pointed to the security
booth, where a bored-looking officer sat behind an assessment
screen. Hunter swiped his ID card across a magnetic pad and
waited for his details to appear on the monitor. In a moment,
they came up:
Hunter, Alexander Scott
PIC: TZY-022-567-8040-NQ
ICON RNK: *Lieutenant, First*
ICON CLSFCN: *Special Agent*
SECCLR: SA Priority / Top Level
SVC-RD: *10 yrs* Awards: 5 / Citations: 1
The duty officer yawned and pressed a button beneath the
counter; two large steel doors opposite the entrance clicked
open.
In a second reception area, Hunter was met by another security
guard. "Morning, sir," said the guard, stepping out from
behind his desk. "Gun, sir?"
"Yes," Hunter replied. "Standard issue. Nothing fancy."
"You'll have to leave it here."
"Yeah?"
"We've had a few incidents lately," the guard informed him.
"You'll get it back."
Hunter unsnapped his hip holster and gave the man his
sidearm, then unbuttoned the jacket of his dark blue uniform and
pulled his handgun from its shoulder holster. "Take care of them,"
he said, handing over the two automatics. "I don't want to see
them all scratched up when I come back."
"Sure thing," replied the guard as he tagged the weapons and
dropped them into a metal box behind his desk.
Hunter rebuttoned his jacket and started through the metal
detector in the doorway. "Have a nice day, sir," the guard called
after him.
"Too late for that," said Hunter, stepping through the doorway
and into the lobby. The first thing to hit him was the cool air.
Hunter closed his eyes and felt the sweat chill his skin. When he
opened his eyes again, he took in the gigantic scale of the room.
Mother ICON, he thought, gazing at what seemed to be three or
four acres of cool pink marble and several tons of gleaming brass,
you've outdone yourself this time. He'd been in dozens of ICON
headquarters around the world, and all were built to be imposing,
but this one surely topped them all. The proportions were
calculated not only to make visitors feel small and unimportant,
but also irrelevant, insignificant, and impotent.
The International Confederation of Nations-known the
world over as ICON, the last and greatest empire, mother to the
unwashed billions-maintained its grip on power with an ever-tightening
iron fist. But the world was changing; fever and ferment
were everywhere; people were restless, discontented,
even angry. Rebellion was becoming commonplace, part of the
daily routine-heck, in some quarters it was almost a civic duty.
All of which made Hunter's job more challenging. Not that he
minded-it kept him in beer and bratwurst.
"Agent Hunter!" a female voice called out.
Hunter turned and was met by a pretty woman in a uniform
bearing a silver supervisor's insignia. She was petite, with fine,
sandy blond hair, pale skin, and a hint of peach-colored lipstick.
Her appearance was immaculate-nothing wrinkled, nothing
irregular, nothing out of place. Her uniform was perfectly tailored
and she carried a small brown leather portfolio. She exuded a
cool, official air and an aloof sexuality that Hunter found very
appealing.
"I'm Janet Riley." She extended her hand and Hunter shook
it. "I asked to be notified when you came in. You've got an
appointment with Commissioner Steiner scheduled now. Shall
we go up together?"
"Lead on."
She led him to a bank of elevators and entered the express
car that ran only to the upper floors. Supervisor Riley put her ID
card in a small slot underneath the call button and pressed it. A
red light flashed for a second and then turned green with a ping.
The elevator took them straight to the thirty-second floor
where, after a smooth and silent journey, they were delivered to
a sleek waiting room with jade green carpeting and a rank of
low brown leather chairs. A receptionist behind a walnut desk
glanced up at them for a fraction of a second. "Go right in. The
commissioner's expecting you," he said, his voice as languid as
his manner. Riley stepped aside and let Hunter go first. He took
a deep, silent breath, put his hand to the brass doorknob, and
gave the massive paneled door a push. The door swung open
quietly, and he stepped into what might have passed for a luxury
airplane hangar.
Hunter's gaze swept around the room, taking in the sumptuous
interior. Two walls were glass, floor to ceiling, affording an
impressive view of the waterfront and Staten Island beyond; the
other walls were taken up by three large paintings-postmodern
paint-spattered tantrums, to Hunter's inexperienced eye. The floor
was an open field of sky-blue carpet, and the ceiling was dotted
with tiny spotlights that glowed like stars in a cream-colored
firmament. In the center of the room a thin man sat in a tall chair
behind a veritable blockade of polished granite-perhaps the
largest desk Hunter had seen in his life.
"Ah, Special Agent Hunter," said the man, looking up.
"Pleased to meet you."
Hunter advanced quietly across the carpet. There were no
other chairs in the room. Visitors obviously weren't meant to stay
here very long-at least, not comfortably.
"Commissioner Steiner," responded Hunter as he came face to
face with one of the most powerful men in New York. A long,
thin neck supported Steiner's round, bald head. His slightly
hunched shoulders gave him the appearance of a vulture on a
perch-an impression only strengthened by two keen dark eyes
that watched the world from beneath dark brows. He wore the
standard gray uniform of all ICON's top-level commanders.
Hunter remained at attention as the commissioner rose slowly
from his chair and raised his hand in a salute, which Hunter
returned with practiced precision. Supervisor Riley acknowledged
her superior with a nod and took her place beside Steiner's desk,
silent, her hands folded before her, waiting to be addressed.
Commissioner Steiner resumed his seat and reached for one of
the two yellow folders before him on the otherwise naked desktop.
One of the folders bore the blue stripe of a personnel
record-which Hunter assumed was his own-and the other
was a red-tagged duty folder.
"We were expecting you last night, Agent."
"Please accept my apologies, sir. My flight was canceled."
"Yes, I know," replied the commissioner distractedly as he
flipped open the file with the blue stripe. He read to himself for
a moment, then said, "You've been an unfortunate man, Agent
Hunter." He tapped Hunter's file with a finger. "Your last assignment
landed you in the soup, I see."
"You could say that, sir," he replied automatically. "Due to
unforeseen circumstances, there was considerable collateral damage.
I took full responsibility."
"Yes," mused the commissioner, as his thin lips twitched into
a smile. "I'm sure you did." He closed the file and pushed it
across the granite desktop. "Don't worry, Agent. I'm not here to
judge you. This isn't the first time that an officer has been stripped
of his rank, and you won't be the first one to bounce back-assuming
you want a second chance."
"I most certainly do, sir."
"Then you have nothing to fear from this quarter. We won't
let a little collateral damage worry us." Steiner placed a narrow
hand on his chest. "Personally, I like a man to show some initiative.
Things happen in the field-I know that. All I ask, Agent
Hunter, is that you keep me informed. I want to know what my
agents are up to. That way I will always know how best to help
them if something ... unfortunate should happen. Understand?"
"Perfectly, sir."
"Good. And I want you to remain in touch with Supervisor
Riley here." Steiner nodded at the woman standing silently
beside him.
"Yes, sir."
"Just a tiny formality, nothing more. You are more than qualified
to look after yourself in the field, I know that. But it is my
policy in situations like this, where an agent may be struggling,"
he spread his hands in a gesture of sympathetic understanding,
"to keep the lines of communication open."
Hunter bristled slightly at the implication that he was damaged
goods. "You can trust me, sir."
"Oh, it isn't about trust, Agent," replied Steiner quickly. "Don't
think for a moment we don't trust you. But if you should find
yourself in a position where you need someone on the other side
of the fence to help you out, do not hesitate to call her." The commissioner
glanced at Riley and smiled. "She's good, or she
wouldn't be working for me."
"Thank you, sir. I'll remember that."
Steiner waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Now then,
down to business." He picked up the red-edged file and handed
it to Hunter. "Here's your brief-no need to read it now. You'll
want to get acquainted with the city first, of course. New York
is quite ... unique, as they say, but very straightforward. We can
of course, arrange a tour ..." his voice trailed off.
"Thank you, sir," said Hunter, taking the hint. "As it happens,
I actually prefer making my own way around."
"I thought so." The commissioner flashed an enigmatic grin.
"Great minds think alike."
Hunter waited for something more, but that seemed to be
the end of the conversation. "Well, if there is nothing else, sir,"
he volunteered, "I'll get started."
"Good," said the commissioner, rising from his seat. "You'll
keep me informed on the progress of your investigation? I want
reports."
"Of course," he answered, adding, "but these things can take
time."
"I understand, Agent," said Steiner affably. "Just make sure
Supervisor Riley can get in touch with you at all times."
"I will do that, sir."
"Fine." The commissioner stood and raised his hand slowly.
"And you'll give me reports?"
"I will, sir."
"Good man." Commissioner Steiner gave his new agent a final
salute.
The interview over, Hunter tucked the folder under his arm,
put his heels together, and gave a quick salute. Commissioner
Steiner nodded and settled back into his great chair.
Hunter turned and started away; he had almost reached the
door when he heard from behind him, "New York has its share
of hotheads, rebels, and malcontents, I don't deny it; but we keep
a tight rein on things in this city. Terrorism is the hot issue right
now; it's the media's favorite buzzword. But we have things
pretty well in hand here, you'll see."
How very reassuring, thought Hunter, and wondered yet
again why on earth he was here. He gave the commissioner a last
nod and paused while Supervisor Riley opened the door for him.
"Don't take it so hard, Agent," whispered Riley as soon as
they were outside. "Just get through this assignment in good
shape, and you'll soon have your old rank back. I'll see to it."
"Thanks," he muttered. Then, wishing his baby-sitter a good
day, he turned and walked away.
"You'll phone me?" she called after him.
Continues...
Excerpted from City of Dreams
by Stephen R. Lawhead
Copyright © 2003 by Stephen R. Lawhead.
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
