Lucas shook his head.
“Hi Rev, are you there?” Windsor asked, his voice just above a whisper.
Silence.
Lucas thought he saw a shadow move behind the cylinder. He pointed. “Behind that cylinder.” He walked up slowly and looked behind it. Nothing there. He turned to Windsor and shrugged. “Nothing.” Strange. He was sure he saw something, something with a robe flowing behind it.
Lucas stared at the cylinder. The voice spoke again. He’s going to kill you—that’s why you’re here. He doesn’t like you.
“Well, no place to hide except in the cylinders and they’re empty except for my son’s one.”
Empty at the moment. Lucas heard the voice again and shuddered. “Maybe the transfer didn’t work.”
“Maybe.” Lucas watched Windsor looking around the room. He saw him looking towards something in the corner and walked over to it.
“Hey, Lucas, come over here.”
Lucas walked over.
“You’re more of an expert on this device than I am. What do the settings tell you?”
Lucas got down on his knees and looked at the settings and indicators. “Clever man, he’s transferred himself to the next receiver station.”
“Which is?”
“The property.”
<°)))><
A softer floor this time, but just as cold as the last one. The Rev wondered where he was now.
He stood up and tried to take in the new environment. Bare walls, some seats towards the back, one window with security grilles. It reminded him of the prison cells that he had visited as part of his pastoral duties over the years, except there were fewer items in this room.
He grabbed a chair, sat down and asked the Lord what he was meant to do now.
There was nothing the Rev could do.
This was a jail: there was no way out. Was anybody around? He yelled a few times but his voice just bounced off the walls.
<°)))><
Smoke filtered up through the trees on the property. It was a common sight to see property owners burning off. The council could investigate smoke if it irritated or annoyed others. Starkey had kept this in mind. He burnt things bit by bit; he did not want anyone investigating the property, not yet anyway.
It was time to flee. To burn what evidence was left. Cover his tracks.
The small fire was down the back of the property near a row of pine trees. The hypnotic nature of the fire had caught his attention. He stood there staring, then nodded his head. It was time to go. He started walking to his car. Something caught his attention—a noise coming from the shed or maybe from an adjoining property. It sounded like a voice, but he just shrugged it off.
His phone sat on the passenger seat. Three missed calls from Grant Windsor. He returned the call but there was no answer. He would drive past Grant’s place on the way to the airport.
Starkey looked up at the house. He stared for a few moments and then said goodbye and drove off.
The drive to Windsor’s place was a careful one. He tried Windsor’s apartment but there was no one home. Starkey wrote a note. It was not his preference. He dropped the note and a spare set of car keys in the letterbox.
He called Lucas before driving to the airport.
<°)))><
Lucas was in the passenger seat. Tag was the driver for the return trip. Lucas’s phone rang. He looked at the screen. Bruce Stark Calling. He decided to answer it.
“Hello, Starkey.”
“Hi, Lucas. Sorry to bother you but I’m trying to locate Windsor. I had a meeting scheduled with him. You haven’t seen him, have you?”
“Not lately. Saw him a couple of hours ago. He told us that he’d be in contact if he needed us.” Lucas finished the call. Starkey had said goodbye as if he meant it. He turned to Tag. “I’m going to have a smoke. You want one?”
Tag looked at Lucas. “You’re acting mighty strange, Lucas. Never seen you smoke in the car before.”
“It’s fine, mate. Did you want one or not?”
“Nah . . . you know, Lucas, I reckon the minister was a brave man using the technology. Don’t think I would.”
“Don’t think I would either, mate.” Lucas lit his smoke, wound the window down and took a long drag. He thought of the minister, pictured his face and blew some smoke in the direction of the imaginary face.
You’re cool, Lucas, the voice in his head told him. Real cool . . . real tough. After a few more puffs, the cigarette was flicked out of the car with some aggression—sparks bounced along the road behind them.
“How come you didn’t tell Starkey about the transfer?” asked Tag.
“Not sure. Must have forgotten. No drama.” Lucas didn’t want to tell Tag there was no transfer. He just left Windsor in that cold room with his dead son.
