Face/Mask (15 page)

Sévigny cleared his throat, trying to keep the irritability out of his voice before asking his next question. If the Czar of Homeland Security was calling him directly, then he understood that this was a matter of great importance, even if it felt like a wild goose chase.

“How will I know when I have the right information?”

“Again, Robert, an excellent question. Rest assured that should you manage to get your hands on this information then you will know right away that it is what we want.”

“I suppose I’d only know that by viewing the classified information, won’t I sir?”

“Yes, at that point you most probably will. If you are the lucky son of a gun who comes upon it. Until then, absolutely nobody, either among your superiors or your subordinates is to know that this information exists, or that it is missing, or that you are one of the select few who are looking for it. Is that clear?”

Sévigny rubbed his forehead. He was frustrated by Schultz’s secrecy, and wondered at the potential consequences should he fail.

He limited his answer to, “Yes sir.”

“Excellent. And please understand, Inspector, that if I could give you any more to go on, I would. Good day, Inspector. I trust that you will keep me informed of any developments.”

Chapter seven

Canadian Environment Service Fact-sheet, published October 12, 2027
Sources of Particulate Matter (PM) include diesel exhaust, oil-based furnaces, and soot. These particles penetrate deeply into the lungs and are captured by lung tissue. A major contributor to the PM pollution problem is exhaust from diesel vehicles, which produces 72% of the particulate emissions from mobile sources. Exposure to PM pollution has been associated with respiratory and cardiac problems, infections, asthma attacks, lung cancer and decreased life expectancy.

September 12, 2039:

Allen Janus was happy interacting as little as possible with the other passengers on the metro-bus. Terry said he had an anti-social streak, and she may have been right, although he was far from alone.

“People have no interest in speaking to each other,” he’d told her more than once.

During orange-alerts their air-masks were convenient barriers, even as they stood shoulder to shoulder in line-ups, or were squeezed together on the metro-buses or inside the communal disinfection zones. There seemed to be little to say these days, and air-masks gave people the perfect excuse not to try.

Being isolated from everyone around him was the one positive thing about wearing the cumbersome masks. When the frequent orange alerts ended and the masks came off, as on this day, Janus found it awkward to stand face to face with these strangers, like he’d been caught with his underwear showing. The one time he’d decided to keep his mask on while others removed theirs he felt that everybody was looking at him like he had a disease.

So when he saw the yellow light flashing over the exits as he left work he placed the air-mask in his briefcase and surrendered his privacy. Soon he was pressed between dozens of metro-bus riders. No matter which way he looked his face was mere inches from those of the passengers around him. Without the filter of his air-mask he was unable to escape the smells from their bodies and their breaths, making the ride home interminable.

Janus thought ruefully of the old sports coupe he’d had to give up seven years earlier, at a time when driving with the top down had already been but a distant memory. A law was passed, in a futile attempt to control air pollution, which limited each household to one car. It made sense for Terry and the boys to use the family wagon, while he set an example by taking public transport.

Now, standing directly in front of Janus, so close that he could count the pores on her nose, was a young woman whose unfocussed eyes flickered almost imperceptibly while she read her private messages. Over her right eye she wore a wafer-thin, rectangular monocle that hung from a stylish, silver band that circled her head like a halo. He was standing too tightly against her to look down and see her hands, but he presumed that one of her index fingers would be wearing a small, plastic thimble with which she would be twitching e-messages to some far-away friend.

He supposed it was a good thing she wasn’t driving while linked up this way. He regularly received reports of traffic accidents caused by young drivers concentrating on their monocles rather than the road in front of them.

He thought of his own son, Richard, who had recently begun taking driving lessons. Seventeen years old, would he be as careless as those other young drivers? Lately the e-message eye-piece had begun appearing more frequently on Richard’s face, as if he found it easier to talk to people who were miles away rather than those in his own home.

Maybe it’s just a phase he’s going through. At least that’s what all parents say when trying to deal with the strangers who used to be their children.

He asked himself if Richard was any worse than most other young men. He was never rude to his mother, nor did he fight with his younger brothers any more, although that was because he hardly had time for them. Janus found himself longing for the days Richard and Francis used to fight like cats and dogs over a toy or a vid-disc. At least then they’d been acting like brothers.

He looked at the young woman in front of him, totally wrapped up in her private world. Maybe it was her way of blocking out all the ugliness around her, tuning out a world which offered little in the way of a bright future for anyone her age. As if the world around her wouldn’t be such a bad place if she just ignored it.

Janus knew he should have been more understanding of the younger generation. After-all, in Sahar he’d found his own escape from reality after years of searching. On the other hand he’d never totally tuned the world out. He’d always worked
within
it, even when he wanted to run away. Whatever he felt about his job he knew he made his little corner of the planet a better place to live in. If the younger generation thought it could spend life in a virtual link-up rather than dealing with the growing list of problems plaguing the world then it was in for a big surprise.

Janus smiled as he realized, not for the first time, how much like his own father he’d become. He doubted that Richard would be thrilled at the thought that he might one day undergo the same metamorphosis. Janus knew that he was not the primary male role model in Richard’s life, as his own father had been for him. He wondered who that role model was. Would Richard even be aware that he was emulating someone else? He was sure that most young men would deny that any adult had an influence on them.

When he got off the metro-bus Janus was able to breathe a little more freely, although he walked with the lingering sensation of an elbow that had been pressed into his back for the longest time. A few minutes later he stood in front of his house, surprised to see a police car parked in the driveway where their family wagon should have been.

He didn’t know why, but he instantly assumed the police car had something to do with Richard. He hoped his concern over young people driving carelessly hadn’t been a premonition.

He pushed the door open and heard the sound of voices speaking in low tones from the living room, then he entered and closed the door behind him. In the living room he found Terry and Joe, sitting across the coffee table from a uniformed military policeman, who had a note palette open and was typing onto it. Francis and Rollie were sitting on the floor off to the side, looking awestruck.

Only Richard was absent.

Terry looked up as he entered and jumped to her feet, raising her hands in a defensive posture before Janus had a chance to say anything.

“Don’t worry, Allen. It’s nothing serious.”

The policeman and the two children also looked in his direction when Terry spoke, while Joe kept his eyes to the floor. His hands were clasped tightly between his knees.

“Where’s Richard?” Janus asked, feeling an uncomfortable thickness in his throat when he spoke.

“He’s in his room,” Terry answered, coming toward her husband and putting her hands on his shoulders. “He has a broken ankle, but the doctor said it’s a just a hairline fracture.”

Janus looked at his wife as if she were a stranger who’d somehow wandered into his home. She didn’t even seem to be speaking English. His thoughts were interrupted by the policeman who’d also stood up and come towards him.

“
Monsieur Janus? Mon nom est Caporal
Therrien
.
May I speak to you for a moment?”

“
Bonjour Caporal.
Could it wait a moment? I just want to look in on my son.”

“He’s sleeping,” Terry said. “The doctor gave him a sedative.”

“A sedative?”

“Well, yes Allen. Even a hairline fracture can be pretty painful.”

“I just need to confirm your ID,
Monsieur
Janus,” the policeman said. “Do you have your cit-card?”

“You need to see
my
ID?”

“I just wish to confirm if you are who your wife says you are.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

Janus reached for his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. After fumbling with it for a few seconds he slid out the plasticized card which could confirm his name, his citizenship as well as his position in the administration. It was this that the policeman wanted to see.

“
Merci, monsieur le Directeur
. Please understand that my report will not mention that your son was driving with an unlicensed adult, whom I understand is not a citizen, by the way.” He gave an accusatory glance toward Joe before continuing his explanation. “The accident was not your son’s fault, as the other driver was clearly speeding and driving erratically. This has been confirmed by an independent witness. Very probably intoxicated. The driver, I mean. It could have happened to anyone. So there’s no reason to cause your family any trouble, sir.”

“Thank you. Thank you,
Caporal
Therrien. I appreciate the consideration.”

“Of course,
monsieur
. I will just leave you my card, in case you need to contact me for any reason. Your gratitude is appreciated,
monsieur
.”

Janus pocketed the proffered card without missing a beat. He well understood that everyone was looking for a hand-out these days, even RCMP agents. And, like Therrien, few people were being very subtle about it.

“Thank you,
Caporal.
I won’t forget this.”

The policeman smiled and headed for the front door, which had locked automatically when Janus closed it behind him.

“Allow me,” Janus moved quickly to unlock the door and pull it open. As the policeman walked by a thought came to Janus’s mind.

“Excuse me. But the other driver; will he be charged with anything?”

“
Non, monsieur
. He died on impact.
Bonne nuit, monsieur.
”

As soon as he shut the door behind Therrien, Janus went up to Richard’s room without saying a word to Terry or Joe. It was all he could do not to yell at them.

Richard had a probationary licence, which meant he could only drive when accompanied by an experienced adult. Terry was a nervous wreck when her son was behind the wheel, so Uncle Joe had quickly volunteered to accompany Richard whenever he wished to practice. Janus, however, wasn’t confident about Joe’s driving ability, nor his knowledge of Canadian traffic laws. He’d told Terry several times, sounding like the dictator that Richard surely thought he was, that his son was not to drive with Uncle Joe.

Of course Janus was aware that his family lived by the adage that whatever he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. None of them really took his opinions, or edicts as Richard called them, to heart, and they did what they wanted whenever he wasn’t around. This time there were serious consequences for ignoring him.    

He opened the door to Richard’s room without knocking, something he’d stopped doing about the time his son had begun high school. He understood that the one thing adolescents had demanded through-out history was privacy from their parents’ prying.

But this was no time to be concerned with such niceties. His concern for his son’s health was equal to his anger at Terry and her uncle. The fatal consequences of their actions only made matters worse.

Did Richard know that the other driver had died? How would he react to this knowledge? After-all, as Therrien had said, it didn’t look like Richard was responsible for what happened, although Janus wasn’t ready to hold his son entirely blameless. If Richard hadn’t been out driving, or maybe if he’d had a little more experience, the accident might not have happened. Or at least it wouldn’t have happened to him.

Janus stood in the doorway of Richard’s room, peering into the gloom, while all these thoughts bounced around in his head. He felt he should project sympathy not censure at this point, and tried hard to push his anger aside. The light from the hall allowed him to make out his son’s shape under the bed covers. There was no movement, but as Janus stood waiting he could hear a soft sniffling sound coming from the bed.

Richard was almost an adult, athletic, proud and independent. The thought of him crying was shocking to Janus and his anger quickly dissipated. He stepped toward the bed and stood there, hovering, unsure how to approach his son. When was the last time he’d seen Richard cry? He reached his hand down to touch him, but then pulled it back. He wished he knew exactly what to do at a time like this. He wished he knew what he was supposed to feel.

The blanket slid down a few inches and Richard peered up at him. He seemed equally uncertain about how his father was going to react.

“Hey,” Janus finally whispered, trying not to sound overly concerned for fear of embarrassing his son.

“Hey, dad,” Richard whispered back, sliding up a bit in bed until he was leaning on one elbow.

“How’re you feeling, Rich?”   

“OK, I guess. They gave me something for the pain, so it’s not so bad.”

“A broken ankle must have hurt like heck.”

“It was just a hairline fracture, Dad. It’s no big deal.”

No big deal? Janus didn’t have the heart to tell his son how big a deal he thought this all was. He could see the sadness on Richard’s face even in the room’s semi-darkness, so he kept the harshness out of his voice.