DISCLAIMER: This fanfic borrows characters from the DA universe: not mine, never were. No profits realized. This chapter includes direct quotation from "I and I Am a Camera," which I thank the DA owners for airing and Kyre for offering in transcription form.
For this story, events of approximately one or two month's duration are shoe-horned into the end of the Dark Angel episode, "I and I Am a Camera": the opening scene picks up the morning of Logan's hack and allows for the meeting between "Madame X" (later to be identified as Renfro) and Jonas' partner, Gilbert Neal--and Gil's presumed demise. It will, ultimately, resolve into the scene in which Logan shreds the check and Max's photographs (allowing the continuity people enough time to send out his sweater to be cleaned & returned, so he can wear it again to shred the stuff!)
This story will make more sense if you are familiar with "I and I Am a Camera," as there will be several references to events in that episode. Your humble storyteller hopes that the insertion of these additional weeks into the episode isn't too disconcerting. After all: do you really think Logan would let his family's involvement with murder and hoverdrones alone?
NOBLESSE OBLIGEFOGLE TOWERS: Early morning
"Aunt Margo..." The Penthouse was dim, diffused with the golden shafts of light filtering in from the pinkish sunrise glinting off neighboring high-rises. "It's Logan. I was... sorry... to hear about Uncle Jonas...are you doing alright...?" Words he expected from her–a sad combination of her own fears and uncertainty about suddenly being alone, with her concerns about what the other members of the Club would think–took center stage before any mention of her husband's suffering... or of his death. Logan leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes against the realization that his low opinion of his aunt had proven so accurate.
He'd called at 8:01, the earliest possible time that could be construed as "decent." Clearly she'd been awakened by his call; her voice was groggy with sleep and, he suspected, the lack of the one or two bloody marys in her system that normally helped her–and until this morning, Jonas–greet the day. He himself hadn't had his morning coffee yet; he'd stopped drinking yesterday's last pot of the night only about five hours before, and his system wasn't quite ready to jump into a new round of acidic caffeine, no matter how privileged he was to have it whenever he wanted.
He let her talk for a while, and murmured appropriate noises of sympathy and support so she would know he was listening, but then eased into the reason for his call. "Look, Aunt Margo–has anyone– anyone at all, from the office or even from the authorities–come to take Jonas' papers or his computer, or asked about files?"
"Well, Gil called yesterday to say he was going to stop by for some things, but he never came." She sounded distracted. "And some federal agents came, quite late, and took his computer–although he hadn't used that computer in over a year. They wouldn't believe me." She paused, and suddenly her words became more focused. "How did you know, Logan? How did you know they would be here? Bennett seemed surprised...how could you know?"
He rubbed his eyes, gritty from the lack of sleep. He couldn't tell her what he knew–and that within hours, her share of the Cale assets would be all but lost. "I caught wind that there might be an investigation." he allowed, simply. " Aunt Margo, if there is anything, his papers, a calendar or another computer, anything..."
"So you can write about him?" Her tone was harsh. "Logan, your uncle told me that you were sniffing around the company for a story; he even implied you'd sell out your family for an expose'." Margo's words hit closer to home than he liked: after all, his goal, essentially, was just what she said–could his reasons really make a difference? "Even if there were anything here, why would I trust you with it? Your uncle is dead; what possible use..."
"Maybe the good of the company?" he tried, gently.
"Then anything I find ought to go to your cousin." She dismissed him. "Jonas and he may not have been the closest father and son, but there's never been any question about Bennett's allegiance to the company." She paused, and in a non sequitur only she and her ilk could conceive, asked, "Will you be coming here, after the service?"
Even after this many years, the juxtaposition of such apparently contradictory sentiments jangled, and he found himself staring up at the ceiling, hoping for balance, wondering if he could find his voice. "Yeah." He managed, as he always did with his family. "Yeah, I think so."
"Then we'll have Herbert put down the ramp."
He bit his lip, but drew a deep breath and managed, "Thank you." He paused, then added, "I'll see you Friday." And hanging up, he drew a long breath, shook off the discomfort...and pushed back into his computer room to prepare for his upcoming telecast...
FOGLE TOWERS: 11:45 a.m.
"This has been a Streaming Freedom Video Bulletin via the Eyes Only informant net... Peace... Out..."
Logan killed the live feed, and sat back, immediately feeling second and third thoughts about what he had just done, an odd disquiet taking hold as he'd never felt after any other broadcast. He had never once questioned his hacks before, but this one had such personal significance...his family's name, connected with murder and government intrusion...his father's work, his grandfather's company, already sullied by what Jonas had done, now ripe for the feds to seize and sack with impunity, all in the name of 'civil protection.'
He let his breath out, shakily. He knew it had to be done and forced himself to put everything out there, before he changed his mind and let himself really think about the ramifications...with Jonas dead, who was at the helm? Gilbert and Byron were nowhere to be found, what with Jonas' death; clearly both of them had been involved in this killer-drone affair as well. Logan had been dreading the rest, that he would discover that his cousin, Bennett, might have been, too, until he spoke to his cousin the night before–clearly, the younger man was shaken by his father's death and still denying the possibility that the company was making anything like the killer-drone Logan had described to him, even hanging up on Logan in his anger at the accusation. The reaction actually made Logan feel a little better: Jonas might be able to lie to his face without a flinch, but Bennett...Bennett had been a brother to him. Not only would he know the signs, he was sure, but Logan knew that even seven years with Cale Industries wouldn't have turned him that completely. He even felt a tiny bit of relief in the family secret he'd learned, from his uncle one night in his cups: Jonas didn't think Bennett had the "stuff" to really be in on the Big Deals at CI...so, most likely, Uncle Jonas, in underestimating his youngest son, kept him out of the loop. Logan was yet again grateful, oddly enough, for the depths of his uncle's gracelessness...
So now--the hack was out, the information before the public and the government–and because of the implication that local, even state government might be in the mix, the feds would have to swoop in. Logan sighed, allowing himself to start thinking about the impact...This would definitely hurt his family– but, he allowed to himself with a snort, they had only hurt him, hadn't they?
But not all of them had...he thought again of Bennett, now in the context of the wedding in which Logan had been best man, of Bennett's new bride, Marianne...He thought of the countless employees who would show up for work in the morning to find the entry padlocked... He remembered whose name was on the gates of the company's several acres, the grandfather listed as founder...the father who toiled there, before his brother succumbed that most insidious of post-Pulse plagues, greed...
The knots in his stomach tightened...this one could definitely destroy some of what he had...but, as opposed to what Max had foreseen, Logan began to imagine the toll in the lives of all the hundreds he'd affected in that 54 seconds of live righteous indignation he'd unleashed on the airwaves: live, so he couldn't turn back. He'd done the right thing...but this time, at such a personal and wide-ranging price...
When he finally could move, Logan crossed to his wine rack, where he paused and, then slowly, in a fog of painful memory, lifted a dusty bottle of wine from the rack to look at it, long, so many competing thoughts and emotions demanding his attention, so many memories ...and most them, as they involved Jonas, unpleasant. With a sigh of resolve, he lay the bottle in his lap. Grabbing the corkscrew at the rack, Logan pivoted and moved over to the table, where he let the bottle stand between his knees as, still moving deliberately, events crowding all aspects of the moment, he let the metal bore into the cork as he drove it home, then pulled evenly, until the cork popped free of the bottle's neck. He put the bottle on the table to wait, knowing Max would be over as soon as she could, after she'd hear about the hack...
...and Max...
Logan was exhausted with the thought that everyone around him was able to kill with so little thought... the photos of a young, bloody-faced Max already seared into his mind now mingled with the police photos of parolees killed by CI's hoverdrones and mixed further with the similar photos of his uncle, gunned down in his study. Did Jonas have nightmares about the men he killed, as Logan did, still, after that shattering trip to Cape Haven? ...did Max? Were Max and his uncle so different? His heart kept insisting they were–but his head hadn't found a plausible explanation yet of how it could be...
The Cabernet would do well to breathe, a little...and like the hack, with the bottle opened, there was no changing his mind...
FOGLE TOWERS: Three hours later:
When Max came into Logan's penthouse that afternoon, she didn't find him at the computer as she usually did, but in the living room, bent over a large book he had open on the coffee table. Hearing the door, he turned to watch her come in, a wan smile attempted with a slight nod, but nothing more. He looked drawn, a bit rough, as if he hadn't slept since she last saw him.
In kind, she smiled, coming closer to look across at the book in front of him, and could see that what he'd been studying was a photo album, older photos, clearly Cale family events...she looked from its pages up to his face, seeing an unreadable expression there. With a small frown, she responded, "Hey..." Looking more closely, realizing that this might be harder for him than she'd originally assumed, she asked, concern evident, "how you doin' with all this?"
"Me? Fine" he shrugged, leaning to close the album and turning to cross to the dining room table. Lifting two wine glasses hanging beside the wine rack along the way, he coasted up smoothly along side the table, next to the large wall of window, placing the stems on the table.
Max followed, appraising him, seeing the bottle now, already opened, waiting...pre-Pulse, naturally, it was Logan, after all...but in the middle of the day, just the wine, waiting ...this was hard for him, she could see. She was at something of a loss to know if she could offer much consolation, even if he were to admit anything. She saw that beside the wine lay a check...one embossed with the words "Cale Industries" in the corner. As she came along the windows to sit in the dining chair facing him, he lifted the check and held it in his lap, ruffling it softly, looking at it as if it were the only tangible thing left of what his father and grandfather had worked so long and hard to build. "So you did it, huh?" she broke the silence.
He did not meet her eyes at first. "Mm-hmm. Sure did." He drew a breath and raised his eyes to hers as he spoke again. "By the time the banks open tomorrow morning, this check won't be worth the paper it's printed on."
His voice was too studied. She would let him have that–but his sitting here, letting the check lose value as the day wore on, made no sense. She lifted her eyebrows and said, in a light prod, "Maybe you should go cash it then."
With a quick jerk of his arm, Logan brought his watch under his nose to glance at it in exaggerated study. "Five after three." He snapped the fingers of his watch hand and his eyes pierced hers. "Damn." As she watched him drop the sardonic look and toss the check onto the table, Max knew he was somehow giving up the money as a penance, for whatever reason he felt he needed to be absolved. But he glanced up to her, briefly appraising, as he moved to take the bottle of wine before him and pour the wine gently into her glass. "My Uncle Jonas gave me this bottle when I graduated from college. Told me to save it for a special occasion." He filled his own as well.
"Like financial ruin?" Max prodded.
"Why not?" The smirk had faded, but the irony in his voice was strong. He was not going to let anything slip in front of her, she saw. She didn't completely understand this wall he'd built, nor the last days of strain between them. Now he seemed to be challenging her, as well. She would respect the distance he appeared to want; these deaths– including that of his uncle, one of those responsible for the loss of Snuffy and the others–could throw a do-gooder like Logan, and for now, she would chalk it up to that. As he raised his glass in salute, she raised hers as well. "To my dear Uncle Jonas, who, underneath his winning smile, was a cold-blooded killer."
Logan tapped his glass against Max's and watched her, carefully, with his last words. The beautiful brown eyes were cast down, her face, sad somehow, yet Logan managed to resist them for the moment as he looked under her own 'winning' features: Lydecker had given him evidence that she too was a cold-blooded killer, implying she, as did his uncle, would kill for reasons more selfish than self-protection. How could he forgive her if he couldn't forgive Jonas?
Max, for her part, was blessedly unaware of the scrutiny under which she was being held, notwithstanding the "weird vibe" she'd felt from him. Suspecting that Logan might be feeling the same sort of pain she did, each time she was confronted with another twist of evil courtesy of Manticore, she wondered if there was anything she could say or do to make him feel better. Inexplicable, this sadness she felt at the thought of Logan's loss; except...all the good he did for others... She wondered if anything she could offer might help him feel any less betrayed. Finally, she drew a breath in empathy. "The one thing I learned in my years at Manticore is never underestimate what people are capable of doing to each other."
His gaze didn't wander from her face, but his eyes seemed to refocus; he suddenly saw her, and drew a breath, as if coming to terms with something inside...still rough and distant, yet the spark sought to reconnect... "My uncle, for all his privilege, went right for the heart of darkness. You've lived your life trying to get as far away from that as possible." For that moment, his voice softened, just a little; the intensity had waned.
She shrugged, sadly, the toll of endless hurts and betrayals and barriers affecting her too. "Guess that counts for something."
And in response, Logan almost smiled, wearily, but a connection foreshadowed, again, with her...and Max knew he would be alright. He would need time, but the same strength that allowed him to make that hack would keep him going–and her momentary admission to ease his way caused her at that moment, embarrassed, to need to retreat. For now, she had another loss to mourn. "Gotta blaze. Got to meet the gang for Snuffy's memorial." After only a few steps, however, she slowed, his observation making her want to remind him that for all her efforts to avoid the past, she hadn't shaken the danger...and for each page, each call, each dinner, she might be bringing it right to his doorstep, as well... "Thing is...it's always there, the darkness...right on my tail."
"I know..." His response was quiet–but soft...immediate... "...but you got moves."
FOGLE TOWERS: Ten hours later:
Eight hundred and fifty seven. That was the number of employees at the main office and labs of Cale Industries, there in Seattle; eight hundred and fifty seven men and women with families to feed, rent to pay...another four hundred and ninety three in the European division, possibly still so intertwined with the Seattle office that Logan's older cousin, Richard, might not be able to hold it intact in the aftermath of events...at least four major subcontractors that did little other than produce CI products; how many more did that represent? Other suppliers, subs...the ripples from this pebble kept moving outward, growing bigger...
All pissed away by his hack...
Logan came back to earth with a deeply drawn breath and a hand rubbed over his face. As much as Logan wanted to beat himself up over the events of the past twenty four hours, he couldn't take the blame on this one: it was his uncle and his uncle's partners, at least some of them, that had caused all this: even if EO hadn't interceded they were likely to have brought ruin to the company, someday; this way, at least Cale Industries wasn't in the business of murder anymore–for whomever or whatever they had been...
Logan took the last draw on the whiskey in which he had indulged, that evening, hoping it would bring sleep, not letting it have a chance yet to work. Maybe it shouldn't bother him why CI had gotten into the business of assassination technology, but it made a tremendous difference to him at the moment, whether Jonas had simply sought to find a solution to a customer's order, no matter how abhorrent it might be–or if his dear uncle and his cronies had actually decided it was a good product for R & D create, to put on the market to the highest bidder, thus offering a whole new method of "sterile" murder to those who made killing a regular part of doing business.
And, along with that intensely personal quest for information...he might just be able to determine who exactly was behind the rash of homicides engineered by his family's business...
Still unready to face sleep, he listlessly turned back to one of his monitors, running the canned video back several days, to when he first asked Jonas for any surveillance footage the company might have, from their 'drones. Funny; when he started recording the CI feeds he thought he was doing it merely because it was so easy for him to do so, what with all the inside information he knew about the company from his visits and brief stints there; he hadn't expected it to offer anything, but half-heartedly justified his actions by thinking that if there was any police involvement, he might catch a contender or two visiting the company by pirating all their surveillance tapes.
But Logan began taping from all security media at the company in earnest since the 'drone came after him, broadening his collection from any and all sensors, cameras or other recording devices the company had installed, which were not trifling: long in the defense contracting business, they not only had access to the newest, state of the art equipment but had good reason for its widespread use throughout their facilities. He'd even had his hand in some of its purchase and installation, Bennett more aware than his father's partners of Logan's interest in–and probable expertise with–such elaborate, covert hardware...
As a result, not all that many at the company knew all the surveillance occurring there, nor would it be readily apparent. Logan hoped that he might, with these systems, determine exactly who was behind the killer drones, how they were developed–and who, over the past 48 hours, came in to seize CI's records, along with who would attempt to do so over the next few days. Once he knew that, he might take some action to prevent further perversion of what his father and grandfather had worked so hard to achieve–if there was anything that could be done...
Now running the tapes way back to their start, hoping to get a baseline of activity with which to compare the past several hours, Logan frowned to see a previously unremarkable lab in R & D set up with thumbprint recognition technology, human guard, and visible cameras overlooking the hidden one also providing a feed. And he noted that Gilbert Neal, alone or with others, was a frequent visitor to the lab...
Logan sat back, frown deepening. Back in the day, it wasn't unusual for the owner-creators of budding technology to meet with their engineers and techs, to encourage and advise and generally watch their projects come alive. But for Gil and Jonas, those days ended long ago, and usually they were content to let the division managers report in at their monthly board meetings, and let the money roll in. Yet here...
Using some search and enhancement features, Logan was able to isolate Gil's image and fast forward to each appearance–there were several, over the past days; some alone, a couple with Jonas...and one with a trio of unfamiliar people, to whom Gil seemed to be catering; the one in charge a female, those with her, her flunkies. Logan sat forward and stared, a cold dread growing inside. He had no proof nor reason to believe it, but as with too many of his investigative hunches, he believed, nonetheless: his gut told him that these three looked like government, that they were black ops...and that, given the last few days' events, if they weren't Manticore, they were its evil twin...
...to be continued...