Elias Haynesworth led me up to his office on the top floor of the three-storey building. On our way there we passed another assistant, this one was definitely human and I’m guessing that she was his private secretary. I didn’t catch her name but she wasn’t too hard on the eyes.
Before I had a chance to consider going back to make an introduction, we passed a plaque on the wall next to a set of double doors that led into his office.
It read: Elias Haynesworth, CEO Martian Operations.
So he was the head honcho in this building.
I had actually meant to look up who he was after he called my office but I forgot. Hallmark of a great detective, I’m sure – forgetting to learn as much about a potential client as possible before meeting them.
Once inside, he offered me a seat at his small conference table and a drink. I checked my watch. It wasn’t quite 11 AM. Maybe a bit too early to be boozing it up but he did offer so I thought I’d go for something appropriate for the time of day – a Bloody Mary.
“A Bloody Mary?” he said with all manner of British incredulity.
I was thrown off for a moment but then I recovered. I guess it was too early to be boozing it up.
“Do you normally drink at this time of day, Mr. Helmqvist?”
“Not usually but then I’m not usually rubbing elbows with corporate bigwigs at this time of day, either.”
“Well, I assure you, I don’t drink spirits at this time of day. I meant a cup of coffee or tea…or a glass of water, if you’d prefer.”
“It might have been better if you phrased it that way instead of offering to get me a drink,” I fired back, feeling a tad embarrassed. “Anyway, I’ll have a cup of coffee. Milk. No sugar.”
“Right,” he said and eyed me cautiously. I don’t think that I was making too good of an impression on him.
While we waited for his assistant to bring my coffee and Haynesworth’s cup of tea, he grabbed a tablet PC from his desk and took a seat next to me. Elias, then, opened up a few documents on the computer and was about to send them to a holographic display positioned directly in front of me when we were interrupted by the arrival of our “drinks”.
We both thanked his assistant, although I am certain that I was a touch more polite about it than he was, and watched her leave. Once she was out of the office, Haynesworth leaned in and began speaking in conspiratorial tones.
“What I am about to show you, Mr. Helmqvist, is very private and very damning. However, I have been assured that you are an honest man with a great deal of integrity. So I can trust to your discretion, yes?”
“Who told you that about me?”
“The District Attorney.”
“You know him?”
“We play golf once a week.”
By playing golf, Haynesworth meant virtual golf, or simulated golf, because the Martian environment is not conducive the real thing. Instead enthusiasts for the game climb into pretty sophisticated, totally immersive virtual reality chambers and can play any number of famous courses. Most clubs even design their own, private home course for members only.
“And I came up in a conversation?”
“I called him this morning and asked if he knew anyone that was good at solving problems, and was not the police.”
“And he gave you my name?”
“He did, indeed.”
“Who knew?” I said rhetorically with a slight chuckle. “Anyway,” I continued after my momentary bout of mirth ran its course. “You can trust me.”
It was pretty obvious that Haynesworth didn’t find it as funny I did. He just sat there and drank his tea while I laughed at my own joke.
“Right,” he said dismissively, once again. “As I was saying, this is a very sensitive issue for me.”
Haynesworth picked up the tablet again, opened his email and sent a message from early this morning up to the holographic display in front of me.
Imbedded into the email was a video. When Haynesworth began to play it, a factory tucked away in a tropical forest faded into view.
The video looked to be taken at a distance but the zoom capability allowed for some very detailed close-ups. Based on what I was looking at, it was the business end of a mine or mineral processing plant. The video went on for several minutes and then the screen went blank for about a second.
After that momentary lull, the screen became a blur of images that were coming and going too fast for me to process. Between the flash of images, and at times, transposed over the top of them, words appeared that looked like they had been cut out of a magazine – like some 20th century ransom note.
Pillage
Plunder
Death
Destruction
Genocide
And so forth.
Then the screen went blank again. Very slowly, words began to materialize once more. They were red and looked as if they had been scrawled on the screen in blood.
They read: “Naughty Naughty, Nash! We know your dirty little secret.”
The sentence faded away after a few seconds and was replaced by something that I had never seen before.
Skid Rogue Haven 
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