Chapter 8: The High Priestess
Around 2004, PNCD researchers Karl Moser and Amir Shirazi published their work on and tested the possibility of creating a space just outside reality. Their research was based on confiscated Archive research, repurposed and made useful. They envisioned a tiny concrete structure, a mockup of the ideal PNCD headquarters. Fully planned out and built down to the minute detail, the size of a barn, scanned with special tools. After the PNCD dollhouse version of the headquarters is scanned, its ghost is stretched over New York. How this is done is highly classified and likely impossible to understand. Across the five boroughs are dozens of hidden doorways that bridge the headquarters with reality. This terrifying creation was dubbed “The Moser-Shirazi Structure”, a sprawling compound for the Division to observe the city safely from their new vantage point, a tear in reality to strike from. And to think, they used to have to share office space with a wire center on Thomas St.
The largest and most well-funded research department, second only to the Histories Department, is Premonitions. While not explicitly tied to the Interventions Department, the one Nick worked in, many historical ties are shared by the two. Predictions for the future are made in Premonitions based on probability. These decisions may or may not lead to the wrong Mythic population getting violently suppressed.
The Head of Premonitions is the subject of Nick and Liv’s first step of their formal investigation.
‘God, I hate fortunes,’ thinks Nick.
“I hope you don’t mind me doing this.” Department Head of Premonitions, Leslie Holbrook, says as she holds Liv’s face gently in her hands. Her milky white eyes look nowhere in particular as her bony fingers gently pinch Liv’s cheeks like a grandchild’s. Leslie sees something of interest. She sees a book, a heavy one, coming down fast and hard on something. The picture is muddled with possibility. She sees a library, and fire, lots of fire. “Oh my,” She lets out quietly.
“Ms. Holbrook, we should probably proceed with the inquiry…” Nick maintains an air of professionalism, which may be even stranger at this point.
“Please, call me Leslie,” she says before directing her attention back to Liv, who at this point has resigned herself to the examination.
In Holbrook’s mind, callously peering into Liv’s future, a firework of passion and hatred. Liv’s life events, her past informing her future, turn her fate into a leaf in the wind. The pure unpredictability of a young life is better than any drug to a Seer. “My dear, you are truly extraordinary.” She wipes blood trickling from her eyes before brushing Liv’s hair. Her own messy blonde forms a hay-like curtain on the sides of her face. “Most people have only so many paths ahead of them, it’s like reading a newspaper, but you-“ A look of utter amazement, exaggerated in a childish manner. She lets go of Liv and turns to Nick, who squares his shoulders.
“Oh, please, tough guy, I just want to have a look,” Holbrook says.
‘This’ll go faster if I do it.’ Nick thinks. Her icy fingers prong and prod his temples and brows. Her hiked-up cheeks and smiling eyes slowly drop as she sees Nick’s possible futures. Some paths end in alleys while others end up surrounded by beeping machines and grandkids. The past acts as an anchor to the future. She reads probability like a loom, seeing the past through the future. She sees where Nick is going, where his life is taking him. She sees a library yet again, followed by a hospital bed, then some sort of storefront, and a telephone. She sees the phone ringing, followed by static. In every possible one of his futures, however, she sees loss of unimaginable magnitude.
She lowers her hands and adjusts her stained white shirt. “Yes, we should proceed with the inquiry.” She motions them to walk with her, citing her hatred of sitting still. “I feel myself dying when I’m still. You know what I mean?”
“Sure.” They walk through her office, filled with star-chart paraphernalia, braille boards filled edge to edge, and strewn paperwork banished to the outskirts of the room. A makeshift path is paved by borders of papers and printed reports on receipt paper. They walk through a set of double doors, joining Holbrook’s office to an observation room. Light comes in only from great water tanks built into the walls. Liv notices an absence of any fish, only specks floating about.
“Watch your step,” Holbrook says right before Liv trips over a thick cable running from a computer to the tank.
“Ms. Holbrook, we’ve been tasked with performing a security assessment for Director Tanzer. Seeing as the Director is away to meet with the heads of the RMDS and SHB abroad, upper management saw this as a good time to make sure we’re not neglecting any lapses in security.” Nick says the rehearsed speech Anton gave them earlier this night.
Liv remembers Anton’s interlocking fingers, standing like a statue in front of a corkboard. ‘Won’t the killer or whoever is responsible already know the cover story is bullshit?’ Liv said. With a slight shift in posture, Anton retorts by saying that knowledge could single them out even more easily, make them slip up. He then dismissed Nick and Liv, telling them they’d better work quickly.
“And this Taskforce has deemed me a threat to the Director?” She asks. She turns back to Nick so he can see her joking expression.
“Not at all, ma’am. Just being thorough,” Nick says.
“What, you don’t think I could be a threat?” Holbrook prods at Nick.
He grits his teeth and answers, “I’m sure you would have no interest in harming anyone, ma’am.” Nick says. “Did the Director ever personally convey any concern over his safety?” Nick looks to the tank to see a Seer in a deep trance, floating through the water. A young man with short brown hair, waving like silk in a breeze, a diving mask with a small oxygen tank attached at the hip. He floats in a meditative trance, eyes closed, fingers faintly grasping at something just ahead of him. Holbrook notices Liv’s fascination with the floating man.
“Water is a conduit. Allows the less powerful Seers to read the probability fields.” Nick frowns at Holbrook’s efforts to derail the session.
“How come you don’t need it?” Liv gets swept up in the novelty of fortune tellers and parlor tricks, as Nick sees it. Holbrook holds out her right hand, shortly after a spot on her palm glows a sharp purple light.
“Ozurell’s gift is not received equally.” She joyfully waves a hand in front of her white eyes. “Everyone in the Department must make a deal with him through the PNCD. He found a liking for me, I suppose.” Nick’s skin crawls at the mention of the Entity’s name.
“Could you describe your daily routine, particularly any interactions you might have with Director Tanzer or other high-ranking officials?” The question prompts Holbrook to resume walking.
“How high are we talking?” She asks back. Nick does not enjoy playing question tennis, especially right now, but he plays along.
“Say… Praetor and above.”
“OK, well… I usually sleep in my office on weekdays; my assistant can attest to that. My work on the Seeing tanks usually takes up the first half of my day. I oversee all plunges myself, a bit of a control freak that way. The visions the Seers receive have to be transcribed, deciphered, and written into reports. I let my researchers handle that, though. At about five, I look over the reports and send them to Operations. After that, I usually meet with a few key personnel—mostly Operation leads or my Senior Seers—to discuss any pressing matters or high-probability visions. It’s all bog-standard, I’m afraid. Nothing out of the ordinary, really.” She speaks about the day as if she’s boring herself.
“On occasion, I do brief Director Tanzer or Mr. Woeburn, the Head of Interventions, but those meetings are quick and mostly procedural. You know, updates on the broader trends we’re seeing or a heads-up on anything that needs immediate attention. Nothing exciting for the Clancy books, I’m afraid.” Holbrook scratches at her scalp, noticing Nick’s silence. She cocks her head. “I can’t tell what face you’re making.”
“Just getting my facts straight, ma’am.” Nick scribbles in his notebook. Under his notes, he writes a final line that he shows Liv discreetly. ‘Something stinks,’ To which Liv responds with a nod.
“Of course, I also make sure to check in on the young Seers. They get younger each year, after all, no one wants to go blind, but everyone wants to win the lottery.” She jokes.
“Which is illegal,” Nick remarks with a smile.
“Of course. Sorry, department humor,” She continues. “Sometimes I get pulled into more technical work, like maintaining the Seeing tanks; those researchers’ engineering skills are not what they used to be back when I first started, I’ll tell you that much.” Her speech is frenetic. Nick ignores her jokes and tangents, focusing on what’s important.
She pauses as if trying to remember something, then adds with a smile, “Oh, and sometimes I get stuck in bureaucratic meetings, but who doesn’t? Worst part is, I can always tell how long I’ll be stuck there.” She laughs, imitating a gun to her head at Liv. They cross over into a much bigger room. Like a chemical plant, scaffolding stretches out in a grid below them. The railing prevents researchers in lab coats from falling into the tanks of water, most of them containing twitching Seers in diving equipment.
Nick nods, waiting for more, but Holbrook seems to think she’s said enough. It’s a textbook description, with verifiable facts covering the soft spots.
“And what exactly is the nature of these meetings?” Nick looks closely for any expression changes in her face.
“I’m afraid I cannot disclose information such as that.”
“Even if it pertains to the safety of Director Ta-“
“Even if it does, yes. I hope you recognize that, despite your inquiry, there is still a chain of command, Mr. Romeo.” She twitches more out of impatience than any guilt. She promptly composes herself, “If you would like, I could give you the redacted report.” Nick imagines how riveting it would be to stare at uninterrupted black bars.
“No need, ma’am,” Nick says, met with a cute little nod from Holbrook. Nick decides to lighten his tone and get back on track. “Have you observed any changes in the Director’s behavior or concerns about his safety recently?” They walk up the stairs, passing researchers going about their business. Liv can’t resist looking over the railing, crystal clear water housing sleeping Seers, dreaming of the future. She wonders if the water is hot or cold.
“You mean before he left?” She asks.
Nick clenches his jaw. “Yes, ma’am.” Nick understands that even if she is guilty, simply knowing the Director is dead will not be enough to incriminate her.
“Well, I have to say our meetings were never anything to write home about. He was always a private man, set in his ways, as men are. The man hoards words like they cost money. I respect him for it, but it doesn’t make for great conversation.”
“Would you say his demeanor has changed as of late?” Nick nudges her back to the question.
“Not particularly. He is the same old Levi Tanzer.”
“Have you had any visions regarding the Director’s safety or the recent events within the PNCD?” Nick continues his questions.
“Nothing I wouldn’t immediately take to the Director’s Office. Holbrook stops in her tracks.
“Do you know the mind of an average Seer can handle somewhere between one and two million permutations of the future without serious consequences? We’re instructed to handle somewhere between two and five hundred thousand per session,” She directs the question at Nick, before looking upward. “I’ve seen it happen when they take in too much information for their brain to handle. They look all confused in the water, not knowing who or where, or when they are. They always take their oxygen off. Some swim up, if they remember how.” Her jovial tone slows. “It’s haunting to see a human mind revealed for the weak little spark it is.” She grips the railing. “A second before brain death, we’ve observed something we’ve classified as ‘temporal euphoria’, where a being lives every event of their life happening simultaneously. Like a thousand lifetimes flashing before your eyes.” She lets go of the railing after a few seconds, trying to hide a light trembling in her hands. “I used to handle nine hundred thousand per session, twice a day, six days a week.” She turns towards Nick and Liv. “I am no longer in the premonition-having position; I have a team for that. Believe me, if there was any threat towards Director Tanzer, his office would be informed.”
Nick thinks about her words. Does anything he asks her matter in the long run if she can funnel him and Liv into a desired outcome?
Liv notices something Nick does not. She spots Holbrook rubbing a necklace in her pocket. She had noticed her tugging past the chain in the previous room, but could not make it out in the dim lighting. Under the strong lights of this chamber, it’s clear to see. ‘She has a tell.’ Liv thinks.
“I don’t doubt it, ma’am.” He looks down at his notes, where his questions are supposed to be, completely blank. “While I understand, given the current circumstances, I have to ask—anything unusual, even a small detail, could be critical. Are you certain there’s nothing you’ve overlooked?”
“Certain.”
Liv takes over the next question: “Can you tell me about your professional relationships with other Seers or PNCD staff? Have there been any recent disagreements or tensions?” Holbrook delights in hearing Liv’s voice. She looks for the answers in the air like daydreams.
“We’re pretty isolated from the rest of the Division, here in our little parlor. I’m not one to sling mud on anyone…” She ponders her next words, “But the Director’s childhood friend, a man named Cervantes, you know him?”
“Not personally,” Nick says.
“Vice executive or something or other at AniBank.” She says, “They studied together at Stanford, reconnected years later. I heard they had been having troubles with the AniBank system integration, causing a leak of agent information. I couldn’t really tell you.”
“Full name?” Liv asks, pen ready.
“Alexander Cervantes.” Liv jots it down. Nick shoots Liv a smile; his play-pretend partnership with her feels real all of a sudden.
“Final question,” Nick says, “Is there anything about the current state of affairs at the PNCD that personally concerns you? Anything you would change?”
“That’s one loaded question.” She remarks. “I’m sure there are lots we can all say about it. Criticism is easy on the individual level, but any kind of change takes time.” Liv is surprised at the politician-level response from someone like Holbrook; perhaps her eccentricities are skin deep. Even the kooks end up being bureaucrats in a place like this. “I wouldn’t mind a bump in the department budget,” she continues, “but who wouldn’t?” She recognizes her charm is wearing thin with the two. She fixes her hair and rubs the inside of her pocket. “I don’t…” She pauses, “Personally condone everything we do. But I also realize that it’s something that has to be done.” Liv does not understand what she means, but Nick does; he understands all of it. “But that can’t be changed in a day, and I don’t know if it even should.” Researchers squeeze past the three, monitoring the vital signs of the Seers below. “Besides that, maybe some better food in the cafeteria. I tell ya, that ravioli they serve on Mondays cannot be fit for human consumption.” She snickers to herself.
The three slowly walk their way back to Holbrook’s office, greeted once more by paperwork and star charts.
“Seer Holbrook, if I may…” Nick asks her, “When did you make your deal with Ozurell?”
“Why the sudden interest?” Nick offers no response. “It was August of 1989. Like everyone, I was given one day to consider it. I went to the park with my children and husband. Looked at them every chance I got. I thought: ‘if I just look at them now and etch their faces into my mind, it won’t be so bad.”
“Your husband. Is he in the PNCD?”
“He was a Seer. One of our best, I was second best. I beat his record my second year as Senior Seer.” Her lips curl in melancholy. She walks to her table and turns a picture. “I guess I just like having the picture around. Not like I can even see it.” She picks it up and shows it to them. An athletic man in sunglasses and a much younger Leslie Holbrook with her eyesight, both smiling at a baseball game. “But I’d know if it was gone.”
After a set of handshakes and exchanges of information, the two say their goodbyes to Holbrook and make their way out of the Premonitions Department. The corridors are cathedral-worthy, grand, and self-important. Paintings of peaceful waterfalls and elk sipping water under the cover of pines hang on the walls. They walk through a lacquered oak door into a vast space where concrete pylons support massive personnel bridges in the Central Dispatch center, a nexus for all departments.
“Don’t have time for a tour?” Liv asks, her eyes running the ceiling amok, split flap boards like an old airport. She looks to the agents exiting near the east end of the room, dressed like ordinary people.
Nick’s eyes are fixed on the exit. He gently places a hand on Liv’s back, ushering her along. “Trust me, the less time we spend here, the better.” Liv’s eyes stay fixated on the enormous space, the ceiling looking eerily similar to Grand Central Station. Cappuccino colored tiles on the floor reflect golden light from the great minimal chandeliers hanging every few meters. The space feels at war with itself. Anachronistic sense of self, like a child dressing itself in decades past and the trends of today. Nick notices Liv’s amazement at the space.
“Doesn’t make sense, does it?” He asks. “They do it to disorient you, a sort of warning. I guess regular people don’t see it often. I forgot how strange it all is.”
They walk past a window with a receptionist behind it. “Harlem, 130th,” Nick says. The bespectacled old man offers no reaction. After some typing on his ancient computer, green text reflecting in his lenses, he prints out a ticket of authorization. “Door Nine.”
“She has a tell, you know. Holbrook.” Liv tells Nick. He looks at her half-proud, half-impressed. “She rubs her locket. I couldn’t tell for sure in the dark, but she did it whenever you threw her a hard question.”
Nick nods his head. “Good looking out, Liv.” They walk over to gate nine. Identical doors stretch out along the great wall. Flashing lights reading ‘inbound’ and ‘outbound’ alternate at different doors. They cross the threshold into a simple dark room. In the middle, a single lamp hangs over a small wooden table with a cherry-red dial telephone on top of it. Nick locks the door behind them, and all bustling from the Distribution center around them cuts abruptly. He dials the numbers 1-3-0 before turning to Liv and saying. “You have to think of Harlem. Just hold the idea in your head.” As she does, a strange feeling rises in her stomach, the same as when they entered the PNCD. The light flickers for a few seconds before returning to normal. Nick sees Liv still concentrating, eyes squeezed and temples tense. “I was just kidding, Liv. We’re here.” He turns back to the door they came through.
Liv shoots him an icy look. Nick laughs, looking back. “I can joke too.”
They exit into a corridor of an old apartment building. Musty air and grime replace the manicured tiles and bustle of the headquarters. Air hangs still; the noise of the city echoes beyond the walls.
“God, that is trippy.” Liv nurses a light dizziness.
“Takes some getting used to.” Nick locks the door behind them. The two walk out of the building, long condemned. On the front door is an official government message. ‘Condemned. Property of the Public Network Compliance Directive. PNCD’.
Nick takes a deep breath of fresh air, fresher than PNCD air anyway. It all swirls above his head: Tanzer, Anton, Holbrook, Liv, and The Cherry Pit. Now the involvement of Cervantes, IF he is involved, complicates things to an uncomfortable degree. Is this worth it? Nick has to think about that for a bit. He wonders if Anton feels it, the mess they’re both dredging up from the depths. Tanzer left something explosive at the bottom of the swamp for them to find. Nick is positive that he and Liv are in the splash zone.
The block is alive with lights and hollering. Steam rises from the grates, wafting in and around scaffolding. Nick and Liv stand knee deep in shadow, cast by an old church. “By the way, I got the translation of those numbers you asked for.” Liv reaches into her pocket and reads off a crumpled piece of paper. “The first is…” She tenses her throat to pronounce it, “yazdah.” She says tentatively. “Eleven. Then, this one I won’t even pronounce, is twenty-nine. Then the last one is dah, which is ten.”
Nick writes the numbers down. “So that’s 11-29-10.”
“What do you think it is? Safe combination?” Liv asks.
“Could be. For a small safe. Could be a date.” Nick responds.
“November 29th, 2010?”
“Make a note of it,” Nick says. The two pocket their respective papers and continue down the shaded sidewalk.
Nick starts, “I’ll send word to Anton to arrange something with this Cervantes guy, then we can continue with the other suspect.”
“How many people in total?” Liv asks as they begin walking to the van.
“Let’s see… we have: Leslie Holbrook, check.” He adjusts the list under the moonlight. “Cervantes, big shot at AniBank. Elvira Xhetani, head of the Histories Department. That’s all Anton gave us for now.” Nick stops short of the door, his hand frozen. He eyes the envelope stuck under his windshield wipers.
“You don’t think it’s a little weird for Anton to use us to investigate people internally?”
“I think he likes playing it close to the chest. Using us is a perfect cover for him. Plausible deniability and all that.”
“Lovely,” Liv says.
“I’d do the same thing.” They approach the van, but something stands out on the windshield. A beige square was pinned under the windshield wiper. Nick plucks it out and gives it a look.
The words ‘READ ME’ are scrawled aggressively in black marker.
“Open it.” Liv urges him.
He reads it aloud. “To the creep and the teenager following me,”
“Teenager?” Liv says, offended. The paper smells of cheap perfume.
“There is more going on than you two could ever understand. Stay out of my way. If I see you again, I’ll kill you. You won’t see me coming, trust me.” Nick looks to the bottom of the page. “Signed: Naomi.”