Noir Control

INDEX

  Copyright

  Dedications

  Part 1

  Part 2

  Part 3

  First published in Great Britain by Speartip

  Copyright © Dustin van der Poll 2016

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transferred, in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real

  persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book was written as part of the Young Author Mentoring Project.

  https://www.youngauthormentor.com

  Project Mentor: Lee McGeorge

  https://www.lee-mcgeorge.co.uk

  Cover Artwork: Miguel E. Santillan

  https://santillanstudio.deviantart.com

  ISBN 978-0-9546953-9-2

  Speartip Publishing

  For Mads

  Special thanks to the project backers, whose support made this book possible.

  Gail van der Poll, Luca Oppes, Alistair Boubli, Kieran Johansson-Rye, Tyler and Lloyd Easterbrook-Cotton, Kit Longstaff, Chantelle and Dudley van der Poll, Hannah Reeves, Summer Hemmingray, George Mackenzie, Stefan van der Poll, Lisa and Tony Shannon, Poppy Alfredou, Emily Ford, Julian Aston, Tina Baker, Raymond Doherty, George Balfour, Emilia White, Mary Arden, Denise Bushell, Margaret Aouati, Camilla West, Kerry Powell, Chris Howell, Alex Hurwitz and Jasmine Cassel

  Special thanks to the publishers

  Lee and Fong McGeorge,

  Miguel Santillan

  NOIR CONTROL

  By

  Dustin van der Poll

  PART 1

  Gunshots ricocheted in booming echoes through the corridors. Goldberg clung to a stone column and looked past the waiting-room lounge furniture to the great glass windows. Around him were security men in combat armour, clutching their guns.

  “Copy, copy! Sierra-foxtrot, requesting immediate reinforcements! We have President Goldberg at the helicopter pad, we need rescue helicopter assistance, now!” one man shouted into a radio. Goldberg set his eyes out on to the helicopter pad, half way up the side of a great skyscraper.

  The room began to shake. The sound of blades cut through the air. Beyond the pad, a bulking shape climbed over the precipice: a helicopter.

  Goldberg walked forward. A hand grabbed him by the arm.

  “No. Get down, Sir.”

  Bullets shattered the glass windows and cut through the furniture and armed men. They fell down bleeding out. Goldberg clung to the floor.

  The gunship descended to the platform and General Arcticus Grimmleif, a muscular man with a red goatee, stepped out with a group of soldiers. He walked through the window frame and into the room, glass cubes crunching under his boots. Goldberg staggered past him, running towards the helicopter.

  “Where do you think you’re going, Julius?” Grimmleif asked. “It’s over. I’m here to relieve you of your authority.”

  Goldberg turned around. “You’re wrong. I still have supporters and they’ll find out about this and put you down.”

  Grimmleif pulled a pistol from the holster against his leg and menacingly walked Goldberg back towards the edge of the platform. “You always were stupid. You think I haven’t planned for that?”

  “And what is this plan? Are you going to kill me and just announce you’re in charge? The people love me, they won’t stand for it.” Goldberg tried to run back to the building but Grimmleif grabbed his collar and tossed him back towards the edge of the platform. The President barely managed to stay on the ledge, throwing himself to the ground before the momentum toppled him over the side to his death. He made it onto his knees as Grimmleif came in close, the gun still in his hand. “Please, Arcticus. You don’t need to kill me.”

  “Goodbye, Julius.” He raised his leg and kicked President Goldberg square in the chest, sending him over the edge and tumbling forty five storeys to the street below.

  The helicopter blades were winding down, the gunshots had ended.

  Grimmleif turned to a soldier carrying a portable military-computer and transmitter. “Send out the Noir program.” The soldier knelt down and set up the device. Lines of code flashed across the screen. A window appeared showing the message:

  CODE SIGNAL SENT :

  RUNNING PROGRAM INSTALL “NOIR-V-2.0”

  General Grimmleif walked to the ledge and looked over. It was too far and too dark to see where the president had hit the street. “You may have been popular, Julius. But not anymore.”

  ----- X -----

  The city skyscrapers were awash with neon lights, building-sized television screens and advertisement billboards.

  On the street, people pushed by shoulder to shoulder and by the sweetshop children loitered. Eight-year-old Billy Smith had his dirty palms against the window as he stared into the sugary wonderland; his empty stomach ached. Inside, a plump girl his own age with blonde curls and a polka dot dress was choosing items. The owner of the sweet shop was dropping her choices into her goody bag. The girl took her fat bag of candy and pressed her thumb against the payment reader.

  From his vantage, Billy couldn’t see, but the machine's screen had changed to read:

  PLEASE WAIT :

  BIOMETRIC-WALLET SOFTWARE UPDATING...

  A few seconds passed by and a green thumbs-up appeared on screen:

  THANK YOU FOR YOUR PURCHASE :

  HAVE A NICE EVENING

  The girl ran out of the shop. She glanced at Billy briefly, then her face scrunched up and went into a serious frown. Out of the blue she blurted, “I hated that president.”

  ----- X -----

  Rachel Alexis carried a pot of coffee towards two ladies sitting by the window; they watched the news report on the TV across from them. On screen, a woman in a room pockmarked with bullet holes had a microphone pressed against her lips. “It was in this room that President Goldberg and his security team made their last stand,” she said. “Eyewitnesses say the President tried to run from the lone gunman to a rescue helicopter, but in his panic fell from the side of the helicopter pad to his death.”

  Rachel held out the coffee pot and refilled the women's cups, occasionally looking at the TV. The bulky head and red goatee of General Grimmleif stretched across the screen as he added to the story. “Citizens, it is believed that President Julius Goldberg was assassinated by a lone gunman. Police investigators have identified this man and are searching for him. In the event that this was the start of something larger, we have stationed military forces in hotspot areas in the different districts. There is no cause for alarm, this is a precautionary measure to ensure the safety of everyone should this have been the first action in a larger attack.”

  “How horrible,” said the woman with blonde hair.

  “Indeed... Such a good man too; and so young. What a shame,” the other replied. Rachel paid no attention; she pulled out a payment reader and handed it to them. The blonde haired woman placed her thumb against it, a miniature digital screen lit up:

  PLEASE WAIT :

  BIOMETRIC-WALLET SOFTWARE UPDATING...

  The other woman mimicked the action and received the same message. Both of them nodded their heads and took sips of their coffee and watched the TV. The blonde haired woman jerked her head. “Actually, the more I think about this, the more I think that Goldberg deserved it. He wasn't that good a man at all. He was cruel and unjust! The bugger deserved it.” Her colleague nodd
ed in silent approval.

  ----- X -----

  Rachel hung her uniform in the locker and began applying dark mascara to her eyes.

  “I don’t know why you do that to yourself,” Ms’ Hamilton said. “You’re pretty. Why cover yourself in darkness?” Rachel grinned. Covered in darkness, she liked that. “Thanks again,” she continued. “For covering Sebastian’s shift; the lazy bugger.”

  “That’s not a problem,” Rachel put the makeup away and began lacing her boots. “I could do with the extra money.” She was dressed in all black with skin tight jeans. Her hair was in a ponytail and she wore small earrings. “See you tomorrow,” she called.

  Outside the weather had turned and there was a light rain in the darkening sky. Neon lights washed over her and there were advertisements everywhere she looked. “There you are.” A fist swung into Rachel's arm. It was Pyppi, her friend. She had short blonde hair, wore the same punk fashion as Rachel and had spirals tattooed on her cheeks.

  “Hi,” Rachel said.

  “We thought you'd started living in the back room you took so long.” Pyppi wore her usual childish grin. “Sebastian and I were about to leave without you.”

  A man stepped out from behind her. “Hi, Rachel, you ready to go?”

  “Yeah, obviously, I don’t want to stand here all night.”

  “Alright!” shouted Pyppi, throwing her fist into the air. “Let's get pissed!”

  Rachel, Pyppi, and Sebastian pressed through the crowds. The streets were busy and there were several food carts being pushed along against them.

  “Yo, so I heard the president was killed by some