Framed by a mysterious glass sphere in a locked study, a disgraced WWII investigator must outsmart his military mentor.
Arthur’s lungs burned, his eyes streaming with tears from the tear gas. He groped desperately in the thickening haze, his hand finally closing around the cold brass key. He shoved it into his pocket.
He grabbed Silas by the arm, pulling the smaller man through the choking smoke. Silas coughed uncontrollably, his legs buckling.
“This way!” Arthur yelled, dragging Silas towards a rusted maintenance hatch at the rear of the barn. It was low to the ground, almost hidden by debris.
The hatch clanged open, revealing a dark, narrow tunnel. The storm drainage system. Arthur didn’t hesitate. He pushed Silas through first, then scrambled after him, the shouts of the military police and the sharp crack of pistol rounds echoing behind them.
The tunnel was cramped, stinking of stagnant water and mildew. Arthur half-carried, half-dragged Silas, his own breath ragged. They moved through the darkness for what felt like an eternity, the sound of the pursuit slowly fading behind them.
Finally, they emerged into a quieter, overgrown culvert, far from the streetcar barn. Silas collapsed, wheezing, his face pale green in the dim light.
“He… he didn’t just want to frame you,” Silas gasped, clutching his chest. “Garrick. He planned for you to be… shot during arrest.”
Arthur looked at him, his mind reeling. “A ‘resisting arrest’ fatality?”
Silas nodded, his eyes wide with terror. “A military audit panel is due next month. The $350,000 in slush funds… it’s a huge liability. If you’re dead, the file closes. Permanently. Classified. No public trial, no questions asked.”
“He wanted me dead,” Arthur repeated, the realization settling heavily in his gut. This wasn’t just about protecting his reputation or clearing his name. It was about survival. Garrick had intended to make him vanish, another nameless casualty of a ‘routine’ police action.
Silas struggled to sit up. “The original microfilms… they’re still in the sphere, aren’t they? The one at Helena’s house?”
Arthur pulled the small spindle from his pocket. “I have the film from the sphere. But it only showed Garrick’s staged footage of me.”
“There’s more,” Silas insisted, his voice suddenly stronger. “Helena told me. She built a second track into the projector. A hidden one. For her insurance.”
A second track. Arthur felt a surge of adrenaline. Helena, ever tactical, would have prepared for Garrick’s treachery. She wouldn’t have relied on a single piece of evidence.
“What’s on it?” Arthur demanded, urgency lacing his voice.
Silas coughed, then looked at Arthur with grim determination. “She said it was the full list. Everyone involved. The real names.”
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