Arkham International: Call of the Cursed Sea – Chapter Eight: Los Angeles

CHAPTER EIGHT: LOS ANGELES

by Josh Reynolds

“You look tired, commissioner,” Malden said, as he gestured for Qiana Taylor to sit. The outdoor café wasn’t busy; then, it was possible Malden’s people had emptied it before her arrival. They were a hard-looking bunch. She’d heard most of them had been in the French Foreign Legion before Malden’s superiors had bought out their contracts and dressed them up like lawyers. Malden had the same sort of pull that Taylor theoretically had, only he got away with things she couldn’t, like emptying cafés and hiring mercenaries. “Busy day at the office?”

“Busy year,” Taylor replied, curtly. Malden smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant expression. More like a slash than a curve, and sharper than it had any right to be. She didn’t care for Malden. He was a gray man moving through a gray world and he saw things almost exclusively in terms of budgets and balances.

“So I’m told. The world is coming apart at the seams and you’re running around with a needle and thread. Hardly a good use of your time.”

“It’s the job,” Taylor said. She’d left Antonova and Hudson to clean up while she attended her meeting with Malden. He represented the international coalition that acted as the Foundation’s patrons. He’d replaced the previous representative after that worthy had seen more than was healthy and suffered a breakdown. Even second-hand reports could be dangerous, if the mind wasn’t ready. Malden, however, seemed made of sterner stuff. Or maybe he just wasn’t imaginative enough to get scared of the inconceivable.

“That it is. But the job could be made easier. Processes… streamlined.”

Taylor sat back. One of Malden’s people set a cup of coffee in front of her, though she hadn’t asked for anything. Malden gave another sharp smile.

“Is this about my request for an increased personnel budget?” Taylor asked, sampling the coffee. It was good. Better than what she usually endured. She looked around. The café was small, ritzy. A class joint. If she leaned back and craned her neck just so, she could almost make out the Hollywoodland sign, hanging over the hills like a portent. Los Angeles was a boom town; lots of money coming in. The film industry was doing better than anyone had expected. She wondered what a guy like Malden was doing here.

“Among other things. There’s been some discussion regarding the future of the Foundation, in the wake of… recent events.”

“Arkham.”

“Yes. Some people are wondering why you didn’t stop it. That is your job, after all.”

“Hard to fight a fire without enough firemen,” Taylor said. She set her cup down. She’d heard this line of argument before. Everyone wanted miracles, and they wanted them yesterday. “But I think you know that.”

“Indeed. I am on your side, commissioner. More people are exactly what you need. And that’s exactly what you’re going to get.”

Taylor tapped the rim of her cup thoughtfully. “And the catch?”

Malden’s smile widened. “It is believed that the Foundation requires a more militaristic outlook in order to efficiently deal with recent problems.”

Taylor frowned. “I knew it,” she muttered. She’d hoped that the rumors weren’t true, but she’d seen it herself. The recent recruits were all exclusively military – something she’d tried her best to avoid, in her previous conscription efforts. You needed a variety of skills to solve the sort of problems the Foundation encountered. Too many soldiers spoiled the broth. But it seemed that the new recruitment practices weren’t just happenstance. Instead, it was a concentrated effort to undermine the Foundation as it stood and turn it into something else. “And I expect they want someone new in charge as well.”

“That has been suggested,” Malden said, noncommittally.

“Who is it? Pershing?”

“No one, for the moment. Indeed, I argued that you were by far the most experienced candidate for the position. And, frankly, no other candidate would be acceptable to all parties concerned.”

Taylor smirked. “You mean the Americans wanted an American, the British wanted a Brit and the French wanted anyone other than an American or a Brit.”

Malden inclined his head. “Something like that.”

“So I’m the compromise.” Taylor crossed her arms. “The more things change, the more they stay the same. So. I’m getting soldiers instead of investigators. Could be worse, I suppose.” Something that might have been amusement crossed Malden’s features and she paused. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“You said it yourself: the job is keeping you running from one disaster to the next. This most recent one, for instance. My condolences on the death of your agent, by the way.” Malden paused. “It has been agreed that you need a competent subordinate – someone who can be trusted to maintain the Foundation’s equilibrium while you are otherwise occupied. Alternately, someone who can be trusted to undertake certain operations on your behalf.”

Taylor grimaced. “And someone who can replace me when the time comes.”

“Which it may never,” Malden said, pointedly. “But the fact is, you will retire in the future. So why not take the opportunity to train your eventual replacement? What better way to ensure continuity of operations, than to make sure someone is there to continue them in the manner you intended?” He looked down at his coffee. He hadn’t touched it since she’d been there. She wondered if it was more for show than because he’d wanted a drink. “You can go with the flow, or struggle against it, but the river rolls on regardless.”

“Pithy. When do I get to meet him? And I presume it is a him, right?”

Malden gestured. “He is, yes, and as soon as he’s finished overseeing his current assignment in Orkney.”

Taylor stiffened. “What’s he doing in Orkney?” The last they’d heard from Scarborough and Banks, the two were heading to Orkney with Nkosi Mabati in search of the missing agent, Pickell. But nothing since.

Malden smiled and stood. “I’m sure he’ll brief you when it’s finished.”

“I have people in Orkney – an active investigation…”

“We know. No harm will come to them, commissioner. But it was felt that our boy needed to stretch his wings, you understand. Rest assured, all will be taken care of, and to the satisfaction of all involved parties.” Malden indicated her coffee. “You should finish that. It’s quite good, I’m told.”

“You didn’t drink yours,” Taylor said, as she reached automatically for her cup. His assurances didn’t make her feel better; the reverse, in fact. Malden wasn’t the sort to cry over spilled milk. A few dead agents wouldn’t change his bottom line.

“Heavens no, can’t stand the stuff. See you around, commissioner. Give my regards to your people, when next you see them.” He walked off before she could reply, his people falling in around him like a flock of crows. She set her cup down without taking a drink and sighed. Her head hurt, and she had a long trip back to Arkham ahead of her.

“Just wonderful.” She sighed.

Read or listen to more of Arkham International Season Two: Call of the Cursed Sea.

Read or listen to Arkham International Season One: Shadow of the Drowned City.