The Ferryman Institute by Colin Gigl Page A

particular topic was off-limits.
    â€œRight, sure,” Dirkley replied, quickly moving on in the conversation. “I just wanted to throw out there that we’re here foryou—me and Melissa are. Well, the whole Institute is, I’m sure. They generally like you. Well, except for the Inspector, but he probably didn’t like his own mother. But seriously, if you ever need to talk, you can tell me anything. You’re not the most, shall I say, open person I’ve ever met, so I—we—” He gestured at the control room around them. “We worry about you sometimes.”
    It was easy to tell that the concern was genuine, even if Charlie found it strange that Dirkley was suddenly so talkative. “Don’t let me worry you. I’m fine. Just a bit distracted, that’s all. Glad to know you’ve got my back. I mean that.”
    Dirkley gave an almost carefree, goofy smile at that. “Not a problem. It’s the least I cou—”
    â€œDAWSON?! IS CHARLES DAWSON HERE?!”
    Both Dirkley and Charlie looked in the direction of the commotion. Just over the heads of several groups of Ferryman employees, Charlie could see a young black man in a shabby gray suit running in their direction, a flow of dreadlocks trailing in his wake. “MR. DAWSON!” His voice rose above the general din of the room as he spotted Charlie. The man mouthed something into the headset he wore—what it was, Charlie couldn’t say—before picking up speed. He arrived at Charlie and Dirkley’s station looking like he had ten things to say and time for only one.
    â€œThank God you’re still here. Ms. Johnson told me you have an assignment coming up, but . . . well, just damn glad you’re still here. Agent Campbell,” he said, offering his hand. But any warmth in his facial expression was being smothered by the air of urgency surrounding him.
    Charlie shook the agent’s hand. “Pleasure. No, we haven’t started on the next case yet, but we were about to.”
    Campbell hesitated, but only for an instant. “I need your help, Mr. Dawson. It’s an emergency.”
    The corners of Charlie’s mouth went flat. Bad things always followed that word. It was never an emergency surprise party, or emergency free cupcake day.
    â€œDid you clear this with Melissa?” When Campbell’s face indicated he didn’t recall the name, Charlie added, “Melissa Johnson? You know, our manager?”
    Campbell’s expression turned to one Charlie would have described as half sheepish, half devil-may-care. “I . . . haven’t,” Campbell said.
    When Campbell offered nothing else, Dirkley chimed in. “You know there’s an established protocol for this, Agent Campbell. The request has to go—”
    â€œI know, Mr. Dupine.” Though he’d interrupted Dirkley, Charlie noted it sounded more out of desperation than annoyance. “But my team is in a situation that’s . . . It’s bad.”
    â€œHow bad are we talking here?” Dirkley’s expression had turned stern.
    â€œBad. We’ve got practically no info—my navigator can’t make heads or tails of the memory feed and it’s just about washed out. We know it’s a young woman, and that’s only because our Ferryman on the ground mentioned it when she called in to ask for assistance.”
    â€œThat’s it?” Dirkley said. “ Young woman is all you’ve got? No age, occupation, family members?” Agent Campbell said nothing. “Name?” Dirkley continued, bemusement creeping into his voice. The agent simply shook his head. “You’re joking! Did your Ferryman at least say what the cause of death was?”
    â€œCar accident. An ugly one,” Campbell said as he pulled out a form from his jacket pocket. He turned to Charlie. “My Ferryman—her name is Jennifer