They found an empty sea container out of sight of the bay. Gavin opened the door, heat radiating outward.
“Damn it’s hot,” Javier said.
“That’s why nobody comes here. You can’t live in a metal box.” Gavin looked up at the cloudless sky. “The rain’ll cool us off.”
“It’s clear,” Summer said, also looking up at the sky.
“See those dark clouds way over there?” Gavin pointed. “They’re coming.”
Summer nodded.
“It rains every afternoon during the wet season.”
They shoved the canoe inside with the paddles and loitered outside. Javier removed his backpack and took a drink from a large water bottle. Gavin removed his backpack and did the same. Javier gave Summer his water bottle. She didn’t realize how thirsty she was, nearly downing the whole thing. They sat on the asphalt, leaned against the shady side of the sea container, the sun low enough for the metal box to cast a shadow.
“What about Connor and Mark and Zoe?” Summer asked.
Gavin cleared his throat but didn’t say anything.
Javier shook his head, not looking at Summer. “The Aryans have like fuckin’ gladiator games almost every Sunday, like they’re the fuckin’ NFL.”
“What happens at the games?”
“People fight to the death.”
“We have to help them,” Summer said, her eyes bulging.
“We can’t,” Gavin said. “It’s a suicide mission. You’re lucky we got you. If you didn’t have experience with submersibles, no way Roger would’ve authorized giving up that Glock.”
Summer looked at Javier with a confused expression.
Javier mouthed, Go with it.
“We can’t leave them there,” Summer said.
Gavin blew out a heavy breath. “We don’t have a choice. You’ve been on this island for like six hours, so maybe you should listen. If we tried to get your boyfriend, or anyone the Aryans have for that matter, we’d all end up dead.”
Summer hung her head. “He’s my fiancé.”
“I don’t care who he is. We don’t have the manpower. We might get killed just walking through the city to the stadium. The Aryans have at least three thousand men just in San Juan. What do you think they’d do to you if they caught you? Think of your worst nightmare, and I guarantee it’ll be ten times worse. Your fiancé and your friends will have to save themselves. If they fight well, then the Aryans will take them on as members. We might be able to get them then.”
“He’s right,” Javier said.
“What are the chances that they fight well enough to survive?” Summer asked.
“Depends how many people are fighting,” Gavin said.
Summer stood from the asphalt and looked down at Gavin, her hands on her hips. “Give me an estimate for fuck’s sake. Ten percent? Fifty percent?”
“Five percent.”
“We have to help them,” Summer said again, now addressing and pleading with Javier. “Connor and Mark are your friends. Zoe’s Mark’s sister.”
“Connor and Mark would both want you alive,” Javier said, looking up at Summer from his seated position.
“I can’t believe this is happening.” Summer turned her back and walked a few steps away.
“I’m sorry.” Javier stood and approached Summer. “This is my fault.”
Summer turned to face Javier. “It’s nobody’s fault.”
Javier shook his head. “Do you know how Mark lost his job?”
“No.”
“He reprogrammed the home robots of these rich people to spy on them. He thought they knew secrets about the US government and the Fed. The only reason they didn’t send him to Psycho Island is his lawyer convinced them he was just a perverted voyeur, not an enemy of the state. He lost his job and went to prison for four months.”
“I didn’t know that,” Summer said.
“They put him on the sex offender registry, and that’s why he always thought he was being watched. I think he was right. I think they were watching him. When they arrested me for hate speech, they asked me questions about the video, like Mark had said something, like they were listening in on him. It was like he said something but not enough to incriminate himself.” Javier exhaled a heavy breath. “I never should’ve posted that shit about false flags. They labeled me an Unlawful Enemy Combatant, and then it was like I had no fuckin’ rights. No lawyer. I couldn’t see my family. Nothing. They fuckin’ waterboarded me.” Javier bowed his head, his dark eyes filling with tears. “I couldn’t take it. They kept asking me all these questions about Mark and the video, and …” Javier swallowed hard, tears slipping down his cheeks. “I told ’em everything. That’s why they arrested Mark and you and Connor. I’m so sorry, Summer.”
Summer clenched her fists for an instant, then she reached out and hugged Javier.
68
Naomi’s the Solution
Katherine said, “We’ve moved two percent in the polls since your speech on Wall Street last week, and we’ve had a nice spike in social followers too.”
Vernon nodded, nonplussed. “It’s a start, but, if we’re serious about winning, we have a long way to go. We need to build relevancy with the public. When they think of a problem, they should also think of Naomi as the solution.”
Naomi gave Vernon a quick smile of agreement. “We could do something on climate change.”
They sat in the sitting area of Naomi’s congressional office, Vernon and Naomi on the couch, Katherine in a leather chair opposite them.
Katherine flipped her blond hair off her shoulders. “We’re definitely on board with combating climate change, at least with our rhetoric. In general people say they care about the planet, but, when push comes to shove, they’ll vote for increasing UBI payments over some esoteric climate legislation every single time. It’s one of those issues that people like to talk about to show others that they care, with no intention of personally sacrificing for the planet.”
“I agree,” Naomi said. “Also, climate change has long been an establishment democratic issue. We won’t beat Corrinne with the same platform as her. I think we need something more concrete, something that fits our image, but also something Corrinne would never touch.”
Vernon grinned and said, “What about bot marriage?”
Naomi and Katherine giggled.
“You two laugh, but we should at least have a stance on it. It’s legal in fifteen states.”
“It’s a pretty small voting bloc,” Katherine said, smiling.
“Creepy rich guys who can’t get a date?” Naomi said. “I’m sure they’re staunch Republicans anyway.”
They all laughed again.
“We should still have a stance,” Vernon said. “Is it like gay marriage fifty years ago?”
Naomi frowned at that. “No. But I couldn’t care less if some lonely guy wants to marry his robot.”
“There’ve been a few women too,” Katherine said.
Naomi held up one finger. “I think I got it. It’s a human rights issue that nobody wants to touch.”
Vernon and Katherine waited with bated breath.
“What about the island prisons?”
69
Derek and the Chosen Ones
The chosen ones sat on benches inside a square locker room. Derek sat next to Connor and Mark, no longer bound with handcuffs or chains. Approximately one hundred prisoners, still wearing their blue uniforms, sat on the benches. Like the gangs, the prisoners self-segregated by ethnicity and gender, gender taking precedence over ethnicity. The men stared at the ten females who sat together in the corner. Two dozen Aryans stood near the exit, scanning the audience, machetes and knives at the ready.
“Why did they pick us?” Connor asked, his voice high and stressed.
“I don’t know,” Mark replied.
One of the Aryan guards approached them, his machete leading the way. “Shut the fuck up.”
Connor’s face flushed scarlet.
The Aryan glow
ered at Connor, then pointed his gaze and machete at Mark. “You’re lucky we didn’t sell you by the pound, you fat fuck.” The Aryan returned to his post near the exit.
The man they called The Reaper entered the room. He stood front and center, surveying the prisoners, his face and shaved head a mass of tattoos. “You are the scum of the fuckin’ earth. I’ve seen some weak motherfuckers come through here, but you sicken me.”
A few Aryan guards snickered.
The Reaper’s glare swept over the prisoners, causing many of them to look down in shame. “In five days, each of you faggots will fight to the death in this stadium. If you attempt to escape, we’ll slice you up like a fuckin’ pig and eat you for supper. You refuse to fight, you’ll be sacrificed at halftime, sliced into a million pieces and fed to the niggers.”
The prisoners were slack-jawed and wide-eyed.
“A few of you faggots will make it out alive. To do that, you’ll have to fight and win. When it’s over, the winners will join the Aryan Nation, or, if a nigger wins, they’ll be given to their tribe. Your trainin’ begins right now.” The Reaper surveyed the prisoners once more, one side of his mouth raised in contempt. “Your first lesson is, whites go with whites and niggers go with niggers. I see most of the whites are already over here.” He gestured to the right side of the room. “Except for you nigger bitches.” The Reaper pointed to the black and Latino women grouped together with the white women. “Go on. Find a seat over there with your kind.” He gestured to the left side of the room, where groups of nonwhites clustered.
Then he narrowed his eyes at Derek and approached. “What the fuck are you? A sand nigger?”
Derek didn’t respond, not sure what to say.
“Get the fuck over there with the rest of the niggers.”
70
Jacob and Project Freedom
After talking with Eric about Project Freedom and Derek’s chance of survival, Jacob and Rebecca then had a long discussion about whether or not to hire them or to even contact them. Even though Jacob confirmed with Eric that Project Freedom was a front for drug smugglers and likely con artists, Rebecca still wanted to contact them and to exhaust their options.
Jacob had contacted Eric’s guy in Venezuela, who contacted Project Freedom, then provided Jacob with the contact information for Cesar, no last name given. Allegedly, Cesar was a partner in the business. Jacob then called Cesar, with Rebecca in the room and the phone on speaker. This was a demand that Rebecca would not relinquish.
“Yes, Matias told me who you are,” Cesar said in near perfect English, referring to Eric’s man in Venezuela. “He says you have a family member in San Juan.”
“Yes,” Jacob replied, holding his phone near his mouth.
“He also said that you were interested in retaining our recovery service.”
“Have you recovered other island inmates?”
“We’ve come close, but I will not lie. We have not rescued anyone. I’m assuming you already know that.”
Jacob was stunned, figuring Cesar would lie, and Rebecca would realize that Project Freedom is truly a con.
Rebecca leaned toward the phone. “Hi, this is Rebecca Roth.”
“Hello, Mrs. Roth,” Cesar replied.
Rebecca took the phone from Jacob’s hand.
Jacob let go of his phone and his control with gritted teeth.
“Do you think it’s possible to rescue someone from the island?” Rebecca asked.
“With enough money, anything’s possible.”
Jacob cringed, thinking about his bank account.
Rebecca said, “We’d like to come to the Virgin Islands to help—”
Jacob grabbed his phone from Rebecca, flashing her a scowl. “Nothing’s been decided.”
“If you decide to retain our services, you would be welcome to stay at our base in the Virgin Islands,” Cesar said. “It is, how you say, rustic, but we have off-grid power and a bunker safe from hurricanes. You will, of course, have to arrange for private transit. No commercial ships or airlines come to the Virgin Islands. Private ships will make the trip for a price. I can put you in contact with a ship captain.”
“That’s not necessary. We have access to transportation,” Jacob said. “If we come to an agreement, we would bring our own security team.”
“My husband has access to well-trained men who could help,” Rebecca said, leaning in to the phone.
“This work is very dangerous,” Cesar said. “If we have men to share in the danger, we have a better chance to find your family member.”
“If money were no object, how would you do it?”
Jacob clenched his jaw in response to Rebecca talking about his money as if it were hers to spend.
Cesar said, “Well, that would require quite a bit of planning, but, off the top of my head, I’d wait for a hurricane to force the US Navy to vacate the area. Then I’d send in our submarine. Multiple men would surface and would fly drones with facial recognition cameras to find your family member. What is his name?”
“Derek.”
“The drones and cameras would help us search and find Derek. From there, we’d have to devise an extraction plan based on his location, and we’d have to wait for another hurricane to make it back through the blockade, unless we got lucky and found him quickly. Now this is a very rough idea. We’d also need to set up an encrypted communication network between the submarine and our base camp. Lots of moving pieces and very dangerous but entirely possible for the right price.”
“Are you in the Virgin Islands now?” Rebecca asked.
“If I was, we wouldn’t be talking right now. There’s no cell service or internet there. It is very primitive.”
“Would you be meeting us there?”
“When you pay the deposit, I will meet you and your husband at our base in the Virgin Islands, and I will personally oversee the operation.”
71
Summer and El Morro
At the first glimpse of sunrise, Summer and Gavin and Javier launched the canoe back into the bay. Summer’s hip and back hurt from sleeping in the sea container. Javier’s confession had angered Summer but not at Javier, at those who had perpetrated the injustice.
The men paddled, and the sun rose and reflected off the bright blue sea. It was eerily quiet, the gangs still asleep after a night of initiating their new members. Summer thought about her fate, had she been purchased by one of the gangs. She shuddered at the thought. Summer thought about Byron and his fresh baby smell and the way he clenched his little fist. She cried quietly, the splash of the oars masking her emotion.
They paddled for about a mile, toward the ocean. At the end of the bay, they paddled to the point, the small waves pushing them onto the rocky beach and its rocky promontory. In front of them sat an old stone fort or a castle. Men patrolled the high walls with rifles. One of them waved. Gavin and Javier waved back, then carried the canoe from the water toward the fort. Summer followed with the paddles.
“What is this place?” Summer asked.
“It’s an old Spanish fort built in the sixteenth century,” Gavin said. “It’s one of the few structures that survived the hurricanes almost totally intact.”
“Almost?”
Gavin pointed to the top of the stone fort. “Used to be a lighthouse on top.”
They climbed stone steps over a sea wall and approached the fort. Summer looked up at the structure, the massive walls extending fifty feet up to a second level, with another set of walls even higher. They entered at the base of the wall, guarded by two men, one with a rifle and one with a handgun.
Inside the fort, Gavin and Javier parked the canoe next to one other, the smell of paint in the air. There was an open area, dimly lit by the sun through the gun ports. A middle-aged man, resembling a balding leprechaun, painted what looked like a small spacecraft. Two black wings with black pontoons attached to the ends were propped against the wall, the paint drying.
“You’re up early,” Gavin said to the man.
“Lots to do,” the man replied.
“We brought help.” Gavin gestured to Summer. “She’s an expert in submersibles.”
The man put down his brush, wiped his hands on his T-shirt, and approached Summer. He thrust out his hand. “I’m Fred.”
She shook his hand. “Summer. It’s nice to meet you.”
“She’s a beaut.”
Summer blushed, thinking Fred was talking about her.
But Fred gestured to the submarine. “Lemme show you what we got. I could really use your expertise. I was a mechanic but not a submarine builder. Maybe you can tell me if you see any flaws in the design.”
Summer nodded and flashed Javier a look of desperation.
“We found the sub at a scuba center, but it was in bad shape. We’ve had to scavenge parts, and I think it’ll work, but thinkin’ and bein’ sure are two different things entirely, especially when someone’s life’s on the line.” Fred opened the cockpit. “It’s tight in there, only space for one person. We’re paintin’ it for stealth. Gavin found the paint.” Fred gestured to Gavin. “We need some decent batteries if we’re ever gonna launch this thing. Most Puerto Ricans left before Hurricane Zoey in 2042 and, after that, whoever was left was evacuated. So, that’s nine years with whatever batteries were left here, which wasn’t much. With no fuel, all the lead acid car batteries have been sittin’ uncharged. Sittin’ at a partially charged state for nine years has permanently damaged those batteries. Over time, lead sulfate forms on the plates, which ain’t good for holdin’ a charge. It doesn’t help that it’s hot as hell here and wet. All the alkaline and nickel batteries were used up a long time ago too. The rechargeable ones are no good anymore either. The newer solid state lithium ion batteries are our best shot.”
“We haven’t found any of those yet,” Gavin said. “I’ve found a bunch of old lithium ion batteries in cell phones and tablets, but they’re not solid state. None of them hold a charge anymore.”
2050: Psycho Island Page 25