Ruthless

by Sarah Tarkoff

  “Same,” I said. I remembered what Jude had suggested—that what made me a good prophet was the way I didn’t think about tactics, the way I simply tried to improve people’s lives. Now here I was doing the opposite, making people’s lives worse just to save him. I wondered what he’d think of me . . . if in weaponizing my followers, I’d let Jude down in some fundamental way. And I knew, as I thought about Jude, the love I felt for him must be finding its way back to my mother’s server. And also to Zack, if he was still able to see those thoughts.

  “You’ve gotten this far. Just get one step further,” she said, encouraging.

  “Thanks. You’re a pretty good guru.”

  “I know, right?” she said, grinning.

  The soldiers changed shifts, and I realized just how long I’d been standing here, holding court with my followers. My legs were sore, my voice was hoarse from speaking, my stomach rumbled with hunger, and my whole body still quavered with fear and uncertainty. I wondered what I’d unleashed out in those hills, whether my gambit was going to work, or just make everything worse.

  Finally, as lamplights began to twinkle across the hills, I saw a figure running toward us. Just a dot of a shadow on the horizon, and then a set of flailing limbs came into view, trying to get my attention. My heart sped up as I recognized the face—one of my pilgrims. Coming with a warning? He shouted in a language I didn’t speak, and one of the pilgrims next to me quickly translated into Portuguese: “They found them.”

  I felt my feet nearly floating off the ground as I left Macy behind and ran out to meet the messenger, my cadre of soldiers following dutifully behind me. “Where are they?” I asked the translator as we came closer.

  After a moment of conferring, the translator explained, “In a house not far from here. He says there are many people defending it. Guards in uniform.”

  So my mother had brought her own army with her. “Take me there.”

  Everyone looked at me nervously. “Prophet, it’s too dangerous,” one of the pilgrims said.

  I shook my head, determined to follow through on this lead before my mother had a chance to use my own knowledge against me. “Great Spirit tells me this is the only way. I’ll be protected. Take me there.” Saying the lies almost made me believe them. I began walking toward the hills, nodding to the messenger. “Show me the way.” I turned to the soldiers. I was nervous to demand anything right now, but I knew I could use the muscle, if my mother had an army. “If anyone would like to join, you’re welcome to.”

  Out of a dozen soldiers, only one stepped forward—Lieutenant Lopez, whom I recognized from the boat. “I trust you, Prophet,” he said, fire in his eyes. Whatever experience he’d had back on the Amazon River must have been something amazing for him to still be following me now.

  Reluctantly, the messenger led the way, and the lieutenant and I followed. I nodded goodbye to Macy and steeled myself for my mission. An unarmed fake prophet was heading into battle against the CIA’s most highly trained forces. Odds were, we were going to get slaughtered.

  12

  My mother would be ready for us. If she was still monitoring my thoughts every second, she’d know exactly where I was, exactly where I was headed. My usual move, unexpectedly fake preaching my way out of situations, was unlikely to help me now.

  I had to come up with something new, something that used her expectations against her. And I couldn’t spend too much time thinking about it either—I had to improvise when I arrived, to make sure she didn’t prepare her troops for my plan. If Esther herself was on-site, I thought I might have a chance. At the very least, I hoped she’d spare her own daughter.

  We wound through steep, narrow roadways, avoiding motorbikes and averting our eyes from pedestrians. A few Outcasts pointed at me, wondering if it could really be their great prophet, all the way out here. But the rest went about their business, ignoring us. They recognized me . . . they just didn’t care. I wondered if my reach had eroded even more than I’d realized. Even some of the Outcasts of Redenção were indifferent to my presence.

  I eyed every passerby with suspicion . . . could that random stranger on the street be a spy for my mother? That other one? I hoped she wouldn’t risk a confrontation in the open like this; I assumed she still had a smarter, subtler plan to destroy me.

  Finally, our messenger pointed to a concrete building at the top of the hill—more imposing than the other homes on this street. “That’s it?” I asked him, and he nodded. I hesitated, half formulating a plan. “Kevlar. Hand me your Kevlar?” The lieutenant reluctantly obliged, and I secured his vest around my chest and pelvis, putting his helmet on my head. Everything but my arms and legs were covered. “Now, go home and get help.”

  Lopez was confused. “I’m coming in with you,” he said bravely.

  “No, you’re not,” I said firmly. “You’re going back to Redenção. If I’m not back at the gates in half an hour, come back with whatever army you can muster.”

  He nodded, nervous, but did as I requested. I waited until he’d begun walking away, then turned back to the doors of the concrete complex. I had an idea of the force my mother would have waiting for me. I hoped I was smart enough to outplay her.

  I walked up to the door and knocked. “Come in,” I heard a deep voice say. Then I opened the door to a swarm of bullets.

  13

  My own mother had ordered her firing squad to shoot on sight. I felt numb inside, unwilling to believe that reality.

  The concrete entry hall was full of faces I didn’t recognize, all in uniform. These must be my mother’s CIA forces, the ones she’d told to prepare for my arrival. But I saw no Esther. She must not be on the premises after all. Though a part of me wanted to look her in the eye, confront her about her cruelty, I quickly formulated a plan that would work without her.

  I felt the bullets embedding in the Kevlar, biting thuds against my chest. I closed my eyes as the sharp metal pinged against the helmet, rattling my brain. A bullet nicked my arm, and I cried out but tried to keep my focus. I scanned the room, desperate to find cover, but the hall was depressingly bare.

  I noticed one man in the corner with his finger on the trigger but not pulling it—afraid he was breaking some kind of a commandment by shooting at a prophet, no doubt. “You,” I called out, pointing at him. The bullet fire slowed to a crawl as the agents looked around, confused. “Why aren’t you shooting?” I continued, boldly castigating the nonshooter. “Esther told you to kill the prophet on sight, why are you hesitating?”

  All the guns lowered now as my invocation of Esther, and seeming foreknowledge of their orders, confused the troops.

  “I was shooting,” he defended himself.

  I shook my head and looked to the others. “Reprimand him. No one questions Esther’s orders, ever.” They looked around, confused. I continued, “The rest of you, well done. It’s no easy feat to pull the trigger on a prophet, and you all passed with flying colors.”

  My memories of Zack’s stories of CIA training gave me a language, a psychology, that I thought might feel familiar to these people. I only hoped that Esther wouldn’t be able to act fast enough to contradict and counteract me.

  One CIA agent stepped forward, gun still fixed on my heart. “Esther said to take you in by any means necessary.”

  I let the choking horror of those words pass by me, keeping up my breezy attitude. “And you did. Good job, you’ve got me.” I fixed my eyes on their blank stares. “You really think I could run out of here, if I wanted to? Even if those bullets aren’t the kind that kill, they’re plenty useful at stopping me.”

  I knew that would unnerve them, that I knew about their secret, nonlethal bullets. I took off the Kevlar vest and let it drop to the floor, a show of confidence. “Come on, take me in, what are you waiting for?” I asked them, holding my hands in the air in surrender.

  My gambit certainly seemed to be successful at confusing them. After a series of puzzled looks were exchanged, one agent hesitantly took my arm a
nd pulled me deeper into the building.

  I scoffed as we walked. “Is that it? You don’t have handcuffs or anything?” I knew it was a risky play, but I also knew that the safer I pretended I felt, the more they’d trust that I really was safe: that I was in league with Esther, that this was all part of some plan meant to test their loyalty. Just another trick like Esther had employed during their training.

  So far, it was working well enough. They led me farther inside the concrete walls, down a hallway I hoped would lead to Jude and Dawn.

  Instead, as we turned a corner, that hallway led to Ciaran’s devilish grin. He stood in a dank gray room with no windows, in the center of the building, which stank vilely of sweat and sewage. The smell, and the sight of him, made me want to retch. I saw ropes on the walls, which looked like they had once restrained two prisoners . . . but Jude and Dawn were gone.

  “Where are they?” I asked, keeping the panic out of my tone. I tried to remain matter-of-fact, militarily stoic.

  “Outside. Bathroom break,” Ciaran said, and I couldn’t tell if he was lying.

  “They better be alive. Esther will be pissed if you lost her leverage.”

  Ciaran smiled, amused. “Pretending you speak for Esther. Cute.”

  “You know who I am, don’t you?” I scoffed.

  “Grace Luther. You think I’d forget you? We’re old friends,” he said with a flirtatious note in his voice. He stepped closer, and I could smell the rankness of his breath. I tried not to cringe.

  “I’m also Esther’s daughter. You never noticed the resemblance?” He looked at me keenly, and I saw the CIA agents exchanging looks—clearly they had noticed it before. Our eyes, the shape of our faces, were almost identical. “Seriously, you think it’s a coincidence? We just happened to go on a date the night you got taken in? You think I’m not part of Esther’s plan, that we’re not working together?” Ciaran seemed struck by that, puzzling through my words.

  “To what end?” another agent asked.

  “People are getting complacent,” I told him, echoing words I remembered hearing a long time ago at Walden Manor. “They see the work of Great Spirit, they see the Revelations, but then they forget. They forget why we have these laws, how lucky we are to have this world. So we remind them. After every religion is established, some number of years later, you get a schism. A Reformation, a holy war that reminds us what we’re fighting for. This is all a show, and you’re all actors, and Esther didn’t bother to tell you. You’re pawns in her little game, expendable. But you knew that, you’ve always known that.”

  Ciaran scoffed. “And you think you’re not a pawn?”

  “I’m Esther’s only daughter. I’d say that makes me a rook, at least,” I said snidely.

  “Then why’d she tell us to kill you, if necessary?” he challenged.

  My stomach twisted. Could it be true? Had my mother really sent this monster to kill me? Could the bullets in those guns have been real after all? I’d put so much faith in my mother’s love for me . . . maybe convincing me she really cared had been her biggest con of all.

  But a CIA agent stepped in—I could tell from his expression that he still believed my words. “We’ll take it from here.” I breathed an internal sigh of relief—I’d anticipated my mother perfectly after all.

  I’d stayed alive, and safe . . . but she’d gotten exactly what she wanted. Ciaran had done his job—he’d lured me out of my safe, protected haven and right into her hands.

  And indeed, moments later, I saw an agent enter and whisper in the ear of my captor—relaying a message from Esther, no doubt. As he listened, his expression hardened, and he quickly told me, “We’re keeping you here.”

  I nodded, still playing my part. I hoped if Esther could read my thoughts, so could Zack. Through my eyes, maybe I could give what remained of the resistance a window into the opposition—a fly-on-the-wall view of the compound, at least.

  A few moments later, Dawn and Jude were led inside—both paled when they saw me. I tried to quell the rush of joy I felt to see their faces again. Looking into Jude’s eyes filled me with a kind of calm and excitement all at once . . . even though I was the one here to rescue him, I still felt safer in his presence somehow. “Grace . . .” Jude said, but I shook my head. Not now.

  “Friends of yours?” the agent guarding me asked.

  I smiled ruefully. “You could say that. Like I said, we all have our parts to play. Theirs is to be the defeated resistance. Yours is to die valiantly defending the attack that’s coming in a few minutes. Mine is to emerge triumphantly and miraculously from the melee, to struggle in vain like the best prophets do, and ultimately take the reins from the old prophets as the voice of the youth. At least, until a couple decades from now, when we do this all over again.” I willed the deepest sympathy into my eyes, looking at my captor. “My mother’s a genius when it comes to spinning a narrative, but I’ve never understood her obsession with secrecy. If I were her, I would have clued you all in to the truth, tried to limit casualties. But I guess she has her reasons, and hey, I’m not in charge.”

  I could see the wheels turning in his head, my words getting to him. In a world where conspiracy theories were real, the plot I was spinning didn’t seem so far-fetched to him. And my words seemed downright prophetic a few minutes later, when anxious voices outside started yelling about an army marching up the street with tanks and a whole battalion of soldiers. Lieutenant Lopez had managed to scrape together a decent fighting force after all.

  I saw our guards mulling over their options . . . were they really willing to die for Esther’s cause, as pawns in some game? One of them nodded to Dawn, Jude, and me. “Take the prisoners outside. Tell them we’re willing to make a deal.”

  A shot of relief and disbelief went through me. I’d miraculously tricked my mother’s CIA forces into standing down. We’d won this battle, at least.

  I still had no idea how we’d win the war.

  14

  As the agent shuffled us back through that hallway, I could hear Ciaran’s desperate protests. “You’re letting them go? We were just starting to have fun.” A sick part of me wished the lieutenant would invade, just so someone would put a bullet through Ciaran’s twisted little brain.

  But I put him out of my mind as we stepped outside, and my heart swelled to see not only Lieutenant Lopez, but Zack, Layla, and Irene waiting for us as well. Layla rushed to Jude’s side, as Irene moved to support a limping Dawn. I approached Zack, who looked slightly different in a way I couldn’t put my finger on. He had a tentative smile on his lips. “Good job in there,” he said, voice filled with a kind of respect I hadn’t heard in a long time.

  “Thanks,” I said, nervous knowing that he’d not only listened in on every conversation I’d had, but also knew everything I was feeling at this moment. The emotions I’d had seeing Jude again.

  “The resistance lives to fight another day,” he said, trying to force an optimistic grin, while Lieutenant Lopez whisked us back to the safety of the city as quickly as he could. “I have one other piece of good news. We’d been keeping it from you, because we knew, you know . . .”

  “That I was the mole,” I finished for him.

  “We found out you’d been compromised because we hacked into your mother’s computer and found text documents filled with your thoughts.” I cringed, imagining it, but Zack continued, “On that same drive, we found the key to repairing the device we stole in Rio. We can get that crap out of your head.”

  I touched his face, suddenly recognizing the strangeness of it. “You already . . .”

  “Took mine out, yeah.” His smile sent a wave of relief through me. Though he looked slightly different, perhaps a little less conventionally attractive, he also seemed more at ease—and I strangely found myself more drawn to him than ever. “Ready to rejoin the inner circle? We’re going to need your help to figure out what to do next.” He then spoke to my eyes like speaking into a microphone, “Because yes, Esther, we aren’t givin
g up yet.”

  A wave of joy went through me, thinking about being a part of the resistance again. But as I imagined what that might look like, a part of me fell into despair. Even when we’d thought we were winning, my mother had always wrestled us to a stalemate. And what did we have left to fight with? Now that the general had lost faith in me, I was relying on a few scraps of her military . . . that wasn’t nearly enough to keep control of Redenção, even if my mother didn’t already know exactly what our weaknesses were. I didn’t see any way out of this, not with the resources we had left.

  Instinctively, I started to pray for answers . . . but I knew I wasn’t going to get them from any supernatural source. It had been a long time since I’d felt that connection, that certainty. I thought back to what my mother had said—that good things in life didn’t come to those who prayed to the right god, but to those who took action. I finally stopped worrying about what Great Spirit might want, and I thought about what I wanted: a way to end this war. If there was no god to get us out of this, I would have to find a way to do it myself.

  And, unencumbered by my hand-wringing over what was right or wrong, I had an idea. “Leave that crap in my brain,” I said suddenly, now in the habit of making decisions in the moment. “There’s one more thing I need it for.”

  Zack was stunned. “What would you need it for?”

  I looked half at Zack, half at the sky, as though Esther might be watching me from some cloud or satellite somewhere. “We need to call a truce. An end to hostilities.”

  “A truce? With your mother?” Zack asked, incredulous. “What leverage could we possibly have?”

  I smiled, the simplicity of it bowling me over. “We reveal the truth.”

  Zack’s expression was drawn in horror. “But that would be . . .”

  “Mass chaos, millions, maybe billions dead, I know. Trust me, I remember all the reasons we haven’t done it before. But now, since Esther can read my thoughts, she’ll know I’m not bluffing. She won’t let all those people die, there’s no way.”