Rebels & Lies (Rebels & Lies Trilogy Book 1)

by Cotton, Brian

  The attempts to memorize his answers to their questions were abandoned long ago. He had been sitting out here so damn long that he did not care what they asked, he just wanted to get it over with. He told himself over and over again that this rebellion seemed to hurt for good men and, not that he was one, they would let anybody join at this point. Kaspar was about to abandon the chair and walk around when he heard the double doors open up. The look on Paxton’s face brought back the intensity of his nerves.

  “Your turn, kid.” Paxton said.

  Kaspar stood up and walked through the double doors that Paxton held open. The old veteran let the doors shut. Kaspar thought this whole time that Paxton would be in there with him. Maybe coach him up or something. Wrong again.

  He looked forward at the five sharp dressed men behind some desk on the stage. Kaspar looked down at his attire, his white tee and blue jeans, and felt out of place. He put up a cheap grin but nobody behind the desk smiled or said anything to him. The grin was lost and he stepped up to the podium.

  “You must be Ryan?” Roberson said.

  “Must be.” Kaspar replied.

  “I’m…sorry.”

  “That’s correct, sir.”

  Roberson leaned forward. “What brings you here?”

  “I wish to join Paxton and his crew. Blow some shit up, you know?”

  Kaspar heard a laugh and looked over to the older gentleman, Olyphant. He gazed into the old man’s eyes and wondered if it was genuine or mockery.

  “Blowing shit up is not what we specialize in here.” Olyphant said.

  “And, who are you?” Kaspar asked.

  “Nicholas Olyphant. But, I think the better question is who you are.”

  “I’m a nobody who wants to be a patriot.”

  “Oh, that’s bull, son. Bullshit. You want nothing but to avenge your mother’s death, am I right?”

  “Listen, Mr. Olywhateverthefuck, I’m here to stop that from happening to anyone else.” Kaspar almost believed his own lie.

  “You little shit. Nobody talks to me that way.”

  Kaspar held out his wrists. “I just did. You going to arrest me, now?”

  “No, but I’ll make damn sure that you never…”

  “Nick, cool it.” Blackman said. “You ever been in combat before, Mr. Kaspar?”

  “No, sir, not really.”

  “Then, you don’t know what it takes to succeed in a combat situation?”

  “Not yet, sir. But I can learn…I’m eager to learn.” Kaspar replied.

  “I’ll bet you are,” Blackman replied. “But there are certain things that you cannot teach like instinct and ingenuity.”

  “Put a gun in my hands and I’ll give you ingenuity.”

  “You’ve got spirit,” Roberson said. “I’ll give you that much. What is it that you really want? Be honest.”

  “When I saw my mother dead…” Kaspar paused to swallow the lump in his throat. “I swore I would find those responsible. Not just for my own personal fulfillment, but so they couldn’t do it to anyone else. I watch the news, you know, I see the reports. I just never thought it would happen to me.” Very nice bullshit.

  “Why,” Hayes asked, “didn’t you try and do something about this problem sooner?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it was because I was…content with my life, I guess. I made some money…”

  “Illegally,” Olyphant cut in.

  “And, I suppose what you do is legal, right?”

  “That’s different. We’re making a difference…trying to make a difference.”

  “I made a difference to her. I made it to where she didn’t have to go out there with those trigger happy Agents and their prejudice against the elderly.”

  “I guess what we’re tryin’ to figure out is whether or not you are a sleeper.” O’Leary said.

  “Me?” Kaspar demanded. “A sleeper with the USR, are you kidding me? They killed my mother.”

  “Maybe you used that as a way to infiltrate us.”

  Kaspar bowed his head, smirked, and then looked back up with no emotion on his face. “You know what? You’re right. I gave up my own mother just so I could fuck around with you people. That’s exactly right, sorry to waste your time.”

  Kaspar gave a fake salute and turned his back on The Committee. He was right. This was one giant waste of time that could’ve been spent out there or at the shooting range. It was a terrible idea, anyway. Kaspar did not care for this Committee, their mission, or its snarky leaders. Just go on about your business and…

  “Wait, Mr. Kaspar.” Roberson called out.

  Kaspar turned and refaced them. They all still had blank, expressionless faces that stared at him. What else did they have to say to him? They might as well blame Kaspar for his father leaving. Hell, just go ahead put all of the USR on his shoulders. He shook his head and returned to the podium.

  “We like you, kid. Well, all of us except Mr. Olywhateverthefuck.” Roberson said and he chuckled. Olyphant’s face turned red as he stood and glared at Roberson. Kaspar wanted to give him the middle finger to top off the sundae.

  “Like me?” Kaspar asked. He turned his head back to the table. “Why?”

  “You’ve got spirit, like I told you. Sure, you’re, uh, people skills need some work, but you are all right, kid.”

  O’Leary leaned forward, “Sorry about askin’ you all of those questions about your mother, but it had to be done.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “This,” Olyphant cried, “is an outrage! This little prick just showed a complete lack of respect for authority and you’re just going to…”

  “Nick,” Blackman said.

  “What?”

  “Shut up.”

  Olyphant’s dumbfounded face turned two shades redder. He stormed off the stage. His loud footsteps echoed throughout the empty room, as did the loud slam of the door. The loud echo of the door caused Kaspar to flinch, but his focus remained on the men. He hoped that one day he would run into Olyphant after The Committee kicked him out. Nobody to protect him then…

  “Don’t worry about Nicholas, he’ll be fine.” Roberson said.

  “Who said I was worried about him?” Kaspar asked.

  “Listen, he’s right about one thing. You must show us more respect. However, you are in, that is, if you still want in.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Listen to John,” Blackman said. “He knows what he’s talking about. He’ll make a soldier out of you, yet.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And, please, don’t go and mess this up.” Roberson ordered. “We’re taking a huge risk with you…Mr. Paxton is taking a huge risk with you. We’d hate to see our cause jeopardized because of you.”

  “I won’t let you down, sir.” Kaspar promised.

  “Go on about your business. If you need anything, John knows how to reach us.”

  Roberson shooed the newly christened rebel out of the room with his right hand. Before he turned to the exit, Kaspar saw the others huddle around each other. The sounds of low voices filled his ear drums. He wiped the perspiration off of his forehead as he walked for the door. Outside the Chamber, Paxton sat on the chair, his head nodded up and down.

  “Wake up, old man.” Kaspar said with a kick to Paxton’s right shin.

  Paxton’s head shot up. He looked left to right a couple of times to gain perspective on his surroundings. He was losing to old age. That old age took away his balance, instincts, and his warrior’s edge. Back in the killing fields of North Korea, there was no way in hell he would have fallen asleep like this.

  “How’d…” Paxton said, his speech interrupted by a deep cough. He cleared his throat, “How’d it go?”

  “I’m in.”

  Paxton stood and a look of shock matched with a sly grin filled his tired face. The kid did it, he actually pulled it off. He put on a full blown smile and stuck out his right hand. Kaspar embraced it. The two men shook hands for the first time.

  “W
elcome aboard, soldier.” Paxton said.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Now, it’s time to meet Joe Young.”

  Nineteen

  “Prick.”

  Paxton’s taunt shook Kaspar away from his inner thoughts. A peek outside of the passenger side window revealed the reason behind it. An Agent was in the middle of beating an older gentleman who looked to be around fifty. The Agent relented for a moment. As he backed away the man tried to get up, but was met with a surprise riot stick to the face. As the van pulled forward, Kaspar could see the blood come out of the man’s mouth.

  A pair of old hands gripped the steering wheel so hard that the knuckles turned white. Paxton wanted with everything in him to turn the van around and help the innocent out, but he stayed the course to Young’s place. He let out a sigh and rested his grip. He spit out the open window and, in his head at least, told the old man that he would be saved. Those people outside just needed to hold on…just a little bit longer.

  “Asshole,” Kaspar said as he leaned back in his seat.

  “Tell me about it,” Paxton agreed and wiped his lips with his free hand. “We are the cause of that.”

  “We are?”

  “That’s right, kid. In an effort to ‘protect and serve’ the USR has given its Agents full reign over the cities. Ha, back then, they used to talk about the police state like it was some kind of wacked conspiracy theory.”

  “How did you…we…cause that beating?” Kaspar asked.

  “We’ve been busy, reckless that Olyphant would say. They are trying to smoke us out and, in turn, they are getting restless.” Paxton smirked, “They just can’t get rid of us quick enough. There’s now a Resistance Unit in every major city across the country.”

  “Is there a Committee in every city, too?”

  “Most.”

  “Are we the only rebel team here?” Kaspar asked.

  “No. There are at least two others, The Committee tells me, but God knows how many there actually are.”

  Kaspar rubbed his chin, “You ever get in contact with them?”

  “No. We will never see or hear from any of them. They don’t know who we are, we don’t know who they are.”

  “Smart plan,” Kaspar quipped.

  “Yeah,” Paxton replied, “it is smart. One of us gets captured and, when the torture starts, we can’t give them any answers.”

  “I see.”

  “So, how does it feel?”

  Kaspar looked puzzled. “How does what feel?”

  “To be drafted into a war.”

  “I feel the same, I guess.”

  Paxton laughed, “That’ll change. Trust me on that, kid.”

  “So, who is this Joe Young character we’re going to see?”

  “Joe Young is our weapon’s dealer. He receives shipments from various gun runners, stolen weapons cache’s from the USR and overseas. He gives us a good deal on his inventory.”

  “How do you get funded to buy from him?” Kaspar asked.

  “The Committee funds us.”

  “How does The Committee get funded?”

  “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “You said you’d provide me with answers.”

  Paxton sighed, “The Committee’s hackers steal money from the USR. Not a whole lot, nothing that would be noticed to the blind eye.”

  “How’s that?”

  “The amounts they steal at a time are very small. But, of course, that builds up over time. We are almost there.”

  The fake USR van took a sharp left and entered into a dank alleyway. Paxton applied the emergency brake then cut the engine off. Kaspar opened the passenger side door and hopped out of the van. Paxton reached behind him for two black duffel bags. He gripped them in his strong hands, and then got out of the van himself. The rain from the night before created puddles of water into the various cracks and pot holes in the unkempt blacktop. After Kaspar took a deep breath, he immediately regretted it. The smell of mildew sucker punched his nostrils. The sheer wickedness of the smell forced him to cough and look away.

  “You’ll get used to that,” Paxton said. “I almost don’t smell it anymore.”

  The old veteran led the way to a chipped wooden door, with remnants of green paint all around. Paxton reached up with his fist and banged on the door three times, took a moment, then banged four more times. Something inside barked with violence. Kaspar knew that on the inside was a really big dog.

  The wooden door opened. In the doorway stood a middle aged Puerto Rican with a thick steel chain in his left hand. The chain led to the collar of a brown and white Pit Bull Terrier. Kaspar’s heart began to thump and the speed of which caused his head to go light. He tried to ignore it and got a good look at the guy in the doorway. He had a mean look on his mustached face, a shaved head, and the wife beater he wore revealed two arms covered in tattoos. They all ran together and it took a good, hard look to make out any of them. Save for one of a naked woman with large breasts on the left arm and the tip of a cross which ran down his chest.

  One thing Kaspar knew for sure was that this man’s real name was not Joe Young.

  “What’s up, homes?” Young called out. He nodded his head upward in a swift motion.

  “Hi,” Kaspar said, his eyes focused on the dog. “Fine specimen.”

  “Oh, this bitch? Name’s Daisy. She’s a mean fuck. What’s the matter, ese, you scared of dogs or something?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Hold on,” Young said.

  The Puerto Rican walked back inside and dragged Daisy across the tiled floor in the kitchen. Young yelled inaudible words in Spanish and the sound of a loud dog cry filled the building. Kaspar almost felt sorry for the poor mutt…almost. The gun runner reappeared seconds later.

  “Sorry ‘bout that, but she knows when Papi’s angry not to misbehave.” Young said. He turned his attention to Paxton. “S’up, John?”

  “Joe,” Paxton said.

  “So, who the hell is this?”

  “Ryan. New guy.”

  Young laughed along with Paxton. Paxton reached up to his gun dealer and grabbed his hand. Young pulled the old man in close and the two bumped their fists on each other’s back. Kaspar watched the whole thing in a state of confusion. Was this some kind of man love ritual? He looked around the alley and was unable to shake the feeling that the three of them were being watched.

  “Come on,” Young said. “Let’s get inside, no?”

  Inside the small apartment was a shit hole. Clothes laid around everywhere, the trash can in the corner of the kitchen over flowed, and the pungent smell of marijuana filled Kaspar’s nostrils. The thick, heavy aroma of hash caused his eyes to water. He glanced over at a cracked window in the living room and saw where Young grew the plants. Kaspar coughed again.

  “That’s the colonel’s secret herbs and spices.” Young said. He grabbed the joint behind his ear and lit up. “Care for a taste?”

  “No,” Kaspar said in between coughs, “thank you.”

  “You’re missing out, homes.”

  Young took a hit on the joint and held the smoke in his lungs. He breathed out seconds later with a laugh. The terrible noise of Daisy’s barking caused Kaspar to think about the Doberman who harassed him every day on the way home from school. Poor dog got hit by a car one day, not that Kaspar or the owners gave a damn.

  “You going to burn up all day or are you going to sell me some guns?” Paxton demanded.

  “Chill out, man. I’m almost done.” Young replied, smoke escaped his mouth as he talked. He took one last hit and put the joint out. “Let’s go.”

  “Grassy ass.” Paxton replied.

  Kaspar followed the other two into the kitchen and saw his would be tormentor. She snarled and showed her menacing teeth, the hair on her back stood straight up. He could tell that Daisy wished the metal bars of the cage weren’t blocking her from her next kill. Young lifted his boot and kicked the front of the cage twice. The rattling sound of the meta
l caused Daisy to back down and stick her head underneath the torn quilt inside.

  “Sorry again,” Young said.

  “No need.” Kaspar replied.

  Young reached to the wall and opened the skinny, red wooden door. Inside, the stair case was narrow, Young didn’t appear that he could fit through, but he managed to squeeze in. Kaspar grabbed at the hand rail and the piece of wood fell off. The gun runner stopped and looked up over Paxton’s shoulder.

  “You messin’ up my place, bro?” Young demanded.

  “No, this thing’s just a piece of shit.”

  Young laughed, “I like you, homes.”

  “Come on, Joe,” Paxton said. He gave a slight shove to Young’s back. “We haven’t got all day, you know.”

  “All right, all right, seriously.”

  Down in the basement sat rows of guns on metal racks. Everything from hand guns, assault rifles, submachine guns, and shotguns. It was the weapons cache at the safe house on steroids. Along the walls hung grenades with boxes of ammunition and fully loaded magazines laid on the shelves. Kaspar headed straight for the gun racks to get a look at Young’s product. Paxton started to fill one of the duffel bags full with mags.

  “Pick out something nice.” Paxton said.

  “Yeah,” Young said. “I’ve got lots and lots to choose from.”

  “Where’d you get all this?” Kaspar wondered.

  “I’ve got my connections.” Young replied. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Kaspar looked around at the large inventory of handguns on display. After several moments of searching, a pair of black handguns caught his eye, and in that instant he was mesmerized. He wondered if this is what Mother meant by “a twinkle in her eye”. He couldn’t take his eyes off of them; they were unique from the others. Kaspar grabbed one and inspected the barrel, which read “Pietro Beretta-Gardone V.T.-Made in Italy”.

  “Beretta 92,” Young said, a grin on his face as he walked over. “Nice choice, homes.”

  “Why’s that?” Kaspar asked, his attention on the handgun, he moved it up and down to get a feel for the weight.

  “They stopped producing those some years ago, it’s a classic. Not many left, actually, I just got those beauties in a few days ago. It’s a great character, so strong and elegant.”