Rebels & Lies (Rebels & Lies Trilogy Book 1)

by Cotton, Brian

  “No, sir.”

  “Now, go get some sleep.”

  Paxton walked past Kaspar and ran his right hand through his thinning hair. He yelled out an inaudible curse before he threw the front door open, which slammed behind him. Kaspar stood outside so he could try and slow down his racing mind. He felt the cool, light breeze brush against his cheeks. He closed his eyes…

  I’m sorry, Mother, but I’ll get them next time. I promise.

  Twenty-Six

  Sullivan walked through the glass doors of the USR precinct and let them shut on their own. He wished he could object to coming in during his off time, but it wasn’t like he left in the middle of a loving dinner with the family. He spent the nights alone in his office, played around with his son a little bit, but his time was consumed with trying to figure out who the resistance members were. The lack of disappointment from his wife when he had to go back in messed with Sullivan’s emotions…but he grew used to it by now.

  Despite not having a true relationship with Julie, he began to feel concern for her. The vomiting attacks worsened, but she still refused to go to the hospital. He just hoped that it would all go away soon. He lied to himself and pinned the blame of her attitude on her not feeling well. What was wrong, anyway? With the advancements of USR medicine, these types of illnesses were almost non-existent: especially given his standing within the population.

  Sullivan found Fitzpatrick’s office and swung the door open. His boss sat behind his desk and quickly put away the smuggled liquor. The look of surprise went away when he realized it was only Sullivan and not someone above him. He pushed his paper work to the end of the desk for Sullivan to read.

  “What is so urgent?” Sullivan asked. He sat down and began to look through the papers.

  “CA made quite the find this evening.” Fitzpatrick replied, he grabbed the bottle of liquor once more and took a swig.

  “An underground church, right? What of it?”

  “They captured the leader, ah, Mr. Francis. He’s with George and DeMarcus right now.”

  Sullivan rubbed at his brow. “What are they doing to him?”

  “Interrogating, what else?”

  “That’s not what I was wondering…”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Fitzpatrick leaned back in his chair. “What does matter is the information this man can provide.”

  “What kind of useful information can this leftover provide for us?”

  Fitzpatrick leaned forward, “There were five vehicles in front of the house. Guess how many were inside?”

  “Less than five?”

  “Exactly. Three men to be precise.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “They had help. Someone must’ve moved in and escorted the rest out of there.”

  “The resistance?”

  “Had to have been.”

  “Did the Agents find anything? See anybody?”

  “No,” Fitzpatrick replied before he took another swig. He offered some to Sullivan who waved his hand in protest. “They had to kill two of the men, but were able to keep Francis alive…for now.”

  “That’s good news, I guess.”

  “We need to find out who helped them. See if this Francis character saw anything or heard any names.”

  Sullivan pondered on his boss’s words. The resistance, it had to be presumed, helped to rescue some illegal worshippers. But, why leave the three behind? Did this Francis and the two others really want to die this bad? He shook his head at the thought. Deep down, he knew this Francis would not have anything of use. The resistance was too good at eluding capture to leave any evidence behind…especially if they left people behind to die. It would be nothing but a waste of time.

  Suddenly, a light bulb went off.

  “The resistance must have a mole inside CA.” Sullivan thought out loud.

  “I’m sure they have several moles,” Fitzpatrick replied. “That’s news to no one.”

  “Give me a list of everyone inside CA. We need to start questioning them.”

  “We’ll do so first thing in the morning.

  “Good.”

  “I need you,” Fitzpatrick said. He took a swig and his lips puckered. “To go in there and see what your two partners were able to gather.”

  “Very little, I presume.”

  “Just go.”

  “Right on it.”

  Sullivan stood from his chair and walked out of the office. He walked through the empty hallways of the precinct. Most of the staff was at home…home enjoying a nice family meal, no doubt. Home…where he should be right now, trying to patch together his failed marriage. To let little Davie know how much he loved him. No, he was stuck here, but that came with the job. He approached the interrogation room.

  “Has he said anything of use, yet?” Sullivan demanded.

  “No, not yet.” Mason replied.

  Mason stood outside, a glass of water in hand. He stared through the double sided mirror and watched. Wilcox’s shouting could be heard through the speakers on the ceiling. Sullivan looked inside the double mirror, as well. The dip shit inside looked to be enjoying his time alone with Francis. All Wilcox managed to get done was hearing his own voice yell obscenities and questions that the little old man couldn’t answer. Each non-answer was met with another back hand across the face. Sullivan approached the edge of the mirror. He pressed the little red button.

  “DeMarcus,” Sullivan said into the intercom, “come on out of there. Let the man breath for a moment.”

  “Right on it, boss.” Wilcox replied.

  Wilcox held up the back of his hand in front of Francis’s face once more. The little man braced himself for another blow. The Agent lowered his hand, laughed, and called him a pussy before he walked out. Sullivan looked into his partner’s focused eyes; he saw nothing but rage and bad intentions.

  “Nice of you to join us, Sully.” Wilcox said.

  “Well, it’s a real pleasure to spend my evening here, with you fellas.”

  “You might want to consider watching that mouth of yours.”

  “You might want to consider conducting an actual interrogation yourself, Mr. Wilcox.” Sullivan replied.

  “You want to talk to him?” Mason asked. “Soften him up for us?”

  “Just let me through.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get some great Intel, Sully.” Wilcox said. “Let’s just see if this one implicates you, too. Then, we’ve got another issue entirely on our hands.”

  “He won’t,” Sullivan breathed in deep. “Because I’m not. Did you get anything out of him?”

  “Just getting warmed up.” Wilcox replied.

  “I’m sure you are. Wait out here.”

  Sullivan walked over to the water cooler in the far corner. He took one of the small plastic, bio-degradable cups and filled it to the top with cool water. He opened the heavy metal door to the interrogation room with his free hand. Inside, he caught a glimpse of Francis, who looked to the ground in silence. When he did look up, he had the look of a man in pain…yet, there was not an ounce of fear in his eyes. He was another one of those damn idealists, ready to die for a cause, no matter how futile it might be. Sullivan placed the cup of water in front of him before he undid the chains around the wrists. There would be no threat for the tired, beaten old man of trying anything. Besides, he was a religious man, too weakened by his Bible reading to do anything anyway. Francis grabbed the cup and drank the whole thing in one large gulp.

  “Listen,” Sullivan said. He took hold of the metal chair at the far end and dragged it against the floor to the front. “I don’t want to waste each other’s time. I’ve got my family at home, eating dinner alone. And, you’ve…got other things on your schedule.”

  “Do you love your family?” Francis asked.

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “Have you taught them about their Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ?”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Sullivan replied. “Like I said, let’s
be polite enough not to waste each other’s.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “All right, first things first, I suppose. How many citizens meet with you for worship every week?”

  “I like how you say that,” Francis said. “Citizens? You can’t refer to us as just people, can you?”

  Sullivan squinted his eyes, “Just answer the question.”

  “Well, I would say…anywhere between…seven to ten people meet with us for worship.”

  “Same place?”

  Francis smiled, “Same Christ time, yes.”

  “Don’t get cute with me, leftover. I was pulled from home so I could talk to you.”

  “Pulled from home? From the same family that you love so much, yet haven’t taught how to reach God’s Kingdom?”

  There he goes again. Sullivan knew at this rate, they wouldn’t get anywhere if this prick kept trying to convert him to weakness. He didn’t need a crutch, not now. He could handle his own problems with the brain that nature provided.

  “I don’t want to be rude,” Sullivan said. “You know and I know that worshipping any kind of god, especially your god, is illegal. Let’s cut the bullshit and get to business, okay? Did seven to ten citizens…”

  “People.”

  “Whatever…did ten people meet up for worship tonight?”

  “No, it was just the three of us. But…your boys already took care of them, didn’t they?”

  Sullivan smirked, “I’m sure they were hostile.”

  “You know that’s a lie,” Francis replied with a pointed index finger. This little man might have some fight in him after all.

  “Really? I’d be shocked. We’ve got such great young men in our department.”

  “Great men? They shot one of my brothers in the back, killed the other one while he was on his knees, begging for his life. Made him denounce…” Francis stopped and bowed his head once more.

  “I see. But, we both know that there were more than just the three of you there tonight.”

  “No, I’m not lying to you.”

  “Ha,” Sullivan chuckled, “isn’t one of your commandments ‘Thou shall not lie?’”

  “I see you’ve studied the Word of God.” Francis replied.

  “I’ve only studied that book so that I can know my enemy.”

  “How are we your enemies? We are peaceful practitioners of our faith.”

  “I don’t doubt that. You certainly don’t have the look of a man who would harm any living being. But, do we really have to go over your history?”

  Francis went on the defensive. “The history where we donated money to starving children in Africa? The history where Christ Jesus died for our sins?”

  “No, Mr. Francis, actual history. Remember the crusades?”

  “I won’t disagree that that was immoral. But, you can’t pin that on us.”

  “Just imagine if there never was a religion,” Sullivan said. “No Jews, Christians, Catholics, Muslims…whatever. All of the atrocities of history’s past would not have occurred.”

  “Yes, they would have, because we have fallen short of the glory…”

  “Enough!” Sullivan slammed his fist on the metal table. “I didn’t come here to be preached to. We found five cars outside that house.”

  “So?”

  “So, did two of the cars drive there themselves?” Sullivan demanded.

  “They were abandoned there. They’ve been sitting out there for decades.”

  “Ninth Commandment, Mr. Francis.”

  “How about pleading the Fifth, then?” Francis asked with a laugh.

  Sullivan joined in on the laughter. For a man about to be killed, tortured first in all likelihood, at least he still kept his humor intact. It was too bad, Sullivan thought, that they could not have met under better circumstances. He might have liked this old fellow. Even if he believed some bullshit book written centuries ago, Sullivan couldn’t help but admire the man’s courage. He believed in something…that was more than anyone could say about Sullivan.

  “I’m afraid,” Sullivan continued, “that that piece of trash document has been proven false, as well. No pleading the fifth for you. Now, how many cit…people were at your little get together?”

  “You are right about one thing,” Francis said. He cleared his throat, “I cannot give false testimony. There were ten brothers and sisters with us tonight.”

  “Very good, now we are getting somewhere. Where did they all go, I mean, if we only found the three of you there?”

  “They managed to escape.”

  “How? They could have no way of knowing we were even coming.”

  “We had help,” Francis replied.

  “Who helped you?”

  “I don’t…I don’t know any names. I can’t even tell you what they looked like.”

  “Why not?”

  “They all had on these…black things over their faces. Even had their eyes covered. I tell you, they looked like phantoms, they did.”

  “Phantoms,” Sullivan leaned forward, “they are evil. Just like those men were.”

  “How can you say they are evil? Look at me…look at the two innocent brothers who were murdered by your boys.”

  “You and the people who died tonight are not innocent, you get that straight.”

  Francis sighed, “None of us really are.”

  “And, they are evil because they are spreading lies and dangerous beliefs…kind of like what you do, actually.”

  “So it seems.”

  “Now, if you can’t tell me names or descriptions, then that’s fine. They wore a disguise, fair enough. But, could you tell me how many there were?”

  “I counted four, but I know they were talking to someone over the radio. The leader, he kept touching his throat and talking into something. They were getting help from the outside.”

  “Any kind of description of them that would help us?” Sullivan asked.

  “One was a woman. That’s about all I can tell you.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I’m a man of God,” Francis replied with a red face. “But, even my eyes go places they shouldn’t.”

  “Is there anything else you would like to add?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like,” Sullivan replied. He pulled out a legal pad. “The names and addresses of your fellow worshippers. You can’t ID the resistance, but I know you can ID them.”

  “No, you cannot ask me to do that.”

  “I can and I am. Who are they? Where do they live? And, if you don’t mind, where are the other underground churches located?”

  “I will not.” Francis replied.

  “Okay,” Sullivan said as he stood. “Just remember when my two colleagues walk back in here that I gave you the chance to save yourself.”

  “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no one. For thou art with me.”

  “You better hope he is. I’ll be seeing you.”

  “No,” Francis replied. “I’m afraid you won’t. But, I’ll pray for you all the same.”

  Sullivan walked out of the interrogation room and eye balled his two partners. He thought about it for a second before he motioned with his head for them to move in. The sound of cracked knuckles and the sight of the smiles sent a chill down Sullivan’s back.

  They opened the door and Francis cried out in terror.

  Twenty-Seven

  Consul Williamson stood in front of the podium while the television cameras filmed his every move. He looked down at the crowd and smiled. The cameramen panned the audience as they chanted his name. Some held up signs that spoke out against organized religion. Others held up Bible’s with the words “EVIL DOCTRINE” tapped over the covers. Williamson held up his hands and motioned for the crowd to quiet down.

  “We have witnessed yet again the rebellion’s love of wickedness and evil. This United States of America founded itself on Christian principles. Thankfully, we are no longer a Christian nation, or a Muslim
nation, or a Jewish nation, but we are a nation of non-believers and we are more powerful for it!”

  Williamson held up his fists and the crowd screamed in acceptance of their great leader. They called out saying ‘Religion is evil’ and other chants of that nature. Williamson held up his hands again to quiet the crowd. He looked back into the camera in front of him.

  “This rebellion just saved a religious group who spread their wickedness to an untold amount of people.” Williamson said. The crowd booed and Williamson held up his hands again to quiet them. “They want us to live by the Bible, but what Bible are they reading?

  “Perhaps we should live by Leviticus, which tells us slavery is okay? Or, how about Deuteronomy, which suggests stoning your children? Maybe we should stick by the radical Sermon on the Mount, whose application will lead to our enemies destroying our great nation? I don’t think these fanatics have been reading their Bibles. Or, the scary version is that they are.”

  “ARREST THEM ALL, ARREST THEM ALL!!!” the crowd cried in front of Williamson.

  Williamson smiled and held up his hands once again. The crowd grew restless and continued the chant for several moments before Williamson was able to quiet them down. Williamson stood in silence for a moment and looked down at his followers.

  “We will. We will catch them as we have caught one of their leaders today. Let it be known, once more, that anyone who is caught harboring these fools or practicing their radical religion will be caught and given justice. We know that the evil rebellion, which represents that weak nation we suppressed, helped some of their members to escape. We need you, all of you, to find them and bring them to us. That is all. Long live the USR.”

  ***

  Sullivan sat at his desk and awaited the next Agent from Civilian Affairs to walk in. He had the next man’s file opened at his desk: Greg Boler. Boler, according to the file, became an Agent five months upon graduation from one of the schools two years ago. He went through the Academy and passed everything with flying colors. After showing great progress and conviction he was transferred to the CA two months ago. Boler carried with him an immaculate record: no citations, write ups, or anything of the sort on his file. The guy was squeaky clean…and that scared Sullivan.