by Ramsay, Lex
Who was she kidding? She knew there was at least one of his children right here in the Compound—Magdalena, the child of Alice, or Alice of the Looking Glass as Eugenia cared to remember her since she was forever admiring her reflection until she fell through the mirror on her tenth year. At least she thought Maggie was Alice’s child, the timing would have been right, as Maggie looked to be about 30, but she didn’t need confirmation of the child’s mother to know who her father was. Maggie looked enough like Olivia for them to be mistaken for twins to the unenlightened. Just one more dagger puncturing her soul, one of many piercing her to the core, all wielded by that damned Askew.
Now, she lived for only a few simple pleasures. Her orchids, whose company she preferred to almost any human were one source of joy in the bleak landscape of her life. Another one, and by far the most important, was her adorable grandson Winston, to whom she was more than merely “Nana,” considering the near abandonment of the boy by his so-called parents. And the final point of pride in her otherwise degrading existence was the solemn vow she had made to herself when the ten-year rule had finally rid her household of that wench Felicia—that she would never again endure such humiliation—without retaliation.
That had become her mantra at times such as these when she could hear her husband literally banging the help next door: “No humiliation without retaliation.” She whispered her mantra to the downbeats of his grunts. “No humiliation without retaliation.”
Eugenia was well aware that everyone from her sociopath husband to her libertine daughter on down thought her a weak and ineffectual non-entity. And so she had been and would continue to be, until she chose to be so no longer.
One day soon she would exact her revenge. What was that phrase she had heard as a child? Oh yes, now she remembered. “Payback is a bitch.” And so was she.
CHAPTER 13
Olivia waited until she knew everyone else was asleep before sneaking over to the control room. She’d made the trip once earlier in the night, only to nearly run into Sulla coming out of her mother’s dressing room. Olivia had ducked into the alcove formed by the bay window to the right of the dressing room door, just in time to feel the rush of air caused by Sulla’s passing.
That bitch had the nerve to sweep through these halls wearing her father’s scent like some kind of badge of honor, Olivia thought. She drew her nostrils up in distaste and had begun to step out of the alcove, fire in her veins, when her father sauntered out of the dressing room, fixing his clothes and turning in the opposite direction toward his own bedroom.
Fortunately, they had both been too preoccupied with their recent assignation to notice Olivia’s presence, but just the same, she had come too close to discovery for comfort. Rather than follow her father toward the control room, which was just on the other side of his bedroom, Olivia turned and went in the opposite direction the way Sulla had gone, and had crept into her own bedroom, shutting the door with barely a sound.
Olivia waited a full hour after that first attempt to try it again. Walking toe to heel on the plush carpet allowed her to travel down the entire length of the hallway noiselessly. On reaching her father’s door, she paused to listen for any sounds within that would betray wakefulness. Hearing only the rhythmic sound of his mantle clock, Olivia dared to slip out her lock-pick, and swiftly entered the control room within moments.
Normally, Olivia waited until she knew her father was out of the Protectorate, or at least out of the house, to run her little missions into the control room. That was how she had come to think of them, “little missions,” because they were the closest thing to the intrigue and excitement she longed for, and had hoped in vain to be a part of through her work with the R.A.
Now, though, she didn’t have the luxury of safety, she had to take a chance and call the number on her emails using the phone in the control room. She didn’t trust her own cell phone for a number of reasons. The fact that she couldn’t reach her contact made her wonder if he had been compromised, and by extension, whether she had suffered that same fate unknowingly.
When she’d been phoned a few days ago by an alleged member of the R.A. who confirmed her fears about her missing contact, she was so grateful for the confirmation that she spilled her guts with all she knew about the impending disaster. Now she wasn’t so sure. As a result, she wasn’t entirely convinced that the email was legit. After her initial elation had subsided at finally being contacted as she’d been promised, Olivia had to wonder whether the email contact was merely a ploy to make her reveal herself to the same people who had apparently captured her contact, or worse.
Let’s face it, she thought, they weren’t just “people” who had co-opted her contact—they had to be the Assembly. Olivia had learned of the Assembly from Emmaline a few years ago, and the tale of the clandestine organization that really ran things in the Confederacy chilled her to the core. Even Emmaline didn’t know a lot about the Assembly, but what she did know indicated that it was a very small group of exceedingly ruthless people who manipulated events with the skill of chess masters, and the entitlement of gods.
Olivia’s paranoia had mellowed a bit on further reflection, though, because the mode of her most recent contact had not only been extremely clever, it had also reflected a fear of discovery on the part of the sender that bespoke of credibility. She’d decided to let her instincts drive her in their first contact … they’d rarely failed her in the past.
• • •
Patrick availed himself of tools he normally reserved for the enemy. For many years he had developed software that he liked to think of as “spyware,” and as he’d run across a particularly cunning program in the course of his work, he would add it to his arsenal. He had always taken pains not to learn too much about other R.A. members, for fear that his natural curiosity would result in their exposure in the event he were captured or killed and his toys discovered. But the tables had been turned. He wasn’t sure whom he could trust, and he wasn’t about to jeopardize his life or his mission to chance.
Using the cell phone number for Rebel he’d been given, Patrick tapped into the confidential phone usage records. Even though the signal had been encrypted on the calls, the records of the length of calls had not. More importantly, the routing information for each of the calls was still available on the cell company’s records. Patrick reviewed the routing information for the last few months and determined the exact location of the cell phone’s origin—somewhere around the middle of Virginia.
Since there was only one Protectorate in that area—the Enrico County Protectorate, Patrick knew he was closing in. Next, Patrick pulled up the records of the protectorate’s various communication accounts by tapping into the SR’s Springfield, Missouri communication control center, a task he’d accomplished with some regularity for many years now. Perusing the satellite-enabled vid-phone account yielded nothing unexpected, nor did his review of the fax, link or cell phone records give him what he wanted.
Then Patrick pulled up the email accounts associated with the Enrico County Protectorate and—bingo—there it was. Where there should have only been one account holder for all emails—the Protector himself—Patrick discovered two, and the second account was a subsidiary account of the first, with the user name assigned as Olivia Askew.
Now Patrick could begin his snooping in earnest.
CHAPTER 14
Once inside the control room, Olivia ceased her attempts at stealth. She knew that although located right next to her father’s bedroom, she didn’t need to keep particularly quiet since the room was soundproofed—or at least the walls to the adjoining rooms and hallway were insulated for sound.
Using the cell phone, Olivia pushed the buttons to the number she’d been given, holding her breath in anticipation. She was afraid, for all she knew she could be signing her own death warrant. But Olivia never let fear stop her from doing what had to be done. In fact, even though she rarely admitted this daredevil side of her nature, Olivia thrived on fear. She
had learned long ago to embrace whatever caused her fear, for that was the only way to loosen its hold over her.
As a little girl she had been so afraid of the horses she now loved that she could barely look at them full in the face, for fear that their flared nostrils and rolling eyes were the precursor to a stampede. Before she was enrolled in the obligatory riding classes all young F.F.C. on protectorates had to endure, she’d vaulted over the paddock fence one day, armed with the steely determination that would later become her defining character trait, and jumped on the back of the biggest horse she saw.
Luckily for her, the big old gelding she’d mounted also happened to be the gentlest of the herd, and old Jacob had come running out of the stable and pulled her down before she could cause any real trouble. Expecting a tongue-lashing from her father later that night, Olivia was surprised to be told instead that since she so clearly had a love of horses, she would start her riding classes a year earlier than scheduled.
Remembering the look of pride in her father’s face at his daughter’s audacity, Olivia suppressed the shudder of horror at his news. So much did she cherish that look, though, that she had never let on, from that day to this, that it was her fear of horses that spurred her rash action that day.
These thoughts brought on by the familiar frisson of fear marched through her mind in the few seconds she waited after completing the number. Olivia heard the anticipated click of the connection being made, then another series of clicks and beeps that she thought must have been the call being forwarded and bounced around among a host of satellites to prevent its easy interception.
Well, Olivia thought, that’s either very good news, or a testament to her tormentor’s cleverness. Either this ruse was the work of a real R.A. contact taking pains to protect his identity, or the Assembly was staging this little show purely for her benefit.
“Hell,” said Olivia out loud, “I’ll drive myself crazy thinking about puzzles within traps within tricks like this,” she whispered, and pushed thoughts of imminent capture out of her head for the moment.
Finally the connection was made. She thought she heard the slightest of hesitations, then a brusque “Talk to me” in a voice that was both somewhat menacing and more than a little sexy.
“This is Rebel … I got your message, and I’m having a little trouble with premature ejaculation, so I thought I’d give you a call.” Olivia had adopted her best world-weary drawl.
Patrick couldn’t help a chuckle. She was good, he’d give her that; and if she was a plant or a spy, she was even better than good.
“Touché” Patrick finally answered. Should we continue the fencing match or get down to business?”
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours first.” Olivia said in a sing-songy taunt.
“Fair enough. Let’s start off by establishing some ground rules. I’m your new contact. I’ll give you a cell number and email address and—do you have an e-tablet with a link unit?” Patrick interrupted his thoughts to interject.
“Let’s assume I do,” she replied.
“Then I’ll give you my link code as well. I know you have an encrypted cell that you’re using now, but is it safe for you to use regularly?”
“No.” Olivia temporarily traded evasion for candor.
“I know you don’t trust me now, and I’ll be straight with you—I don’t trust you either, but if you don’t have a source for a new unregistered encrypted cell I’ll get one to you.” Patrick offered.
“I have my sources,” Olivia told him, “what else do you have to say for yourself?”
“I’ll say this: we don’t have the time or the luxury for playing the usual waiting games to earn each others’ trust. So, as you so aptly put it a few minutes ago, it’s time that I show you mine.” Patrick paused, knowing he’d reached the point where either she would bolt or give him a chance.
“What I’m about to tell you is definitely not standard procedure. You know that your contact disappeared. You know that he was one of a half dozen who also vanished. You know that we never share names or any other identifying information, since it could compromise everything.”
Patrick had been careful not to use the words “R.A.” or “the organization.” So far he’d been cagey, though it would be clear to anyone listening or to Olivia herself if she was a plant, that they were talking about something on the down low.
“I know who you are, Olivia. I know you are on the Enrico County Protectorate and are the daughter of the Protector there—Protector Askew.” Patrick rushed on before she could interrupt.
“I’m telling you this because I think you’re smart enough to know that if I were trying to trap you, it would be the last thing I’d be saying. I’m going to give you a chance to test what I’m saying. I’ll wait for you to contact me again in three days—it’s all the time we can spare. In that time, you can check to see if there are any signs that you’ve been compromised. Try to arrange a trip somewhere that you know they wouldn’t let you go if you were under suspicion. When you’re satisfied that I didn’t spring a trap on you, give me a call.”
Patrick was about to hang up when he heard Olivia say, “What should I call you?” She was breathing rapidly, whether out of shock or excitement, he couldn’t tell.
“Call me Watcher.”
CHAPTER 15
Emmaline picked up her phone on the first ring. Although she had a couple different cell phones, the number to this one had been given to only four people—all of whom she’d want to talk to whenever they called.
“This is Em,” she’d said as soon as she pressed the “talk” button.
“What’s up Em,” Olivia teased, “been involved in any coups lately.”
“Only the boring bloodless ones, honey, but then you know that’s the story of my life.” Emmaline shot back.
“Looks like I’m coming down to Atlanta-land, girl, and I hoped we could get together and raise some hell.” Olivia said.
“Just what I need right around now, Olivia, your corn-pone ass shaking things up when they’re already set to boil.” Emmaline joked. “When’re you coming down?”
The two made arrangements to meet the next day. They joked around like that whenever they used tech, mostly out of Olivia’s paranoid fear of interception. Given what was going on around her, though, Emmaline didn’t mind this time.
She’d gotten an email from Olivia earlier that day that was cryptic even for Olivia. Apparently, she needed an excuse to come to Atlanta and wanted to make sure Em was able to get her into the Domestic Products Committee offices at the Confederacy. Olivia hadn’t said in the email why, but Em had the sense that it was some sort of subterfuge to figure out whether Olivia’s father suspected her of anything untoward.
Em knew that something was going on that had Olivia uncharacteristically cautious. The only thing she could figure was that Olivia had crossed her father somehow or had compromised some deal he had going, and he was trying to rein her in now in ways that Olivia just wasn’t having.
That’d be just like her girl, Em thought. And while she was here, Em could unburden herself to Olivia about the shadowy Assembly project that seemed like it was aimed at exterminating the slaves.
• • •
Olivia had nonchalantly informed her father that she’d be taking a quick trip to Atlanta to visit with a friend of hers, and then shoot up to D.C. for a horse auction she wanted to attend. She had tried to come up with a plausible excuse for going to D.C., since although travel outside the country by F.F.C.s wasn’t prohibited—the Confederacy apparently figured they had it so good here, who would bother to defect—it was monitored and a nominal approval procedure followed.
In her experience, that approval had never been declined, but if her movements were being monitored, she knew two things: one that the Assembly wouldn’t want her going to the Confederacy just now; and two, that they would have a fit if they knew she was then going on to D.C. As a border city and the capital of the U.S., D.C. was not only the poli
tical center of the Yanks, but was a classic meeting point for the few dissidents from the S.R. who had actually defected. If Olivia had gone from the offices of the powerful Domestic Products Committee, straight to D.C., she’d be announcing herself to anyone who was watching that she was a spy. If she were under scrutiny, those were two places they wouldn’t want her going.
What better way to find out, once and for all, whether she’d been compromised? Either she’d take the trip the same as she’d done countless times in the past, or permission would be uncharacteristically denied. At least she’d know.
Protector Askew barely glanced up from his reading on Olivia’s comment, and absentmindedly grunted his assent.
“I’ll put in the papers this morning, darling.” Was all he had to say on the subject.
Later that evening, Protector Askew presented Olivia with a round-trip train pass to Atlanta, then D.C., with an unrestricted visa to allow her to pass the border. Olivia tried to steady her shaking hand as she reached for the packet, and even mustered a casual, “thank you Daddy,” in response.
CHAPTER 16
Sulla hummed contentedly while she went through the linen closet for items needing replacement. Looking at the finely embroidered napkins and filigreed lace tablecloths, she couldn’t help but remember the seemingly endless days she had spent as a garment workers’ assistant when she was little.
She was actually handy enough with a sewing needle, knitting needle or crochet hook to mend most anything that needed it, although instead of mending the household linen, she was supposed to inform the floor warden of the lead garment workers’ factory so that they would be replaced with new.