Nation of Enemies

by H. A. Raynes

  As he opens the hearse door, Steven is overcome. Vomit spills from him, along with a gust of emotion. He wipes his face with the back of his sleeve and gets in, starts the car as he replays the conversation with Mitchell. As the gates close behind him, he vows to rescue Jonathan. But first he’s got to warn Cole and the others.

  Chapter 57

  TAYLOR OPENS HER apartment door to see Will, grinning beneath a newly trimmed beard.

  “Hair cut?” she says.

  “Didn’t want it to interfere with my wind speed.”

  She laughs. He carries his bike over his shoulder and a bouquet of daisies in his other hand. No one’s given her flowers in years. As she puts them in a vase, he plays with Sienna. Lying on the floor, he scoops her onto his feet, playing airplane. He’s so good with her. An ache in her chest tells her how badly she’s wanted someone in her life. These past few weeks with Will have brought such comfort and happiness into their world. Sometimes being with him makes it difficult to breathe. It’s fear, she knows. She often wonders if it’s fair to bring a man into their lives, to expose Sienna to someone she could lose. But this feels good. It feels right.

  The three of them eat dinner together, though after ten minutes Sienna departs, opting for toys over food. Taylor grins at Will as he drops spaghetti sauce onto his T-­shirt.

  “Can’t take me anywhere,” he says, dabbing a napkin at the spots.

  “It’s good to know you’re not perfect.”

  “Far from it.”

  She studies him. He’s a good listener, always asking her questions, interested in what she has to say. It occurs to her that she hasn’t done the same for him.

  “So, where’s your family?” she asks. “Are your parents still around?”

  “It’s just me. My mother died in childbirth. My father died a few years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “We’ve all got stories.” He shakes his head. “No one’s walking around unscathed.”

  She glances at his ring finger. “You never talk about your wife.”

  He hesitates, looks at his plate. “It’s not the best dinner conversation.”

  “There is no best time for such topics.”

  The air changes, his shoulders hunch. Finally, he says, “Rose was a lieutenant in the army. During the L.A. Riots of ’twenty-­four she was out fighting with her squad. You remember the fires? How they burned for days?”

  She nods.

  “They couldn’t get her out. Didn’t find her until days later.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “A shame we have so much in common.” His lips press together, a thin, sad smile.

  The other night she’d told him about Mason. He’d known some of it, of course, through the news. But it felt good to tell her version. How she’d spent her life blindly following her father, how she still feels responsible and guilty for Mason’s death. Just sharing it with Will had lifted her spirits.

  After dinner the sitter arrives. Taylor kisses Sienna and she and Will depart with their bikes. Outside, they strap on their helmets and prepare to ride. No press waiting for her on the lawn tonight. She breathes easier.

  “Where’re you taking me, woman?” he teases.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll take it slow.”

  They glide down the street in the direction of the waterfront. The bitter October wind licks her cheeks, makes her eyes tear, though weather is never a deterrent to her art. And riding alongside Will makes her feel content, as though everything is in its place.

  They wend through Boston’s Seaport District, nearing her destination. Their tires on the pavement create a comforting sort of music. Will is just a few feet behind her. She wonders if he’s watching her hips hovering just above the bike seat as they move. It’s hard to believe she’s doing this, bringing him. Not once in her career as a graffiti artist has she invited someone along.

  “Here we are.” She slows her bike and hops off. Will pulls beside her and the two stare up at the remains of a convention center that overlooks the harbor.

  “Why here?” he asks.

  “Remember the World Convention on Peace they held here? Look at it now, in ruins. I love the irony. The ocean side will be the canvas. Asian cargo ships dock at Southie’s Conley Terminal. And depending on flight patterns, planes should be able to see it either departing from or arriving to Logan.”

  “A guaranteed audience.”

  “Exactly. Let’s get started.”

  A narrow passage on the side of the building leads to the waterfront. The wall is four stories high, pure and clean and perfect. Taylor visualizes the piece, inspired by the Declaration of Independence. She considers how to approach the structure while considering the dimensions of the work. Will watches as she pulls out tools and accessories from her bag. Within seconds she’s rigged a pulley and finishes by strapping on a safety harness.

  She hears the hum of a car engine rising over the white noise of the wind and ocean. The rotation of rubber on asphalt is jarring.

  “Dammit.” She closes her eyes a split second. “Goddammit.”

  “The press?”

  “Has to be.”

  “Okay. We have three options.” Will lowers his voice. “Go back down the alleyway and confront them. Go around the building and ride out of here to try and ditch them. Or jump in.” He glances behind them at the black ocean water. “I didn’t bring a wet suit.”

  “There’s one more way.” She places suctioning attachments on her feet and tosses a pair to Will, along with another harness. “Follow everything I do and you’ll be fine. We can travel along the rooftops.”

  A car door slams shut. Soles scratch the pavement as she begins to climb.

  “Too late,” he says, dropping the harness.

  She moves quickly, doesn’t turn to see the intruder. In seconds Will is only inches tall below her as she waits, hanging, at the top of the building.

  From around the corner a man appears. He wears a suit and walks confidently, carrying no camera or video equipment. In the dark, she squints to see if she recognizes him. He’s tall and lean, with black hair and dark features. Is that her father’s aide?

  “Will!” She can’t just unharness herself and take off without him. Her numbed fingers fumble to unclip the latch on her courier bag but she can’t quite do it, her phone is just out of reach. She looks down. Will is aiming a gun at the man. Why does he have a gun?

  The man stops, raising his hands slowly into the air. “Sorry to interrupt,” she hears the intruder say. His tone is friendly but cool. “I see you take your art seriously.”

  “You need to leave.” Will steps toward him, his gun steady.

  “This is public property, unless I’m mistaken?” He gestures to the gun. “Please. There’s no need for that. Name’s Carter Benson. And you are?”

  “Not your new friend,” Will says.

  The man looks up and waves at her. “Taylor! I need you to do some of that—­rappelling, is it? And come with me.”

  “You’re my father’s assistant,” she says, recognizing him.

  “Deputy campaign manager, actually. He’s asked me to come on behalf of Sienna.”

  A wave of nausea hits as she grips the rope tighter. “Where is she?”

  “She’s fine,” Carter says. “Didn’t you get the text?”

  Steadying herself, she shifts her bag and releases the clasp. Her head is dizzy with thoughts as she finds her phone. Sure enough, a new message is waiting for her. A video plays.

  A close-­up of Sienna stares back at her, cherubic and smiling, wearing her princess pajamas exactly as Taylor left her. “Mommy, look who’s here! It’s Grandpa!” From behind Sienna, Taylor’s father leans into frame. “Taylor, honey. I thought it was time we had a little family reunion.” The clip ends.

  “She’s five years old!” Taylor sh
outs. “Does he have so little power he has to involve a child?”

  “He’s about to be the most powerful man in the world,” Carter says. “Perhaps he wanted a moment alone with his granddaughter before the madness starts.”

  “I’m pretty sure the madness has started,” Will says, his voice surprising Taylor. His gun is still aimed.

  Carter cocks his head. “Have we met?”

  “I don’t think we run in the same circles,” Will says.

  As the men stare at one another, Taylor considers her options. The truth is, if she died right here, right now, her father’s problems would be solved. Hell, he’d probably look heroic, raising his orphaned granddaughter in the White House.

  “You need to come with me,” Carter calls up to her. “I’ll take you to Sienna. She’s safe.” He puts a finger to his ear and appears to be listening to an earpiece, then looks up again. “Actually, right this moment she’s having hot chocolate with her grandfather.”

  The rooftop is just a ­couple feet up. She can touch it with her fingertips. The urge to run is powerful. They’ll leave Will alone, won’t they? It’s her they want, her silence, until her father wins the election. She waits, dangling in indecision.

  ABOUT FORTY FEET away Sebastian focuses on Carter Benson, a.k.a. Dash. Dark eyes, a brush of stubble on his olive cheeks and chin. A slightly different shade of skin and they could be brothers. Adrenaline courses through him, every muscle taut. Maybe Benson didn’t release the sarin himself, but he sure as shit helped arrange it. It doesn’t matter that he’s a middleman. In the end, we all have choices. Sebastian’s index finger strokes the gun’s smooth metal trigger.

  “You okay, Taylor?” He glances up at her.

  “How did you find us?” she asks Benson.

  “Your father wants to ensure you’re safe,” Benson says. “Please, come down. I’ll take you to Sienna.”

  “Despite what he’s done, my father won’t hurt Sienna.”

  “You’re right about that,” Benson says. “But have you wondered exactly why Will—­it’s Will, right?—­is so interested in you? No offense, you’re perfectly attractive and all that.”

  “What’s he talking about, Will?”

  Utterly confused, Sebastian is momentarily speechless. How does Benson know his name? His alias? Maybe he’s been watching the senator’s video feeds from Taylor’s apartment. That has to be it.

  “I wouldn’t know.” He stares at Benson. “How do you know my name?”

  Under his breath, so only Sebastian can hear, Benson says, “We’re on the same side, brother. Go along. That’s a direct order.”

  “I don’t take orders from you.”

  Benson’s voice is a growl. “But you do take them from Mitchell. So stand down.” He looks up and shouts to Taylor, “He’s an errand boy. The Reverend’s puppet. He’s been around a lot lately, hasn’t he? Has barely let you out of his sight?”

  Glancing at her, Sebastian can tell from her face that she’s buying it. Goddammit. With one quick move he could shoot Benson in the leg, just to shut him up. But these pieces don’t connect. If he shoots him, is he shooting Hensley’s man? Or Mitchell’s? Or both?

  “Don’t listen to him, Taylor,” Sebastian says.

  “Do you know that Reverend Mitchell is currently extorting a great deal of money from your father to keep you safe?” Benson continues. “This here is your bodyguard.”

  “He’s full of shit.” But he recalls Mitchell saying Hensley would be making a donation to the cause.

  “Will?” Taylor’s tone is unsure, with an edge of anger. “Is it true?”

  “I don’t know anything about extortion.”

  “But Reverend Mitchell is having you follow me?”

  He searches the ground. His time with Taylor has been special. Not what he expected, certainly on assignment. It’s more than he wanted, more than he’s ready for. It’s so soon after Kate, guilt is ever-­present. But he can’t tell her the truth, can’t endanger the mission. Most important here is maintaining his status with Mitchell.

  “The Reverend knows we’re friends,” Sebastian says. “He asked me to keep you safe. But I’d be here anyway, Taylor. You know that. Clearly, Reverend Mitchell was right, your father’s agenda is threatened by your involvement in the church.”

  “Asshole!” she shouts.

  “Put the gun down, Anderson,” Benson orders.

  A subtle zipping sound from above draws their eyes. Taylor’s gone. There’s a frozen moment between him and Benson. Their shared asset has just disappeared.

  “If she gets away, this is on you.” Benson backs up slowly until he’s at the narrow passageway that leads to the street. He turns and breaks into a sprint.

  Wouldn’t Mitchell have told him about Benson? Maybe this is a test. Losing her is not an option. He tucks the gun into his belt and grabs the discarded harness. He straps it on, along with the suctioning fittings for his shoes. Though he hasn’t done this since basic training, it comes back easily. Using Taylor’s pulley, he swiftly makes his way up to the roof, where he rips off the equipment. There’s no sound, no evidence which way she went. It’s a maze of rooftops.

  He runs at full speed toward the city skyline. Benson must be doing the same on the ground. There’s no sign of her on the fire escape or in the alley below. She’s not on the building ahead as he bounds between them and lands roughly on the next roof. Again and again, no sign of her. The buildings are dark, the streetlights, long since shut down in this part of town, leave only moonlight as a guide. The white noise of the Atlantic is constant. He studies cracks in the buildings, crevices just big enough for a body to hide.

  A soft patter of feet. Yes—­he sees her—­a silhouette on the next building, like a hunchback with her courier bag. He leaps onto an old brick foundry as she descends a fire escape. So close now. He skips stairs, glides between landings. He lands next to her in an alleyway. Nearby, an engine revs.

  Taylor backs away. “Stay away from me, Will.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Apparently I can’t trust anyone anymore.”

  “You can trust me, Taylor. Please, come with me. We’ll get Sienna back.”

  “She’s all that matters. I don’t care anymore. About the war, the church, the election. You.”

  “That’s fair. Smart, probably.” He moves closer. “But I’d never hurt you.”

  “Too late.”

  She sprints toward the street. He follows as tires screech somewhere up ahead. At the sidewalk, she stops abruptly. He’s there now, beside her, as Benson emerges from a Cadillac. There’s one more thing Sebastian can try. From behind, he wraps his arm around Taylor’s chest and aims the gun at her head. Her body tenses, she gasps. This is not what he wanted.

  “That doesn’t look much like protection,” Benson says.

  “Leave now,” Sebastian says.

  “In the end, we want the same thing.” Benson rubs the palm of his right hand with this left thumb and looks pointedly at Sebastian. “The very same, Sergeant Anderson.”

  That’s Mitchell’s move, rubbing his tattoo. And how does Benson know his BASIA rank?

  In a swift move, Benson pulls a gun from inside his jacket. He aims it at Taylor. “Ever met an orphan, Taylor? It’s heartbreaking, really.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “See, Will?” Benson says. “We want the same thing.”

  When Sebastian makes strategic decisions on assignment, they’re usually clear, obvious. This is anything but.

  “Sienna’s waiting,” Benson says.

  “Let me go,” Taylor whispers. Her shoulders move, her body wriggling from his grasp. Reluctantly, he releases her, lets her go to him. His aim shifts to Benson.

  “And what is it ‘we’ want?” Sebastian asks.

  “One nation,” Benson says, opening the driver door. “Un
der God.”

  Holy shit. Renner was right. Benson is Dash. And he’s with Mitchell. And Richard Hensley? As Taylor slides into the passenger side of Benson’s car, Sebastian wants to say something to her, but there’s no time. The Cadillac speeds off. Taylor doesn’t look back as they drive away.

  RENNER PREDICTABLY WALKS his Labradoodle between 11 P.M. and midnight. Sebastian waits in the shadows at the dog park. It’s a gamble. But this has to be done in person, outside, where it’s unlikely anyone is listening. For a decade he and Renner have had the same training, the same beliefs. So despite the fact that Renner’s new assignment is to kill him, he also knows Renner must be plagued by the evidence that their own government is corrupt. And that he’s—­they’ve—­been working for the wrong side.

  The door on the chain-­link fence creaks as Renner and his dog enter. Sebastian knows he’ll have his weapons on him. But so does he.

  “Like clockwork,” he says, emerging from behind a large oak tree.

  Renner drops the leash and has the gun in his hand, expertly aimed, in two seconds. “Sebastian. Jesus Christ you scared the shit out of me.”

  “We need to talk.” The big fluffy dog lopes over and nudges him in the crotch. Sebastian scratches his ears.

  “You shouldn’t be here.” Renner lowers his gun. He gestures to Sebastian’s ankle. “I noticed you removed the locator chip. Why serve yourself up on a platter?”

  “What reason did Satterwhite give you for my termination?”

  “The evidence against you is classified. But he claims that BASIA turned you. Says you’re an enemy of the state now.”

  “Did you tell him that’s ridiculous?” He pushes the dog away and sits on a bench.

  Renner holsters his gun and strolls over. “He wasn’t hearing any of it. Gave me the kill order and sent me on my way.”