Nation of Enemies

by H. A. Raynes

  “I didn’t think you needed the MedIDs.”

  “And you know ­people who do?”

  Fucksake. He can’t expose Steven’s MedID business. Excuses circulate in his mind. Screw it. He doesn’t have to say anything. He presses his lips together.

  “That’s okay, Jonathan. I understand you want to protect your stepfather. But his project isn’t as secret as you might think.”

  “It doesn’t affect you.”

  “Doesn’t it? A mass of ­people utilizing the government’s own weapon against them? Against the world? Imagine the potential. Might take only a few years to formulate a plan. A new party. I’m not interested in a new group joining the mix. Patriot’s Church and BASIA serve God. We fight for eternal salvation. Your father’s plans complicate our mission.”

  Glancing over his shoulder, the Reverend beckons to someone with a wave. Jonathan expects Henry, but instead another man joins them. The man’s wavy hair and beard are in contrast to Henry’s clean-­cut look. Jonathan’s eyes dart to Hannah as she quietly disappears back into the house.

  “Sergeant Anderson, this is Jonathan Hudson.”

  “I’m sorry for trying to steal the MedIDs,” Jonathan says. “But I’m done with all this.”

  “You have a job to do, Jonathan,” the Reverend says. “You’re done when I say you’re done. A few more days isn’t a big sacrifice in the lives of you and your family.”

  He knows he’s not in a situation to bargain. Acceptance settles in his stomach like a brick. “Fine.”

  “Good. Sergeant, let’s get Jonathan’s shooting skills up to par.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sergeant Anderson says.

  “Wait—­I’m not a soldier. That wasn’t the deal.”

  “New deal.” Reverend Mitchell’s face is rigid, emotionless.

  From inside his jacket pocket, the soldier pulls out two semiautomatic guns and hands one to Jonathan. “Let’s get to work.”

  “You’ll find plenty of moving targets out there.” The Reverend gestures to the land. “I’ll leave you to it.”

  As Reverend Mitchell turns to go inside, the gun in Jonathan’s hand draws his energy. One second to lift his arm, one second to pull the trigger. Would all of this be over? Would the world change in an instant if he killed this one man?

  The glass door shuts. The moment over.

  “There should be some wildlife out this time of night,” Sergeant Anderson says. “Deer, usually. And the moonlight is good.” He motions with his weapon to figures moving at the far end of the land, where the grass meets the woods. The floodlights from the deck cast a glow, helping visibility.

  Shadows move. Deer, moose maybe. He follows Anderson off the deck, onto the grass.

  “What are we practicing for?” he asks.

  “Life.”

  Without warning, Anderson raises his gun, aims and pulls the trigger. The sound shatters the air, makes Jonathan’s ears ring. In the distance, something falls and lies still. The shot scatters the animals, shadows moving into the trees.

  “A deer?”

  Anderson nods. “Your turn.”

  He takes a deep breath and raises the gun, holding it steady at eye level. He waits. Perhaps the shot scared them off. And then he sees something, follows it with his eyes as it walks into the open. But it’s standing on two legs, not four.

  “Hold on.” He squints, strains to see. “I think it’s a man.”

  Anderson clears his throat. “It’s your target.”

  “What?”

  Softly, Anderson repeats, “It’s your target. Aim low.”

  “No.” His heart pounds in his ears. “I’m not ready.”

  “It’s you or him. And the Reverend is watching. “Aim low,” he repeats.

  Jonathan’s hands tremble, the gun wavers. The man—­is it a man or a woman?—­moves across the lawn slowly, too far to see clearly. Shitshitshit. I’m not a killer! Who is it, out there? Do they know what’s coming?

  “Goddammit, Jonathan, aim at his legs and shoot,” Anderson whispers. “Now.”

  The blast almost knocks Jonathan off his feet. The figure in the distance falls, and with it, a cry. Oh God. He reaches out for a solid surface and finds only Anderson, who lends his arm as Jonathan vomits violently into the grass. Afterward, he gives back the gun and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Good,” Anderson says. “You did good.”

  “What happens now?”

  “We survive another day.”

  He squints to make out details of the man on the ground, but he’s too far away. “Is someone going to get him?”

  Anderson nods.

  THE FROST-­COVERED GRASS is like needles against Steven’s face. The drugs must be wearing off, whatever that bastard Mitchell gave him when he first arrived—­he’s able to concentrate now, control his body more, though he has no idea how long he’s been lying here. He’d passed out from the wrenching white-­hot pain in his leg. The drugs lessened the initial impact of the bullet, but now it radiates through him. If he lies here much longer, he knows he’ll die.

  With tremendous effort, he attempts to crawl. The Reverend’s residence looms in the distance. He knows the driveway leads to the main road and so he pulls himself toward it. He can get to it through the woods if he can bear the pain. Somewhere in that compound, Mitchell has both Jonathan and his money. Just the thought gives him enough energy to go another several feet. But then darkness hits him once again.

  TELLING THE KID to pull the trigger on his stepfather was on par with any torture training Sebastian’s experienced. But he’d quietly instructed Jonathan to aim low, and luckily his aim was good. Any higher and it would have killed Steven Hudson.

  Pasty white and wild-­eyed, Jonathan follows behind him as they make their way toward the body in the field. Sebastian wishes there was something he could say to prepare him. The biggest shock is yet to come. Mitchell wants Jonathan to discover the man’s identity himself.

  The sky is beginning to lighten. For most of the night, Sebastian stood quietly in a corner of the room watching Jonathan, tied to a chair in Mitchell’s office. The kid’s defiance drained right out of him. Even for Sebastian, it was excruciating to listen while Mitchell pontificated on the state of the world now and the world as it will be in a matter of days. Mitchell gave Jonathan options. Opt out of this “job” with BASIA and face death. Opt in, and a new way of life begins. Or, complete the assignment and be set free. Though Sebastian isn’t sure what role Jonathan is meant to play, clearly, Mitchell wants to harness his hacking talents for a very specific task. And Mitchell doesn’t like to be told no.

  In the field, with about twenty feet to go, he glances back at Jonathan. For once, he wishes he could tell the kid who he is and what he’s doing there. But this has to play out.

  “He’s breathing.” Jonathan rushes forward, points to Hudson’s back as it rises and falls.

  “We need to get him inside.”

  Suddenly, Jonathan stops. “Steven!”

  On his stomach, Hudson’s head is turned to face them. His skin is a bluish-­white, his eyes are closed. Sebastian goes to him, crouches down and places two fingers against his neck. The pulse is faint. Jonathan drops to his knees and begins shaking his stepfather.

  “Get his legs,” Sebastian says.

  “I shot Steven?” Jonathan’s voice cracks. “I shot Steven.”

  “He’s alive. You’re a good aim.”

  “You motherfucker!” Jonathan stands and with both hands shoves him forcefully. “You knew it was my stepfather?”

  “I had my orders.”

  “Fuck orders.” Tears run down Jonathan’s face. He kneels again at Hudson’s side, rocking back and forth.

  “Do what you’re told, and both of you can go home after all this.” He’s got to get them into the house. “Let’s g
o.”

  Together they stumble and strain carrying Hudson’s body back to the house. He watches Jonathan. His tears are gone now, replaced by a mask of restrained anger.

  “You’re valuable to the Reverend,” he says.

  “My skills are valuable.”

  “Just do your job and you’ll get out.”

  “How about you? Why’re you so valuable, Sergeant?”

  “I’m a trained sniper.”

  “You should shoot that asshole, then.”

  Up the deck stairs and into the house they carry Steven Hudson. In a small room Mitchell calls their infirmary, a doctor cares for the wound while Jonathan sits stoically at his stepfather’s side. Sebastian’s only directive from Mitchell had been to keep Hudson alive, if barely. It’s leverage with Jonathan, and it looks like it’s going to work.

  Chapter 63

  RICHARD STANDS CENTER stage, grinning effusively at the last audience he will address before Election Day. The roar of the crowd is deafening. He soaks it in, their loyalty and support. Five days and it will all be over. The world will call him President Hensley. He’ll be his own man, not President Clark’s pawn. Richard raises his hands in thanks and as a signal to quiet the voices.

  The words pour easily from him, as always. He is warm but firm, inspirational and on point. As the teleprompter guides him, he thinks of Carter, listening backstage, ready to report back to President Clark. If Clark had his way, Taylor would have disappeared by now. But Richard has different plans, a final act of defiance. It wasn’t easy to convince Taylor, but in the end she acquiesced. Not in support of him, but in exchange for a new life with her daughter.

  It’s time. He pauses mid-­speech, pressing a thumb on the button of the podium to halt the teleprompters. He affects a more solemn tone and loses the infectious smile.

  “My friends and fellow citizens. I know that the most important thing to each and every one of you is family.” Cheers. “As you know, I’ve had a very public struggle in my own family after losing my beautiful wife, Norah. But instead of being a devoted father, I’ve been a devoted public servant. I wasn’t as available to my daughter, Taylor, as I should have been, in her own hour of need. Our damaged relationship is no secret. My friends in the press see to that. You’ve also probably heard that as she struggled to keep her own family whole, Taylor fell into the grasp of suspected terrorists. I won’t name names—­why give them what they want most? Instead I want to tell you that finally, my own family is whole again. I’d like to ask you tonight to accept my daughter, Taylor, despite her past choices. We’ve all made mistakes. She’ll be by my side in these last few days before the election. So, any issues or differences you may have had with her based on rumor or fact, she and I would like to ask for your forgiveness.”

  On cue, Taylor emerges from the side of the stage, wearing a conservative dress with her cropped hair brushed neatly back. Seeing her, sharing this moment with her, is heartening. Somewhere, President Clark is cringing, along with other party leaders. And Reverend Mitchell is no doubt fuming wherever he is. He won’t have his money or his daughter. There’s a rumbling through the crowd as Taylor arrives at his side. He puts his arm around her. Her body stiffens.

  “What matters is, she’s here now. She supports us. She supports our causes. And she knows that family—­and country—­comes first.”

  Slowly, applause builds until they are all cheering. He looks down at her and they nod at one another. He takes a step away and she leans into the microphone, her face open and earnest.

  “Thank you, Dad. Thank you, everyone, for being here in support of my father. In my grief after the death of my husband, I made mistakes. Several of them. I drifted from the beliefs I’d held true my whole life. For years I’ve sought to live a life in opposition to my father. I’m eternally sorry, and thankfully, he’s forgiven me. But I’ve returned to the Liberty Party stronger and infused with renewed passion for the principles that are our foundation. From this day forward, I will devote my efforts in support of our party and my father, your future President, Richard Hensley.”

  Richard steps forward and grasps her hand, raising it in the air as though grasping victory itself. This is a proud moment for him, even if she is forcing herself to say the words. The noise from the crowd is thunderous. He must savor this. Having Taylor this close is fleeting. Because once Election Day has passed, with their cleaned MedIDs, she and Sienna will disappear to God knows where.

  Chapter 64

  JUST AFTER MIDNIGHT, District 149 Security calls Cole and announces that a man named Sebastian Diaz is at the gate. Next to him in bed, Lily moans softly as he gets up, finds his pants on the floor and pulls them on. Padding in bare feet down the hall, he opens the door, inviting a blast of chilly air. It’s a relief to see Sebastian alive.

  They shake hands. “Sebastian. Come in.”

  “I’m sorry to show up so late.”

  “I’m just glad you showed up.”

  In the living room, they sit in adjacent chairs. Light from a single lamp illuminates Sebastian’s disheveled hair and circles under his eyes. Cole says, “You don’t look so good.”

  “Least of my worries.” Sebastian leans in, elbows on his knees. “Listen, I don’t have much time here. Your friends, the Hudsons, are in trouble.”

  Sebastian tells him that Steven’s been shot in the leg by Jonathan, who’s being forced to work for Mitchell. Cole searches the floor, trying to make sense of it. The Reverend has the money now, so why not release them? He should have made Steven take the gun.

  “Why does Mitchell need Jonathan?” he asks.

  “You were right about his hacking. Kid’s a master at cyber warfare.”

  “And Mitchell’s letting Steven live?”

  “If he kills Steven, he’ll lose his hold over Jonathan. So while Jonathan cooperates, Steven’s being cared for by one of Mitchell’s private physicians. But as of tonight, I can’t watch them anymore. I’ve been moved into another role.”

  “What can I do?”

  “The attack will happen on Election Day. Mitchell should give the order today. He’ll ship all of the soldiers out to key locations.”

  “Can’t you just shoot Mitchell?”

  “It occurred to me. But it’s not that easy. He doesn’t work alone. I don’t have the identities, but he’s got a board of advisors. Probably very powerful ­people strategically positioned. I’m sure he’s made arrangements in case of his assassination. Capable hands will pick up where he left off.”

  Four days. He’s got to make a plan for his family.

  “Then what?” Cole asks. “Mitchell takes over Washington?”

  “This is their Armageddon. For all I know, they think the world will end after the attack and they’ll all be saved.”

  “Saved.” It’s ludicrous. An idea occurs to Cole. “You need a MedID, Sebastian.”

  “What good will that do?”

  “I’ll give you a clean one. When this is over, you can get out. Escape all this.”

  “I can’t have a MedID because I’m in BASIA. And if I have a MedID, the government can find me and they already want me dead. Anyway, where the hell would I go?”

  “Wear long sleeves. The government won’t know to look for your new identity. Mitchell won’t look for a chip he thinks he already extracted. And go anywhere but here.”

  “How can you get me a clean MedID?” Sebastian’s eyes narrow. “It was you. You were behind Jonathan’s attempt to steal Mitchell’s MedIDs.”

  “He did that all on his own. Steven tried to stop him but he didn’t get to him in time.”

  Without holding back anything, he explains Project Swap. There’s nothing to lose now, with the world on the edge of chaos. He tells Sebastian about Renner’s warning, and that their MedID clients are now met one-­on-­one, in preplanned, wire-­swept locations.

  “Where’s Renn
er?” Sebastian asks.

  “He’s still at the Bureau. Appearing to be doing what they want him to do.”

  “Shutting you down, killing me.”

  “Sounds like he’s planning to try and change things from the inside.”

  “Always on the side of right.”

  “Sebastian?”

  They both turn at the sound of Lily’s voice. It must be a shock—­she hasn’t seen him since Kate’s funeral. She goes to him and they embrace. Cole doesn’t need to see her face to know Lily’s weeping. At last she pulls away. “I’d like to say you look well.”

  Cole watches as they catch up, savoring each other as though they’re seeing Kate again, or a piece of her, at least. Eventually, Lily asks why he’s come.

  “I’m helping a friend of Cole’s.”

  Her face falls as she looks to Cole. “Is someone in trouble with the FBI?”

  “No, no,” they say simultaneously.

  She looks back to Sebastian. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course. But I should go.” He hugs her one last time, kisses her on the cheek.

  “Take care of yourself.” She heads back to the bedroom.

  As Cole walks him out, Sebastian says, “I’ll be in touch about the Hudsons.”

  “Is there a chance you can get them out before the election?”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  “If you decide you want one . . .” Cole taps his own forearm.

  “Thanks, Cole. Stay safe.”

  “You, too.”

  They shake hands. There’s a finality to it that doesn’t sit well in Cole’s stomach.

  A BUZZER SOUNDS at the door of Jonathan’s cell. It’s probably Hannah. He hopes she feels guilty. When the door slides open, he doesn’t acknowledge her, just stays on the floor, doing sit-­ups.

  “Hi,” she says.

  Though he’s tempted, he won’t look at her. So much shit has gone on, he can almost forget the way he felt for her before. Almost. He doesn’t want to be drawn to her, or to forgive her. The night of the shooting plays on a constant loop in his mind. He wonders what she knew, if she had any idea what the Reverend had planned. She was quiet that night. Guilty conscience.