by H. A. Raynes
“Steven’s doing better,” she says. “Getting stronger.”
This soothes his stomach, gnawed at by regret and anxiety. He flips onto his palms and the balls of his feet and pushes up, fighting gravity. Fueled by Mitchell. He’s probably planning to kill both him and Steven when all this is finished.
“You called, right?” Hannah asks. “Pressed the button?”
“You’ve moved up to bathroom monitor now?” No need to hide his anger.
“Go on.” She gestures to the door.
He jumps to his feet and passes by her. As he does, a black device in her hand draws his eyes. A stun gun. Nice touch. He sniffs, shakes his head. Cameras watch him as he crosses the hall, into the bathroom. As far as he knows, this is the one place he has privacy. Then again, that sick fucker Mitchell might even be watching him take a piss. But before he flushes, he stands on the toilet seat and reaches his hands to the ceiling, fingertips feeling around the edge of a vent. For seven days he’s been working on the screws, using a broken edge of a plastic fork from one of his meals. It’s nearly impossible, but he was able to get one screw out. Three to go.
Sweat beads on his brow as he works. Finally, the second one begins to twist. He gets it halfway out and stops. No need to remove the whole thing, wait until the other two are loose and then take them all out at once. Progress. But it’s time to go before they get suspicious.
Back in his cell, Hannah stands in the middle of the room, holding the Bible she gave him. It would be easier to hate her if she wasn’t so beautiful. He crosses his arms and glares at her. She blinks and he notices her eyes are red.
“You can go now,” he says.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. Then she talks normally again. “I hope you’ll forgive me one day. You should read Psalm 32. If you forgive, it might open some doors in your life.”
She hands him the Bible and he hesitates, but takes it. When she leaves, she takes with her a flowery scent that he imagines is just her, not a perfume or soap she uses. He lies down on the hard mattress and stares at the ceiling. The Bible rests heavily on his stomach and he drums his fingers on the cover. It might open some doors in your life. Brainwashed Biblespeak bullshit. Out of sheer boredom, he sits up and thumbs through the pages until he finds Psalm 32.
There, between the pages, are two pieces of paper. As discreetly as possible, with the Bible as a shield to the cameras, he unfolds them to reveal two hand-drawn maps, clearly marked. His heart races. One shows an escape route from the residence grounds. The other an escape route from BASIA HQ.
Chapter 65
“AT LAST, THE hour is upon us.” Charles’s voice echoes in the cavernous training space. Dressed in his black BASIA uniform, he peers out into the crowd, acknowledges the soldiers on the monitors, lets his gaze drift over the room. “God is watching. And we are ready. Today, each of you will receive your assignment. Tomorrow you’ll relocate for the next seventy-two hours. At your temporary base, you’ll find what you need to carry out your mission. You’ll work in teams, with a designated leader. Each team has specific targets. We’re not interested in mass casualties. Protect each other, do your duty to God, and we will prevail. We’ll unshackle our fellow Americans, throw open the gates of possibility. Anyone who doesn’t see the truth of our way may leave our country, for it was never theirs to begin with.”
Wild applause erupts, the energy so palpable that it alights on his skin, prickling the hair on his arms. Praise God. Over the noise, he raises his voice. “When you rise up on that fourth and most glorious day, you will walk on christened soil. The soil of the United States of Christian Patriots.”
They can’t hold back any longer. The soldiers rise from their seats and in unison hold their hands over their chests, then raise them, palms open, to Charles. He returns the gesture. “Thy will be done!”
ON THE WAY out of the final BASIA meeting, each soldier is handed a bone-conduction headphone with a personalized message. Sitting in his car, Sebastian places the band around his head and activates the file. The sound waves penetrate immediately. He closes his eyes. With each word uttered by an automated female voice, his chest tightens.
“Sergeant Will Anderson you are team leader of Operation POTUS. You will lead nine men and women in your mission. Your identities will not be revealed to one another until election night. As team leader and prime target terminator, if for any reason you are unable to complete your assignment, there is a designated replacement soldier who will take command. Sergeant Anderson, you will eliminate the newly elected President of the United States during his acceptance speech. Arrangements have been made to grant you unlimited access to the event. There will be other teams in the vicinity with other targets, but you will not interact. Focus on your task. Once it is complete, return home.”
Sebastian takes off the headset, stares unseeing out the windshield. Confirmation, finally. Years he’s spent protecting this country. But this administration was behind Gardiner’s assassination. They murdered Kate. And all for what—their MedID agenda? They’re no better than Mitchell. Still, killing a president? Taylor’s father. God help me, he thinks, out of habit. A cough rumbles up through him and it feels as though he’s choking.
Time to move. He shifts into gear and peels out of the lot. He has twelve hours to get his things together and get on the plane. Within minutes he connects with Cole and arranges to get a new MedID before he leaves. His thoughts are scattered as he drives to his apartment. In D.C., maybe he can get Taylor and Sienna out. A part of him—a stale part of who he used to be—considers calling the Bureau. The director? Or maybe Homeland Security? They can’t all be corrupt. And Renner’s still there. But if Mitchell’s hand reaches all the way inside the White House, can anything be done to stop this?
At last he reaches his apartment building and sprints inside, up the stairs. Instantly his eyes are drawn to the dingy beige carpet in the hallway. Scarlet drops, smears of blood. He slows, draws his gun, quiets his breath. At the end of the hall there’s one final turn. He presses his back against the wall. With his gun held firm, he jerks his head around the corner to see his apartment door. His knees go weak.
Renner is sprawled in front of Sebastian’s door, blood pooling around him. He pauses, listens. The blood trail indicates the shooter is gone. He rushes over to Renner. His face is almost unrecognizable.
“Jesus.” He kneels, his grip still tight on his gun. He feels Renner’s neck for a pulse. Nothing. Tears sting his eyes. Someone at the Bureau was here to clean up loose ends. Maybe they left Renner as a warning, or maybe they came for him and found Renner here instead.
A creak comes from inside his apartment. He raises the gun, dives over Renner’s body just as a shot shatters the bottom half of the door. Firing two shots blindly back through the hole, he turns to face a dead-end hall. Heavy footsteps are approaching. There’s a window and a rusted fire escape. Shielding his face with one arm, he smashes his gun against the glass, leaving a jagged hole. He kicks out the rest of the window as his apartment door opens. A shot is fired. He ducks as the shooter fires again. It grazes his arm. Glancing back, he aims and shoots, just missing a masked figure dressed in black.
Sebastian leaps through the window onto the landing. He skips stairs down to the next level when another bullet slices the air above his head. Footsteps thud above him on the first landing. He stops, plants his feet, and points his gun skyward, aiming precisely as the shooter glances down at him. Direct hit. The shooter’s body arches backward and crumples. Something wet drips onto Sebastian’s face and he wipes it away. His hand is smeared with blood.
With his gun trained on the body, he climbs the stairs to the first landing. There’s no movement. It was a clean shot through the head. He holsters his gun and leans down, rifles through the man’s pants and jacket pockets. There’s only a phone, locked, no identification. But there’s one more place to look. He pulls up the right pan
t leg and pushes down a black sock to reveal the pale skin of his ankle. There, as he knew it would be, is the Bureau locator chip.
Climbing back through the broken window, his breath catches when he sees Renner again. He goes over, kneels next to him.
“I’ll finish this.” He forces himself to look at his partner. In this fraught moment, he realizes Renner may be carrying useful intel. Sebastian leans over him and runs his hands over his body, through his pockets. Nothing, except his phone.
He stares at the locked screen that prompts for fingerprint recognition. Taking Renner’s right hand, he touches his thumb to unlock the phone. He pores furiously through the email, the apps, the contacts. He finds several notes. Dates and codes going back eight years. Some notes include Mitchell’s initials, CM. It has to be correspondence with Renner’s informant. Sebastian’s best guess is the bodyguard, Henry.
Swiping through the list of contacts, only one stands out. Instead of a name, there’s a number—a date—061515. The day of the Planes. Below it is a phone number. He checks the call list. There are numerous incoming calls in the past week from this number. Renner has—had—no life outside the Bureau. Never dated, no family. The one person he was faithful to was his informant. Not knowing what he’s going to say, he presses the call button.
Three rings and then, “Where have you been?” It’s a female voice, and for a moment Sebastian is so surprised he can’t speak. She asks, “Renner?”
“This is his partner,” Sebastian says. “Renner’s down.”
“What do you mean he’s down?” There’s an edge of panic to her voice.
“He’s dead.”
Silence. He can hear breathing.
“You meant a lot to him.” Sebastian has only seconds to make her trust him. He remembers one of the conversations he overheard with Renner on the phone to his informant. “I know he was determined to help you find your siblings.”
Still, nothing.
“Please, this is important—”
Finally, she says, “I only talk to Renner. I can’t do this anymore.”
“I can help you,” he says.
“What happened? What happened to him?”
“Someone shot him.”
“I don’t know you.”
“I don’t know you either.”
“Maybe you killed him.”
“Listen.” He stares down, his friend at his feet. “Renner was like family to me. He had a dry wit that always left you wondering if he was serious. The scar on his chin came from when we were in basic training together in ’fourteen from a bar fight when a guy didn’t get his humor. He was devoted to his dog, Harry. His job. And from what I heard on the other end of the conversations, he was also devoted to you.” He waits.
“What’s your name?”
“Diaz. What’s yours?”
There’s a brief hesitation. “Hannah.”
Hannah. He pictures her. Red hair. Always near Mitchell. “I’m sorry I’m calling under these circumstances, Hannah. But we can still help each other.”
“How?”
“Where are you? And where’s Mitchell now?”
“I’m at the house. He just left for church.”
“Do you know the man being held there?” he asks. “Steven Hudson?”
“Yes. I take him meals.”
“Good, that’s good. On the night of the election, Mitchell will be at BASIA headquarters. I need you to let someone into the house and take him to Steven Hudson. Together you’ll get him out of there.”
“What if Charles wants me with him?”
“If he does, can you act sick?” She doesn’t answer. “You know, he’s about to change the world again. People are going to die.”
“I know.” A brief pause. “I can act sick.”
“I’ll get you the details.”
“Why aren’t you getting him out yourself?”
“I’m on a tight leash right now.”
“Renner was making plans for me after this.” It’s a whisper.
“Do you want to leave with Hudson?” he asks. “Can you?”
“I don’t know.”
“We can arrange a new identity. Get you out of the country.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“I’ll text you my number. Hang in there.”
“Be careful, Diaz.”
“You, too, Hannah.”
He hangs up and stares at the peeling paint on the hallway wall. Cole asked for his help to get Steven Hudson out, but this is the most he can offer, now that he’s heading to D.C. Hannah’s face surfaces in his mind. He wonders what her angle is in all this.
Digging his own phone out of his jacket, he dials Cole. Whatever else may happen, at the very least he can help save Cole’s family, along with Steven and Jonathan.
Chapter 66
IN THEIR BED, Lily moves closer to Cole, straining to hear Sebastian’s voice on the other end of the line. One phrase is clear: Get out. She sinks back into her pillow. Another long journey lies ahead. This time, with Kate gone, there are no goodbyes, nothing left behind. And this time they have science on their side. False science, yes, but the scanners won’t reveal the truth. Tears stream from the corners of her eyes, dampening her hair. Let this be the last time. The end of living in limbo. The end of living in fear.
There’s no time to waste. She bolts up in bed. They’ll bring only what they can carry. Luckily, their belongings have been pared down, most items forgotten in boxes. Rushing through the house, she gathers the necessities. A change of clothes. Toothbrush. Kate’s watch. A tablet. She packs one bag for each of them.
Cole finds her near the front door, hunched over their luggage. “Sites are down,” he says. “Central News, Washington Online. Two of the network sites. All offline.”
“You think it’s related to Sebastian? To what he said?”
He nods. “It’s too much of a coincidence. Someone’s afraid of leaks. Especially three days before the election.”
“The terrorists are powerful enough to shut down the news sites?”
He doesn’t answer. The air is electric, sparking her nerves. Suddenly, he grabs his jacket.
“Cole?”
“Could be the terrorists. Could be the government.” He takes her hands in his and tells her that someone in the government orchestrated the State House attack. Her head swims.
“The government was behind Kate’s murder?” She feels disoriented.
“The Liberty Party wants to strengthen the MedID system,” he says. “To make us more reliant on government systems. President Clark is strongly pro-MedID. And Richard Hensley, of course, since it was his idea. But James Gardiner wasn’t a supporter.”
“So they killed him?” She shakes her head.
“It’s a theory.”
All this time, they’ve never been safe. From anyone, on any side.
“We’re going back to London?” she asks.
He nods. “We know what to expect now. And we have your family there.”
“Thank you.” She wraps her arms around him, buries her face in his neck.
“For what?”
“For keeping our family together.” Her hand glides down his arm and rests on his MedID. For one quiet moment it’s the two of them, safe, in their house. Sleeping soundly, Ian and Talia are innocent, unaware of any danger. This may be the last peace they’ll know for a long time.
Chapter 67
JONATHAN IS SURE the world has gone completely mad. Seated next to the Reverend in BASIA’s Command Center, they study a wall-sized monitor. A digital map of the United States details state lines with stars denoting capital cities. Countless lines representing airplane routes crisscross one another. Alongside Jonathan at the board sit two other techs. Via the FAA tracking system, one cross-checks soldiers with their ass
igned flight numbers, confirming they are en route. The other stands by to take all phone networks and carriers offline nationally.
“The Great BASIA Migration,” Reverend Mitchell says. “Our birds have taken flight.”
Incessant thoughts of Steven interrupt Jonathan’s concentration. In the basement of Mitchell’s house, his stepdad lies handcuffed, recovering from the gunshot wound. In such close proximity to the Reverend, Jonathan has ongoing fantasies of attacking him in some way. Perhaps it will need to be less obvious than lunging at him with a crowd of witnesses.
“Jonathan.” The Reverend swivels in his chair. “Give me a status.”
He glances behind them to the two security men that have been at Mitchell’s side since Sergeant Anderson left on his mission. “We have access to and control of power grids in forty-eight states. For each grid, I’ve conducted tests that created outages in off-peak hours. I restored power within minutes to minimize suspicion.”
“Did you say forty-eight?”
The door opens and Hannah enters, carrying sandwiches. She passes them out to everyone in the room. He watches her, tries not to make it obvious.
“Sit, Hannah.” Mitchell pats an empty chair so that he sits between her and Jonathan.
Jonathan chews the inside of his cheek as he watches him run a hand over her back. The asshole is probably keeping her here as a silent threat. His feelings for her must be obvious.
“Back to your status,” the Reverend says. “What’s happening with the remaining two power grids? Where are they?”
“D.C. and Virginia. They’re impossible to test. Any outages will raise a red flag in seconds.”
Mitchell’s neck blooms red. “Unacceptable!” His hand slams down on the control console. Hannah and the other techs jump in their seats. She shoots a worried look at Jonathan.
“It’ll be fine. I’m almost in.” Jonathan’s tone carries an edge of impertinence. “But their firewalls have firewalls. It’s D.C., after all. The NSA, CIA, Air Command are all in Virginia. The security is solid.”