The Bellator Saga: The First Trilogy (Dissident, Conscience, and Sojourn)

by Cecilia London

  Jen smiled wryly. “I will. I love you.”

  All these words of affection were liable to cause her to have a nervous breakdown. Caroline hugged Jen a final time and shoved her out the door, waving as they pulled away.

  Maybe she could pretend they were going on vacation. A nice short jaunt. They’d be back soon. She’d see them all again. She was sure of it. She would ignore that nagging voice in her mind, the one that told her that people traveling to safe destinations wouldn’t need handguns in order to get there. She’d focus on the positive. Caroline stared at the door before locking it.

  “See you later,” she whispered.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The Fed

  “Sweetheart, wake up.” A gentle voice was at her ear. “Come on, baby.”

  Caroline’s eyes fluttered open. A dark figure knelt in front of her bed. “Who are you?” she asked.

  The figure chuckled softly. “You know who it is.”

  That voice. How could she have forgotten that voice? “Jack?”

  He stroked her cheek. “I’ve come for you. It’s okay.”

  Caroline blinked and tried to sit up, but she was strapped of energy. Jack held her steady, bringing her to a sitting position.

  “Take a minute,” he said. “Orient yourself.”

  Had he any idea of where they were? Of who they were surrounded by? She tried not to sound too panicky. “We don’t have a minute. What are you doing here?”

  “I told you.” She could tell he was smiling, even in the dark. He seemed so happy to see her. “I’ve come for you.”

  “But-”

  He pulled her into his arms, breathing heavily, his hands tangled up in her hair. “I promised you,” he said. “And I would never break a promise to you.”

  Caroline buried her face in his shoulder, trying not to cry. “I knew you’d come,” she whispered. “I knew it.”

  Jack kissed her cheek. Funny, she didn’t feel any pain when he did it. She wanted him to do it again. And he did, kissing his way to her ear. “I’ve missed you so much, my love.”

  Caroline grasped his shirt, trying to get closer to him. “My darling,” she murmured. “My hero.”

  Jack laughed softly. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I still have to get you out of here.” He gave her a critical look. “Are you all right? Can you walk?”

  She felt a spring in her step that had been missing for weeks. She wanted to get the hell away from this place. She’d crawl if she had to. “I’ll manage. Let’s get out of here. We have to hurry.”

  “I know.”

  Caroline shuddered again, hoping he knew an easy way out. If he’d gotten in, he had to know how to get out, right? And he would keep her safe. Just like he promised.

  “They do bad things in here,” she whispered.

  “I know.” Jack pulled her into his arms again. “That’s why I’m going to take you someplace where no one can ever hurt you.”

  “I never told them anything,” she said. “I swear I didn’t.”

  He kissed her forehead. “I know, baby. I’m so incredibly proud of you.”

  It wasn’t the time or the place, but she was desperate to tell him anyway. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” He released her suddenly and got a strange look on his face. “There’s just one more thing we need to do.”

  “What?”

  “Wake up.”

  She tried to straighten up. Was he blind? “I’m already awake.”

  “Wake up,” he said, louder this time.

  Caroline looked around the cell. “Jack, keep your voice down. Someone might hear you.”

  Jack moved closer to her ear and the lights flickered on, flooding the room. “Wake up!” he yelled.

  * * * * *

  Caroline sat up with a start and found herself looking at a scornful Jeffrey Murdock.

  “Good morning, darling,” he mocked.

  She rubbed her eyes and stared at him angrily.

  “That was quite amusing.” He let out a cruel laugh. “The guards told me you talked in your sleep but I had no idea you spilled out all your fucking internal monologues.”

  “Fuck you,” Caroline snarled.

  “Did McIntyre put a muzzle on you at night? Jesus Christ.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself and didn’t say anything.

  “I imagine he did something else to keep you quiet. Maybe-”

  Jeffrey Murdock didn’t deserve the privilege of speaking about her husband. “Don’t you dare talk about Jack. Keep his name and everything about him out of your mouth.”

  “So defensive. Does it make your panties moist, dreaming about him?” Murdock asked.

  What a disgusting, distasteful word. When it rolled off Murdock’s tongue, it sounded even more revolting. “You are truly vile,” she said.

  He laughed again. “Don’t worry. I won’t check for evidence. This time.”

  Caroline swallowed hard, trying not to think about all the horrible things Jeffrey Murdock could do to her. Her throat was dry. She looked over at the sink before she could help herself.

  “Oh, yes. You’re in for another long day. You might want to freshen up.” He gave her that disturbing smile again. “Be a dear and make yourself presentable for us.”

  Caroline shuddered. He made those comments on purpose, to keep one thing in the back of her mind. The one thing they’d never done. The one thing she hoped they would never do. Although considering everything else they’d done to her...

  “You have ten minutes,” he said.

  * * * * *

  She wasn’t sure why the guards dragged her into the interrogation room and plunked her down at the table. She was cuffed but not immobilized. Would she thank them for that little concession? Not likely.

  Murdock, Fischer, and Powell were all but ignoring her, although she knew full well that if she tried anything they’d spring into action. They were sorting boxes of personal property. Property confiscated from people crossing the border. Apparently even if you were allowed through, you still might have to bribe your way to ensure safe passage.

  There were watches, necklaces, rings, baubles, heirlooms...likely the most precious possessions of those seeking a way out of the country. They’d probably been carefully chosen and packed because of their significance, then reluctantly handed over to the government in a time of terrible emotional trauma. All those memories, reduced to salvage.

  Powell and Fischer rifled through one of the boxes as Murdock stood watch.

  “I call dibs on that Rolex,” Fischer said, pulling it out of the box.

  “Why not? That’s how I got mine.” Murdock flashed the watch on his own wrist. He smirked at Caroline. “We didn’t all just stumble into money, you know. Some of us had to work for it.”

  Stealing wasn’t work, but Caroline decided to keep that observation to herself. She wanted no part of whatever game these men were playing.

  Fischer flipped the watch over. “It’s got something inscribed on it.”

  Murdock grabbed it out of his hand, gazing into the box. “I was hoping we’d get to this one. Hmm…what’s this? ‘To Tommy. Happy fiftieth birthday. All my love, Dr. Spencer.’”

  Caroline’s ears perked up. What had he said? She strained for a better look at the watch.

  Murdock handed the watch to Fischer. “Good choice. Although you might not want to wear a watch taken off of a dead guy.”

  Fischer recoiled. “Good call.” He glanced over at Powell. “Want it?”

  Powell grabbed it out of his hand. “Not gonna turn down an expensive piece of shit like that. I don’t care where it came from.”

  Murdock brought the box over to the table by Caroline. “Shall we see what else is in here?”

  Coincidence. It was pure coincidence. Just some person married to a doctor, male or female, who had the same name as Christine. Who just happened to receive a very nice watch for his fiftieth birthday, the same as Tom. Just a coincidence.

  Murdoc
k pulled another item out of the box and held it up. “What’s this?”

  A scarf. The material was stiff, after being soaked through with blood. But for the bits of gold and blue peeking through here and there and the embroidered interlocking MU on the bottom, it was almost unrecognizable.

  No.

  He pulled out another item. A stuffed hippo, once a beautiful shade of blue, had large patches that appeared to be a dirty rust brown color.

  No. No no no no.

  Caroline let out a small cry and reached for the scarf and stuffed animal. She didn’t care what shape they were in. She had to touch them.

  Murdock pulled them back. “Oh, we can’t have that. No touchy. You just get to look.”

  “No,” she said. “No! Give them to me!” She threw herself on the table, trying to get to the scarf and the plush toy. Powell and Fischer yanked her down roughly on the metal chair, but she pushed away from them, continuing to try and claw her way across the table, stretching toward the items.

  “Those are mine! They belong to me!” Caroline’s screams echoed through the room as the men dragged her back to the chair.

  Fischer pulled his gun out and put it to her head. “Don’t move.”

  Murdock pulled the scarf up by its edge, and the animal by its tail. “Disgusting, really. I should probably be wearing gloves. So much blood. I don’t want to get any diseases.” He tossed them back on the table, stepping back with a triumphant look on his face. “I’m sorry, Gerard. Did those mean something to you?”

  Caroline shoved away from Fischer, toppling her chair. Like she gave a shit if anyone shot her now. She lunged at Murdock and they both tumbled to the floor.

  He had to die. And she was going to kill him even if she lost her life in the effort. She grabbed at his face, catching him off guard just long enough to slide the links connecting her cuffs down against his throat. She pressed against his trachea and he made a gurgling noise, but the smile stayed on his face. He pushed her off him as if she were a rag doll.

  Who was she kidding? Her spirit was willing. More than willing. Her spirit wanted nothing more than to strangle every last breath out of Jeffrey Murdock. But her flesh was weak. Fischer and Powell pulled her from the floor, pressing her against the wall.

  Murdock had a split lip. Had she caused that? She hoped so. “You’ll pay for that,” he rasped. “Goddamn cunt.”

  Fuck him and fuck that word. She reached for Fischer’s gun hand. She needed a weapon and she needed it now. But Fischer knew she was weak, both mentally and physically. He pushed her away into Powell’s arms. She kept staring at the gun. Feet away from her. He held it irresponsibly, lazily by his side. A loaded gun. She stared at it. Could she go for it again?

  Murdock wiped at his mouth. “Try it and I guarantee you’ll be anything but dead, and you’ll be miserable.”

  She pushed Powell away from her, taking a step toward Fischer. The three men tackled her to the floor.

  “Don’t.” Murdock grabbed her by the throat. “Your suffering isn’t over yet, Gerard. I’ve got plans for you.”

  “You’re a bastard,” she choked out.

  “Yes, but I’m free and in fantastic health, unlike you.” Murdock released her, picking the bloody items up off the table, tossing them back into the box. “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll be with your children soon enough. I think we’ve had enough fun for today, though. Don’t you?” He gestured at Fischer and Powell. “She’s earned some alone time in her cell. Be extra cautious getting her back there. I’m not sure she’s in a very good mood right now.”

  The guards dragged her down the hall as she tried to keep from losing control. Fischer still had his gun in his hand, and she again contemplated grabbing it and pulling the trigger, not at them but at herself. Would they have time to react before she got the job done? Probably not. She had nothing left. Everything that ever mattered to her was gone.

  The guards unlocked the door to her cell and pushed her inside. She caught herself on the wall and spun around with her last little bit of adrenaline, socking Fischer in the face. He shoved her down and she landed on the floor with a thud. When she looked up, he had his gun pointed at her.

  “Do it.” Her lip trembled. She didn’t bother trying to hold back her tears. What was the point? They had no empathy for her, no pity, not even a small shred of respect. “Please.”

  Fischer smirked and holstered his weapon. “Not today. Believe me, if I’m the one that gets to finish you off, I won’t be using a gun.” He kicked her in the stomach before crouching down to remove her cuffs. He knew she couldn’t fight back. “Not when this is so much more enjoyable.”

  Powell followed with a few swift kicks to her legs. Further humiliation, further proof that neither man had a heart or a soul. “Sweet dreams,” he said.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The Past

  The tension had been building over the past few weeks. It was now February. Caroline and Jack all but ceased going out in public. Going to Washington or even back to Philadelphia wasn’t a possibility. They’d made some moves, privately. Transferring money to foreign accounts. Communicating with the underground, focusing on low level recruitment. Coordinating with a growing secret rebellion in California.

  They attempted to make one last official joint television appearance in late January with a respected local political commentator at the NBC affiliate in Philadelphia. They thought they’d put forth one more effort, make one final impassioned plea to the public, though they still hadn’t revealed the most seditious bit of information they uncovered. They wouldn’t be able to do that until they were someplace truly safe. They could only hope that the government hadn’t figured out that they knew about it.

  The studio didn’t have a large staff in place. A couple of cameramen, tech guys, production personnel, the makeup people, and the reporter. Caroline and Jack were adjusting their microphones on set when she caught a flash in the corner of her eye.

  Nicky had hunted. They had numerous long guns and pistols in their home. She knew how to properly clean, load, unload, and operate a firearm. Jack tried to make her get rid of the guns after she’d been shot but Caroline vowed to hold on to them, even going so far as to sneak them out of her home in Rockville to a hiding place in the Governor’s Mansion. Time passed and Jack’s objections faded. The collection grew. She hated to think about it but the time would likely come, perhaps soon, when they would be very glad to have them.

  Caroline knew the gleam of gunmetal when she saw it, even in a dimly lit television studio. And she reacted in the same way she had in the Visitors’ Center all those years ago. She pulled Jack to the floor as fast as she could, the distinct sound of a shotgun blast fragmenting the backdrop behind them.

  It happened so quickly that no one knew what to do. The cameramen panicked and ran out of the room. The reporter literally pissed his pants. Before they even had a chance to stand up and compose themselves, the gunman was gone, yelling out an unintelligible phrase as he slammed through the back exit. No one in the studio offered to make sure they were okay. Their security chose to check on their welfare instead of chasing after the man with the shotgun. Everyone else scattered.

  After that, they weren’t asked back for any more interviews. By anyone. The incident went unreported in the media.

  They mostly confined themselves to the Governor’s Mansion from then on. Their protective details increased. But they hesitated to leave central Pennsylvania. Jack still had a job to do, no matter how difficult it had become for him to execute his duties. They didn’t want to uproot the girls. They still felt reasonably safe sending them to school and took comfort in going to Mass every Sunday at St. Margaret Mary. Their family was surrounded by people who cared about them there. It was a strong Catholic community, and the parish had embraced the governor and his family when they arrived in Harrisburg.

  Until the Sunday after the botched interview, when they went to a late morning Mass. Their security was tight but their men tried to remain i
nconspicuous. Jack, Marguerite, Sophie, and Caroline were sitting side by side in one of the rows near the center aisle of the church. Their security positioned themselves near the entrance, watching the other worshipers as they filed in. A man in a flannel jacket walked past their pew, then came back and stopped in the aisle. Caroline knelt in prayer and tried to concentrate, but felt his presence beside her. She smelled an indistinct waft of grain alcohol. She gave him a minute, hoping he was scanning the church, maybe searching for someone, then realized he was glaring at her and Jack.

  She made the sign of the cross and stood up. She could feel Jack’s eyes boring into her back.

  “Caroline, don’t,” he whispered.

  Jack motioned for Marguerite and Sophie to move further down the pew behind him. The man continued to glower at them both.

  Caroline crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for something, anything to happen. Jack stood up behind her, and she noticed out of the corner of her eye that he had placed his hands on both sides of the pew, shielding their children. He moved so close to her that his chest bumped up against her shoulders.

  The man unzipped his jacket and tucked it behind his right hip. A large caliber revolver, a .45, possibly a .50, was strapped to his waist. He rested his hand on the handle of the gun in the holster, stroking it almost lovingly, not saying a word. He waited for her response.

  Perhaps he thought she would cower or cry, or beg him to leave. Or he expected Jack to push their children down even further, leaving only the two of them exposed. Maybe he thought her husband would yank her to the floor. It wouldn’t have been an unusual act for Jack to take. But she continued to stand there, refusing to break eye contact, wondering where on earth their security could be.

  “This is a place of worship.” Jack said quietly.

  “Take your grievances elsewhere,” Caroline added, amazed that her voice was so steady.

  “We’re watching you,” the man said, right before their security finally arrived to haul him out of the church.

  Caroline grabbed the railing of the pew for support. Jack put his hand on her shoulder to steady her.