Lockdown (Fugitive Marines Book 3)

by David Ryker

  So Quinn began telling the story once again. It felt like a tall tale even as he told it, a story he might read in a book or see in some old movie on the public archives. But it had all happened, and the threats they faced were real. The fact that they were in Frank King’s home, telling the story, was surreal enough, but to know that he was behind them and ready to help—Quinn was starting to believe that things might actually work out for them.

  Once again, Frank King was giving people hope, even if only on a small scale. But he was giving it to the people who needed it the most.

  King sat quietly rapt as he listened Quinn tell the tale. When he was done, Quinn lifted his hands and shrugged.

  “And then you shocked the hell out of us in the container upstairs,” he said. “The rest you know.”

  King stared at him, unblinking, long enough to make Quinn uncomfortable. Finally, he sat back and rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes.

  “Incredible,” he said. “I knew who Toomey was, obviously, but I never realized he was insane. It’s dangerous having him en route to meet that alien intelligence. He’s a genius—I’m not exaggerating when I use that word, his measured IQ is well over 200—but he’s severely lacking in the empathetic instincts that drive humans to work together. He lives for knowledge, and to advance science and technology. He’ll be willing and eager to help those aliens once he arrives.”

  “So you know he was involved in your kidnapping?” asked Quinn.

  King nodded. “That and other things, yes.”

  “Other things like who hired him?”

  “Let’s not go there for now, Mr. Quinn. I promise we’ll talk about this at length, but not today.”

  “So what are we supposed to do now?” asked Ellie. “You say you can help us, but how will you do that?”

  Bishop put a hand on her shoulder. “Not now, Ellie.”

  “Why not?” Gloom asked defiantly. “We don’t know this guy. Ulysses, are you with me?”

  Ulysses held his hands up in surrender. “I dunno nothin’ bout any o’ this,” he said. “I’m gonna trust Quinn on this one and foller his lead.”

  Quinn looked King in the eye. “What are you suggesting we do, sir?”

  “My people will get you back to San Francisco and drop you outside your building. The guards have likely been searching for you already, but we can avoid them when we drop you off. Then you can let them find you and bring you in.”

  “Then what?”

  “Drake is still looking at this from the angle of a political crisis. Tell him that you know the public is on your side, and you want to be able to move freely. Demand it.”

  Quinn raised an eyebrow. “What if he says no?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that,” King said with a grin. “You people need the freedom to move and distance yourself from the government.”

  “What’s the next move, then?” asked Bishop. “We need to stop Kergan and Toomey from opening that wormhole.”

  King shrugged. “What should your next step be once you’re free, Mr. Quinn? Whatever it is, I’ll do my best to help.”

  Quinn caught Schuster about to speak and cut him off before he could start. King wasn’t the only one with secrets they wanted to keep.

  “We’ve got a way to build some technology that will help us get to Oberon,” he said quickly. “But we’ll need resources.”

  King looked at him for several beats. “All right, I get it. Mum’s the word. I’m fairly certain that Drake will be able to get you whatever you need, but if he can’t, or won’t, I’ll do what I can.”

  “How do we contact you?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll keep in touch with you.” He smiled gently. “I’m afraid you’ll have to trust me.”

  “Yuir about th’only person we can trust, sir,” said Maggott. And I’d just like t’say, I fer one am glad t’have ye on our side.”

  “Hear hear,” said Bishop. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m starting to believe we might actually pull this off.”

  “I appreciate your confidence,” said King. He glanced at his wrist. “We’d best get you out of here and back to San Francisco. I apologize in advance for the fact that you’re probably not going to be greeted with open arms by your guards.”

  “Why should they be any different?” Chelsea griped.

  She’d meant it as a complaint, but as soon as it was out of her mouth, she and the others realized how hilarious it was. The laughter that followed was welcome and cathartic, at least until the leader of the smart suit unit showed up to usher them all back into the airship.

  “Godspeed,” said King, gripping Quinn’s offered hand. “If anyone can do this, it’s you people.”

  “Thank you,” said Quinn, feeling a swell of pride. “From your lips to God’s ear.”

  From a few hundred meters up, the woman in the smart suit pointed toward a square a few blocks from the tower where they had been staying.

  “I’ll drop you there,” she said. “There’s no police presence around right now, and plenty of commuter traffic, so we should be able to get in and out of the alley without being seen.”

  “Who are you?” Quinn asked out of the blue. He hadn’t said more than ten words to her since they’d left San Jose. “How did you end up working for, you know, him?”

  “That’s on a need-to-know basis,” she said. “Guess what you don’t need to know?”

  He shrugged. “Had to try.”

  “Of course you did. Just like earlier, and what’d that get you?”

  “Point taken.”

  The rotors kicked up some dust as the airship descended slowly into the paved alley. There were three other similar ships doing the same thing, so the group didn’t look unusual as they disembarked, or at least no more unusual than they always looked. They merged into pedestrian traffic and followed it out of the alley and into the square as the airship lifted off again, just another ship taking advantage of the brilliant, pollution-free blue skies over San Francisco.

  “Ah still cain’t get over this,” said Ulysses as the daylight hit him square in the eye. “I ain’t never seen the sun this bright from the ground before.”

  Gloom grinned. “And I can’t get over what a bunch of fangirls you Jarheads were with—”

  Quinn shot her a curdling glare and she frowned. “With you-know-who. I mean, what’s so great about him? He was just a politician.”

  “We may owe you our lives, but that doesn’t mean we need to explain ourselves,” he said. “Especially to you, Ms. Mystery.”

  She shrugged. “Touché.”

  Maggott saw them first and raised his big hands into the air. A moment later the rest followed suit as a dozen men in militia uniforms carrying shock rifles rushed into position and surrounded them.

  “Mr. Quinn,” said a soldier who appeared to be the leader. “You’ve led us on quite the merry chase. It’s time to go home, sir.”

  “I would have thought they’d send Marines to bring us in,” said Quinn, not passing up the chance to be an ass.

  “I think you know why that didn’t happen, sir.” The leader glanced nervously around the square as people began stopping and pointing. They were being recognized.

  “Hey!” a man in a suit yelled from the base of a statue of Ronald Reagan. “Is that the Jarheads?”

  “Let’s move, sir,” the leader said quickly. “The transport is waiting.”

  A small crowd had begun to gather around Reagan’s feet, some raising their wrist devices to record video of the group being carted away. Quinn couldn’t resist turning and waving.

  “Thank you for your concern,” he said. “But it’s okay. It’s just our escort!”

  A clamor of shouts and cheers rose from the crowd at that, and Quinn felt a wave of unreality. It was the polar opposite of the shouts of rage after their conviction on the treason charges that had sent them to Oberon One in the first place. By the looks on their faces, Bishop, Schuster and Maggott were thinking the exact sam
e thing.

  Frank King is alive, Quinn told himself giddily. And he’s on our side.

  But when they walked into the expansive lobby of the building from which they had so recently been quasi-abducted, Drake was there to greet them, and the look on his face said he was definitely not on their side.

  9

  Drake managed to keep his temper while the militia soldiers were still there, but that all changed after he’d dismissed them and they were alone in the building foyer with only the security drone was watching.

  “What the hell is the matter with you?” he bellowed, his hawk face red. Outside, Quinn saw people walking past the mirrored lobby windows, oblivious to what was going on behind them. “Do you have some compulsive need to escape, is that it? Do I need to bring in a psychiatrist?”

  Quinn decided the best way to play the situation was aggressively, particularly to avoid any unpleasant questions about where they were and how they’d escaped. Luckily the building’s suites were soundproof and none of the other residents would have heard the commotion when they were being abducted.

  “We wanted out, Drake,” he snarled. “We were locked up for two years before we got here, and we’ve been on the run since we landed. We’re sick and tired of not being able to do what we want.”

  “So instead of talking to me, you just take off?” Drake fumed.

  Quinn shrugged. “Seemed like the most expedient way to do it.”

  “I’ll show you expedient, you insubordinate—”

  Maggott, despite his bulk, was instantly between the two men, glowering down at Drake.

  “I wouldnae do that,” he warned. “Yuir drone is fast, but I reckon I can do a lot o’ damage before it drops me.”

  “An’ I’ll take care a whatever’s left,” said Ulysses, his hands on his hips.

  “Guh, what’s that smell?” Gloom waved a hand under her nose. “Oh, it’s all that testosterone.”

  “Stow it, all of you,” Quinn said evenly. “We want our freedom, Drake, it’s that simple.”

  “Is it, now?” he asked with mock surprise. “Oh, well, I’m glad you cleared that up for me. Listen, Marine, that stunt you pulled could have blown up in all our faces. Those militia men told me how much of a crowd you drew just in the space of a few minutes. With the current environment, there’s no predicting what might happen to you out there. I know for a fact the Children of Saul would love to have your head on a platter, Quinn, and they’d happily take the others with you. And that’s just the first example off the top of my head.”

  Quinn knew that Drake had a genuine argument, but he also knew that their current situation wasn’t going to work. Without freedom to move, they ran the risk of being stuck in limbo until it was too late. He didn’t know much about the network, but he knew the attention span of the cortical reality crowd in the world’s Towers was short, and they’d soon move on to the next big thing. If they didn’t jump on this movement now, they could very likely wake up one day to find an armada in the skies.

  And he couldn’t deny that King’s ideas carried a lot of weight. He didn’t have to listen to the man, but he wanted to, because right now, he was the only person outside of his own group who Quinn actually trusted.

  “We survived in space prison for two years and then escaped and made it back to Earth,” he said. “After that we fought off cyborg mercenaries for a while. I think we can handle ourselves.”

  “I disagree,” Drake said gravely. “And unfortunately for you, my word is the one that carries here. You’re not going anywhere.”

  “I disagree,” said a tinkling voice from the other side of the lobby. “And unfortunately for you, Tribune Drake, my word is the one that carries here. Or it will be once I pass this information along to the High Court.”

  They all turned to see an athletically built woman with Asian features carrying a slim briefcase, wearing a severe blue suit and a look that said zero shit would be tolerated, striding toward them across the foyer. The click of her shoe heels on the polished marble floor echoed through Quinn’s head and made him immediately think of a school principal for some reason.

  Drake goggled at her, obviously astounded by her audacity.

  “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

  The woman extended her hand, which he ignored. “I’m Tiffany Tranh, Mr. Tribune. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

  “Tiffany Tranh?” Chelsea’s eyes widened. “Holy shit!”

  Quinn saw Drake’s expression melt as soon as the woman had said her name, which he found more exasperating than satisfying. He was tired of everyone seeming to know things he didn’t.

  “Who are you?” Quinn asked. “What am I missing here?”

  “I’m your new attorney,” said the woman, extending the same hand to Quinn, only he took it.

  “I didn’t order an attorney,” he said, turning to the others. “Did one of you?”

  They all pleaded ignorance. “Chelsea?” he asked. “You’ve got money.”

  “Not me,” she said, holding her hands up in surrender. “I can’t access my trust fund without a lot of legal rigmarole. All I’ve got is the fifty grand in my wristband, and that would barely cover an hour of Tiffany Tranh’s time. She’s been representing the rich and famous for ten years now. Don’t you watch the network?” She stopped Quinn before he could answer. “Sorry, I forgot.”

  “I was retained by an interested third party,” said the lawyer, turning back to Drake. “Now, Mr. Tribune, I believe we were discussing my clients’ inalienable right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. None of which they currently have access to, if I’m correct.”

  “This is a government matter—”

  “Plath V Hasselback, 2083, and I quote: Under no circumstances will a citizen of any faction be held by any law enforcement agency, government body or court without properly filed charges and representation. Are my clients charged with anything by the police, the militia or the Trilateral Department of Justice?”

  Drake appeared to be flummoxed by the question. Finally, he said, “I could have them charged with escaping custody this afternoon. There’s plenty of evidence and witnesses.”

  Tranh nodded, a look of intense interest on her face. “I see. And why were they being held in custody in the first place, Mr. Tribune? Of what crime do they stand accused?”

  Drake glared at Quinn, who shrugged.

  “Breaking out of prison, for starters,” the tribune said. “Theft of SkyLode property.”

  “Mm-hm,” said Tranh. “And these charges have been formally filed with the authorities, of course? Against all nine of them?”

  “Obviously not,” Drake sputtered. Quinn bit back a smile as the old man reached into his breast pocket for his nitro spray.

  “So no charges have been filed,” Tranh said, glancing at her wrist display. “That’s established. That alone is enough to let them walk out of here right now. But once we add in the extenuating circumstances of their wrongful conviction in the first place, I’d say the prison break charges won’t go anywhere anyway. As for stealing a ship, they were in fear for their lives. They had no choice, and they brought it home undamaged.”

  “Relatively,” Schuster pointed out.

  “I like her!” Bishop said with a wide grin.

  Drake’s eyes widened. “Coker!” he gasped, shaking an index finger. “He’s a known criminal! There’s no evidence that he was wrongly convicted, so he definitely broke out of prison!”

  Ulysses cocked his head and looked at Tiffany. “He’s got yuh there, ma’am.”

  She smiled. “I’m filing a lawsuit against SkyLode Corporation, and the Trilateral Government, on behalf of my client for damages, due to the cruel and unusual treatment he received while an inmate on Oberon One.”

  “Oh, for the love of—”

  “You may like her, Bishop, but I’m in looove,” Ulysses cooed.

  Quinn thought he saw the corners of Tiffany’s mouth curl up just a tiny bit at that, but she was quickly all busin
ess again.

  “Let’s get down to brass tacks,” she said. “We both know this custody is little more than a black operation to keep my clients from speaking to the public or media without your oversight. You’ll try to cry ‘national security’ over the situation, but we both know that argument was tossed out by the High Court after the discovery of the Prometheus site in Antarctica.”

  “I think maybe I’m in love, too,” Ben muttered to Gloom.

  Tiffany stood with her fists on her hips, her briefcase on the floor in front of her, her eyes locked on Morley Drake’s. Quinn thought he himself might be afraid if he was the target of that glare.

  The two stared at each other for a long time before Drake finally sighed and dropped his head.

  “Fine,” he said. “You win. They can go.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Tribune.” She turned to the others. “I have a transport waiting outside.”

  “Not so fast,” said Drake. “There’s a caveat to all this, and I don’t care who your lawyer is: maintain radio silence. Quinn, I think you recognize how important that is, but I want to impress it on the rest of you. Putting your information out there was a desperate ploy, and God help me, I actually applaud you for it. But we need to have a plan in place before we go telling the public any more about it.”

  “What do you suggest?” asked Bishop. “Just say ‘no comment’ to everyone who asks?”

  Ben held up a hand. “I think I can help with that. We just tell everyone to wait for the Foster Kenya exclusive that we’re working on. That should buy us some time.”

  “That’s a risk to you,” said Quinn. “You’re outing yourself. It might end your career as an outlaw journalist.”

  “I think we all need to get used to the fact the world is about to change in a very fundamental way.” He grinned. “I’ll just be ahead of the curve.”

  “Ye’re welcome to be an intern Jarhead till ye figure out yuir next move,” said Maggott.