She leaned up for a second and glanced at my last name embroidered on my pullover, and returned beside my ear.
“Mr. Bolden, I suggest you stop being so unabashed and return to just doing your job. If you prefer the contrary, you can hand me your badge and ID card now.”
She stood up and stared down at me. She had told me all of that in the quietest of whispers. I didn’t respond. I was still mulling over that bitch’s words. She threatened my family—not just me. That was the final straw. When she mentioned turning in my badge, it gave me an idea. I wouldn’t lose my cool now. It wasn’t worth it. If I blew up, she won, and that was the last thing I wanted. I had to stay calm and do as she said because I needed my badge. She might have had the power to keep me quiet temporarily, but the patriot in me couldn’t be tamed. I watched my brothers sacrifice their lives to a pointless war, the same war I served in. I had been a marionette for far too long, and people like Veronica were the ones pulling the strings. Obeying blindly was easy, so easy that I could have continued drawing my government checks forever and kept my eyes closed…but I couldn’t. My eyes were open, and I could finally see.
My office door swung open. Sharon stood in the opening with a crazed look on her face.
“Ian! Come look at the news! It’s Owen. The air marshal arrested him on a flight headed to Moscow.”
I almost spilled my coffee as I bolted out of my desk chair. Moscow. Russia doesn’t extradite to the US. Smart choice. When I entered the main office space, all the employees were crowded around the sixty inch flat screen we kept for news purposes. The station was set to CBS and a male reporter sat in front of a glass table.
“Miami PD has the entrance of the Miami International Airport surrounded. He will be escorted to Dade County Correctional Department, where he will be held temporarily until he is transported to the District of Columbia.”
My stomach sank at the thought of Rachel in handcuffs. I wondered if she was with him, and whether or not she was safe. So this was why she couldn’t tell me where she was at on the phone. They were planning to get Owen out of the country. What a shame, he was already on the plane when he got caught.
“We will be bringing you an aerial view of the transport via our CBS affiliate in Miami.”
The chatter began when the newscast went to commercial.
Sharon ran her fingers through her poufy hair, brushing the curls over her shoulder.
“They’re in big trouble, aren’t they?”
I nodded and pressed my lips together.
“Yes, they are in very big trouble…”
I felt numb…like this was all some horrible nightmare. The last time I felt this trapped was the night I was taken to the Confinement Camp. This time, though, was worse. It would have been different if I had been caught back in Midlothian, or Raleigh…but this was torture. We had made it so far. I was just short of home plate. I could have only imagined what was going through Rachel’s head. Maybe if I had a window seat I would have been a fourth of the way to Moscow by now.
It was too late for what-ifs. My road was a dead end. I had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The whole time I was on the run, I had imagined what it would feel like if I was caught, but I wasn’t prepared for the reality. Whoever created this lie had won. It was like a sick game of hide-and-go-seek, and they found me. My party’s hopes of winning the election were shot. Last night in the penthouse, out of curiosity, I turned on the news when Rachel fell asleep. The democrats had taken the lead in the election. It crushed me, seeing that. I imagined that if Cole were watching, somewhere up above, that he might have slammed a glass filled with whiskey and yell as it shattered on the ground. He would have known what to do to get me out of the trouble I was in. He knew people. He probably knew the person who orchestrated this atrocious lie. The past swirled around in my mind like a long lost dream, but reality was sharp as a knife. It was a little too late to wonder what could have been.
I adjusted my hands in the cuffs which were beginning to irritate my skin. They dug deep into my wrists from the air marshal putting them on too tight. When we turned a corner I would slide slightly on the leather seats. There were two men sitting in the front, completely silent. I was being escorted in a black Tahoe. At this point, I knew I was royally screwed. Now, all I was concerned about was the welfare of Rachel and the others.
The deep, grumbling sound of an engine filled my ears. In my peripheral, I saw a yellow Hummer about to T-bone us. Glass everywhere. The noise was deafening. My body jerked in different directions as we rolled. Over and over, crash after crash. I hung by the seatbelt at my waist as I was flung around like a ragdoll. I felt warm blood run down from my nose. Shots from automatic weapons filled the air, and behind the earsplitting sounds of crushing glass and metal, I heard something I was very familiar with.
Street bikes.
I stared at the TV screen with my mouth agape. No one spoke—just gasps as the black Tahoe transporting Owen slowly screeched to a halt. The Hummer had a massive metal guard along its grill, and it backed up and began plowing into the nearby cop cars that were firing shots out of the windows. The men on street bikes were wearing head-to-toe black, and they were shooting at any of the cops brave enough to step out of their vehicles. Who were these people?
There were probably a dozen street bikes. Four of them used what looked to be AK-47s to keep the surrounding cops at bay. The other eight or so bikes converged on the Tahoe. Their movements almost seemed coordinated.
Whoever these rogue men were—they were Owen’s last hope.
Someone grabbed my shoulders and pulled me through the shattered window of the Tahoe. Before I could process the chaos around me, the man who pulled me out took out a pair of bolt-cutters from his backpack and cut the chain connecting my handcuffs. He put a black jacket on me, and a black helmet. I now looked like him. I glanced down and saw the jacket had concealed the metal of the cuffs. I felt the blood smear on the helmet padding when I adjusted it, and I could tell I had a massive headache. I hadn’t looked to see if I was cut anywhere else. But for the most part, I felt all right. He dropped the backpack and the bolt cutters.
“Get on,” he waved his hand toward the street bike. I glanced down and saw the emblem immediately—Yamaha R1. Adrenaline shot through my veins at the thought of riding again. Regardless of what this guy may have believed, I was the better rider.
“Trust me,” I said. “Pull my arms which direction I need to go.”
“No man, get on behind me!”
A bullet whizzed past us and we both ducked.
“Listen to me,” I growled. “If you drive we will get caught. Trust me.”
I glanced up as I heard the loud whirr of helicopter blades above us. A news cameraman was recording the scene from the side opening.
The man nodded.
I hopped on the bike, and the man jumped on behind me. “Go! Go! Go! More cops are coming!” I slammed my weight down and sped up in first gear. The moment I began to drive off the other bikes followed. We were all together, weaving around traffic. I could have sworn there were more bikes…but now, there were two people on each bike.
“Crisscross! You have to crisscross!”
I weaved around and between the other bikes, and they did the same thing. All the bikes were the same color, and we were all wearing black. We all looked the same…fucking genius. We were crisscrossing so the news and the cops lost track of which bike I was on. We were approaching an intersection, and the guy tugged on the sleeve of my right arm. I cut right and sped up, and the other bikes followed suit. We merged onto an expressway, not to the liking of other drivers because we were met with blaring horns. We continued to weave and crisscross between each other, and I could still hear the chopper blades slicing through the air above me.
I had no idea our destination, but with another tug on my sleeve, all the bikes exited off the off-ramp. We slalomed through the stopped cars and turned into an intersection. I heard scraping from behind and saw in the mirrors som
eone had lost control in the turn and was sliding across the pavement. We came to a busy intersection and the man pulled my left sleeve. I whipped left and barely missed being clipped by a car. I saw in the rearview that the bikes did not follow this time. They went in other directions…
I didn’t hear the chopper blades anymore. We must have been close.
“Hurry!” the man shouted over the rushing air. I shifted into the highest gear and sped up easily into the hundreds. The man began tugging at my right sleeve.
“There! That driveway!” he pointed. I clamped on the back brakes and decelerated quickly, and in a driveway on my right, Luke was waving his hands, directing me into an open garage. I slid in, and my back tire fishtailed as I zipped up the driveway and into the garage.
My passenger slid off the bike before I even came to a complete stop. There was a white Dodge Charger with its engine idling beside us. Luke had a panicked look on his face, and I had no idea whose house we were at. A crack of lightning struck outside, immediately followed by thunder that shook the ground.
“Get in the back!” Luke shouted. “They know what to do!”
“Where’s Vinny?” I asked. I noticed he was the only one missing.
“He was the one driving the Hummer…”
I choked on my breath from the realization of what that meant. Vinny was probably in handcuffs by now. He let himself get caught. All in efforts to keep me out of their hands…and for us to find the truth before it was too late.
I scrambled around to the opposite side of the car and popped open the back-right door. Luke hurried me by pushing me down into the seat. He held open the door for a second. “Get the fuck out of Florida and don’t look back! Don’t worry about us, Rachel. Okay?”
He slammed the door closed. Briana backed out of the driveway and turned into the street. Grey was in the front seat, and he stared straight ahead. He didn’t say a word. We were going the opposite direction I had come from on the bike. It began to downpour. Briana slowed to assist her vision, and it was like a monsoon. Everything was gray, and the fat raindrops sounded like they were marbles.
“How far are we from the turnpike?” I asked.
“Not far,” Briana answered. Her voice was solemn.
I licked my lips and tasted blood. I leaned over and glanced at myself in the rearview mirror. I had tiny pieces of glass along my hairline, and everything beneath my nose was stained in dried blood. The pain was slowly starting to settle in. I hadn’t felt anything until now. I heard Rachel rustling around in her purse, and she pulled out some wipes.
“Turn around,” she said lightly. Her satiny voice was different. There was sadness in her tone. She gently wiped around my mouth and nose, the wet wipes being stained a pale red. My eyes darted across her face as she cleaned me. I stayed quiet, not wanting to break the silence. Sometimes I wished I could hear her thoughts, even if it be just for a moment. Maybe then I would know what was going on in that beautiful mind of hers. She noticed me staring, and a half-hearted smile tugged at her lips. I tried to return it, but it probably looked more doleful than hers.
Last night we were literally on top of the world. Forty stories above Miami Beach, looking out at the city as if we were kings. Now, after all of this, we were back to square one. Our plan failed. We merged onto the turnpike, heading north. I had no idea where we were going, nor did it matter. The energy in the car was nonexistent. Our morale was crushed, and no one would dare discuss the reality of the situation. We all knew the truth…that time was running out. There was a little over two weeks before the election, and we weren’t any closer to finding out who was behind this lie. Mine and Rachel’s futures didn’t look so bright, and without any conversation in the car, it was difficult to ignore. My pains amplified, as did my anxiety. No matter which direction my mind wandered, I couldn’t think of any ways to get myself out of this dilemma. It felt like the car was crushing in around me. This degree of misery was the same as the night Cole passed away—I felt hopeless…
“Ma’am, we’ve lost him…” The man’s words slipped out just above a mumble. We all knew what was to come. Veronica’s chest rose and fell rapidly with her uneven breath. I caught one of her eyes begin to twitch and her hands slowly clenched into fists.
Veronica let out a piercing, guttural scream. She slammed her fists against the desk multiple times and kept screaming until she was out of air. The whole room stared. Most of us had furrowed brows and scornful looks on our faces. She stomped and one of her heels broke in two. She let out the same childish scream again.
“We had him!” she pouted. “We fucking had him in handcuffs!”
No one said a word.
“Oh, they are going down if it’s the last goddamn thing I do!” she growled and ran her fingers through her scalp. Her eyes were wide and her teeth were clenched. She was livid—beyond livid, actually.
“Ms. Hall, they followed the paths of as many bikes as they could. Four riders were arrested, and the guy who drove the Hummer is already in the slammer. They tried.”
That poor soul just shot himself in the foot. Veronica scowled at him. I thought she might have ripped his head off if she could.
“I don’t want to hear it! Shut your goddamn mouth! Yeah, they arrested everyone except Owen! The President doesn’t want to catch the people who helped him, he fucking wants Owen!”
Her voice trembled with rage.
“No, no! This shit does not fly with me. We are done fucking around trying to catch Owen.” She whipped around, and with an outstretched index finger she pointed at all of us. “Effective immediately, we want him brought in dead or alive.”
I felt the blood leave my face. Her words struck me like a dagger in the heart. All the freedoms I served to protect during my tours overseas were being tossed aside casually. No right to a trial. No lawyer. She wanted him dead. I cringed at the thought. The saddest notion was that the American People would never know what really happened. In their eyes, he was a terrorist, and if he died, his death would be perceived as justice. The punishment would fit the crime.
It was the furthest from justice you could possibly get.
“All the double shifters, you are relieved! Go home, now!”
I stood up and slung my briefcase over my shoulder. She didn’t have to tell me twice. I could barely stand being in the same room as the wretched bitch. I would finally be able to see my wife and kids. I glanced down at my watch. Ahh, I would get to see the sunset. It had been almost three days since I saw the sun. I hurried for the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby. The elevator shot up ten floors and a ding sounded. As the doors slid open, the daylight that spilled through was blinding. I walked out slowly to let my eyes adjust. When they finally did, I made my way through the lobby and headed for the main entrance. The receptionist gave me a warm smile as I neared the revolving door.
“Get some rest, Lucas.”
“I plan on it,” I replied and let out a laugh. The October air was nippy, and as I walked across the street to the parking garage, I noticed I could breathe easier. I wasn’t as tense. The stress of working under that evil woman was killing me. I smiled, because I had decided my fate in the moments after mine and Veronica’s exchange of words. She threatened me, and I kept my cool. I still had my badge and my ID. I knew I would never step foot in that building again. I was done with the CIA forever.
I would use my power for the greater good. I was finished sitting on the sidelines, helplessly watching this great country crumble before me. It was time to join the resistance. Owen was not alone in his endeavor. I, Lucas Bolden, was plus one in the fight to save us all.
I put on my pea coat and gathered my belongings. The writing staff would be here late tonight. After the pandemonium in Miami, it had to be the cover story. The footage of the Hummer slamming into the Tahoe replayed in my mind over and over. Owen got away by the skin of his teeth. If those bikes wouldn’t have weaved around each other, he would have been caught again. Even those watching like myself
lost track of which bike he was on.
It was a relief, because I knew when I saw Owen being transported from the airport that they would go after Rachel next. When he was still at large, he was the first target. Not her. I doubted I would be able to get any real sleep tonight worrying about them. I promised Emilio when Rachel was born that if anything were ever to happen to him, I would take care of her like she was my own child. I couldn’t fall back on my promise. A glare caught my eye.
I turned back around to see the sun dipping below the horizon, obscured by the towering buildings of Manhattan. The rays of light were fragmented and illuminated the office in spots.
“Everyone,” I began in an assertive tone. “I told you once, but I’ll tell you again. Any calls, faxes, emails—anything regarding Owen—gets directed to my office. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I headed towards the elevator and pressed the button to go down. My stomach fluttered as it sped thirty-eight stories down to the P1 parking level.
My phone vibrated. It was ringing.
Home
I picked it up. “Hello?”
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, Son. Is everything all right?”
“Yes, are you on your way home?”
“About to be,” I answered and unlocked my car.
“I can’t believe he got away…”
“Shit, you’re telling me.”
There was a pause.
“Has you-know-who called?”
“No, she hasn’t. I just hope she’s safe…”
Grey stretched his arms out, emitting a drawn-out yawn. We cruised slowly down the coastal highway, and I gazed out at the ocean on my right. I wished I could have held on to that feeling of peace it gave me. Worry always crept back into my mind.
We had been driving for a little over three hours, and so far we hadn’t run into any problems. Briana was smart for renting the Charger, it looked like an undercover cop car. I wasn’t sure if that was the motive, because none of us had talked the entire time besides Rachel. She spoke up to direct us from time to time. My body ached all over. While she was cleaning me, Rachel had expressed concern that I might have a concussion, but my head felt fine. Most of my pain was elsewhere. I didn’t know which hurt worse, my physical pain, or the pain I felt inside. In times like these I wished I could have just talked to my mother again. Her advice was always golden. Although, in a situation like this, it might not have helped—but it still would have comforted me.
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