“Here,” I said. The engine of the truck was so loud she probably didn’t hear me. She nodded and smiled, putting my jacket over her other son to keep him warm.
The children’s cries were bloodcurdling. Their mouths were wide open, and their small faces covered in tears. They both stared at the soldiers with the most undiluted fear I had ever seen. They had just watched a man die, and they probably were sleeping soundly just ten minutes ago.
The soldiers ignored the children. They didn’t even look at them. It must have bothered them. I mean, what kind of person wanted to scare a child? To make them cry? I couldn’t help but wonder where the hell we were all going. After watching the man get shot, the possibilities were endless. This was probably the first time in my adult life that I wanted fewer possibilities and not more. I looked around as we turned onto the main road. Wisconsin Avenue was filled with flatbed military trucks all heading in the same direction. It horrified me to see more people being removed from their homes. This felt like a modern-day Holocaust. I glanced at the faces around me, and every one of them was terrified, half of which were quietly tearing up. The endless whine of the children’s cries was an indicator of what was to come. It reminded me of when a child misbehaves, and they are sent to timeout. Except, from what I just saw, we weren’t the ones misbehaving, but we were still being sent to timeout.
This was martial law in action. It all made sense. We were being punished for the riots that had been happening since Black Monday. Two questions spawned from that thought.
Where were we going? And how long would we be there?
The answer to that question laid in the children’s cries. They knew this would be a long timeout.
- 16 -
“Owen, wake up! Please! You’re scaring me!”
I was being shook violently. I jolted awake, gasping for air. I coughed and choked, trying to catch my breath. Rachel’s hand rested on my leg, and she combed her hair behind her ear with her fingers. The ocean breeze was blustery. It felt cool against my bare chest. Her forehead was creased, and her eyes were wide. She looked petrified.
“What the hell was that?!”
“What the hell was what?” I asked, still panting.
“You were cussing in your sleep, tossing and turning. It looked like you were struggling against someone. Did you have a bad dream?”
The children’s whining cries were still present in my mind, but they were quickly fading. The image of the man clutching his chest and coughing up blood flashed before my eyes. My breathing was shallow, and my lower lip began to tremble. I nodded yes to her, and I was suddenly blindsided by overwhelming emotion. My eyes began to glisten, and I could barely see her reaction through the blurriness. She wrapped her arms around me and pulled my head to her chest. She ran her fingers through my hair, and I started to bawl. I couldn’t help it. I let it all out. She rubbed my back lovingly, and the tears streamed down my face, running past my nose and mouth.
“Owen, you’re awake now. You’re fine. It was just a dream.”
“It wasn’t just a dream,” I groaned. “It was a memory.”
“What was it?” she pulled me closer. “Let it out, babe.”
She called me babe. I could feel her love for me, and it was beautiful.
“It was…the night…the night they took us away,” I struggled to compose myself. “The beginning of the Confinement.”
“Oh no,” she muttered. “The fifteenth…”
She remembered. We all did. That night was engraved in the minds of every American. January 15th, 2015—just ten days after the bombs on Black Monday. We were all ripped out of the comfort of our sleep and thrown into a nightmare.
“These two kids beside me watched a man get shot. They saw him die, Rachel! They were so young! He bled out right in front of us…” My voice was distorted from the sobs. “He was the first of many to die. All the ones who resisted didn’t have a fighting chance.”
“I know, Owen. I know. I remember,” she consoled, rubbing the back of my hair. “I’m sorry you had a nightmare of that night.”
My forehead began to crease in anger.
“We can’t let them win, Rachel!” I sobbed. “We can’t let whoever did this, win. Please, I don’t want it to happen again. A child should never have to see murder. This is the United States of America!” I exasperatedly shouted. “We are better than that. We can’t let them win, Rachel. Please, we have to get your story. We have to…” I mumbled over and over again. I felt Rachel’s tears hit the side of my neck.
“We will, Owen, we will. The truth will be their demise. I promise.”
Rachel opened the patio door, and I quietly followed. I used my shirt to make sure my eyes were dry. I didn’t want anyone knowing I had cried. The cooler, dryer air from the air conditioned house hit me. Rachel’s mom and aunt were cooking breakfast. The sizzles and pops of bacon in a pan were all I heard. The scent of the scrambled eggs, sausage, and bacon were mouthwatering. I could barely remember my last real meal.
Briana and Grey stared up at us. Briana was trying to swallow her food, and Grey had a forkful of eggs that slipped off and landed on his plate.
“Where did you two sleep?” Briana asked. Her hair was finally back to normal. She wore her typical, slicked-back ponytail, with her blonde ringlet curls falling to her shoulders. Grey looked like Grey; he had just changed into something other than the suit.
“The beach,” Rachel answered nonchalantly.
“You’re lucky no one recognized you,” she muttered.
“No joke,” Grey added.
I glanced at Mrs. Flores, and she was staring at the food she was cooking. From my angle, I could almost see she had a worried look on her face. I checked my watch—it was barely 6:15. Why was everyone awake so early?
Rachel’s aunt approached the table with two plates full of steaming food.
“El desayuno,” she said.
“Breakfast,” Rachel translated and gave me a flirty smirk.
“Gracias,” I said. The aunt and Mrs. Flores laughed. Briana even let out a chuckle.
“It’s your accent,” Rachel explained. “Don’t worry, you said it right.”
“At least I tried,” I laughed with them.
I sat in front of my plate filled with eggs, bacon, and sausage. It was so nice for her mom and aunt to make this, but I felt kind of guilty. We had disappeared all night. I wondered if Rachel had told her mom that she was going to the beach. Her mom was the last one to sit down at the table. Our eyes locked. I got the sense she was trying to tell me something without words.
“Remember what I said…”
Perhaps, it was just my conscience. She had asked me to keep her daughter safe, to protect her. I hadn’t forgotten. Rachel’s safety was my number one priority. What she didn’t know, didn’t hurt her…like the fact we had sex all night. I respected her mother. I didn’t have mine anymore, so it only added to the weight of her words.
“This is really good, thank you,” I spoke up.
“It’s no problem,” Mrs. Flores answered. “I wanted you all to get a good meal before you leave.”
I froze. Leave? Who said we were leaving?
Rachel glanced over at me, but she didn’t say anything. No one did. I kept eating, but her mom’s statement bothered me. Did she know something that I didn’t? I finished most of the food on my plate, and it was delicious. Grey and Briana had finished minutes ago, but they didn’t leave the table.
“Owen, can I talk to you alone?” Grey asked.
I set down my fork. His question confused me, but I returned it with a nod and stood up with him. We walked into the foyer, away from everyone else—far enough to where no one would hear. It had only been two days, and Grey’s five o’clock shadow had grown into quite a stubble.
“What’s up, man?” I asked.
His face was serious, but there was something restrained in his expression. Whatever it was, he was ready to tell me.
“I have an idea,” he said.
“Don’t freak out, okay?”
I studied his face. I had no clue where he was going with this, but it was Grey. If anyone in the group had a good idea, it would be him. He was smarter than all of us combined.
“I won’t. I swear, man.”
“We are going to Atlanta.”
“What?” my voice sounded harsh. “Why?”
“Because, I have a plan.”
I let out a long exhale. I respected Grey’s intellect. As pointless as Atlanta sounded, I was sure he had a reason behind it.
“What is it?”
“Okay, so last night when I was lying in bed, I couldn’t fall asleep. I felt down in the dumps, and I’m sure you have too with everything that happened at the airport.”
“Yes…” I mumbled. “I have. I just didn’t want to say anything on the drive here.”
“I know,” he said. “Me neither. Anyway, as bleak as it sounds, I couldn’t think of a better option than this. There isn’t much left we can do.”
I swallowed hard as Grey said those words. It was something I had thought about all day yesterday, but I didn’t want to acknowledge it as true. It took Grey saying it for it to really sink in.
“You’re right…” My words were barely audible.
“There’s a little over two weeks until the election,” he began. “We have no idea if Rachel will get her story in time. This would shake things up a bit. I’m going for shock value with this plan.”
“So, why Atlanta?”
Grey’s lips pressed into a hard line, and I could see his nervousness in telling me.
“CNN.”
“CNN?” My forehead creased.
“I’m going for shock value, remember?”
I nodded.
“After what I did at the airport, I know I could do the same thing in Atlanta. The CNN building is there. I could hack into their wireless, watch the cameras, and find out what floor the newsroom is on. You can barge in and tell the world the truth—that you were framed.”
I opened my mouth to tell him he was crazy, but I stopped myself. In actuality, he wasn’t crazy, he was right. I had nothing to lose. It was just a matter of time before they caught me, so at least I could go out with a bang.
“Okay,” I said. “When do we leave?”
“When Rachel’s done eating. I’ve already packed all of our things. Remember what Luke said? We need to get out of this state. We’ve already stayed here far too long for my liking.”
I nodded, and I walked back to the table and sat down. I ate the rest of my lukewarm food. Rachel’s eyes met mine, and it was as if I heard her voice in my head asking, ‘What was that about?’. The thought of telling her frightened me. Not because I didn’t want her knowing, but because I knew she wouldn’t be thrilled about the idea. With her plan, I would have been safe. I would have been in Moscow right now, trying to figure out what I would do with my future. With Grey’s plan, I was anything but safe. If I went on live TV, they would swarm me like an angry bee colony.
Then again, she knew just as well as I did. We couldn’t run forever. The longer Rachel and I stayed together, the greater likelihood of them catching us together. I didn’t want her to get caught, regardless of what she wanted. Her story was the most important thing to me now, not my safety. With the election being so close, this might turn things around. At least long enough for Rachel and Ian to find the other pieces of the puzzle.
Grey and Briana stood up.
“Thank you for breakfast, Marta,” Briana said as she grabbed the used plates. “Yeah, it was delicious,” Grey added. Rachel glanced between them, confused.
“Where are you guys going?” she asked.
“To pack up the car,” Grey answered.
“Why are we leaving so soon?” her voice wavered, and she stood up too.
“You remember what Luke said, Rachel. He said to get the hell out of this state. Although we feel safe here, we aren’t. It’s just a matter of time.”
“Where are we going?!”
My stomach sank from the thought of him saying Atlanta. I had no desire to be a part of the discussion that would follow. I knew Rachel would not approve of Grey’s idea, for one simple reason. She wanted me safe.
“We’ll talk about it in the car,” he replied.
Whew. Good save, Grey.
Rachel gave her aunt a hug and then said her goodbyes to her mother.
“I love you, Mom—so much.”
“Be careful, okay?” she said, squeezing her daughter in a bear hug.
“I will. I will call you once all of this is over.”
“I love you, Rachel. Para siempre.”
Briana and Grey were already in the car. Rachel released her mom and went to get in. I followed her.
“Owen,” Mrs. Flores called from behind me. I turned around and approached her. She opened her arms, suggesting that we hug. I lightly hugged her and patted her back.
“Remember what I said…” She whispered into my ear.
I released her, and we stared at each other. Her face was stone cold. She had meant what she asked of me. I nodded in understanding. I planned on honoring her request. I would keep Rachel safe at all costs. We broke our stare, and I turned toward the rental car. I got in the back seat and immediately felt Rachel’s eyes digging into the side of my face. The door thudded shut.
“Owen, where are we going?” she asked in an irritated tone.
I looked at her and felt my gut swimming around in fear of her reaction.
“Atlanta,” I said.
How had this gone so far? He had been on the run for over a week. That was seven days too long for my liking. This was a thousand times worse than when Viktor went missing. When he left New York, it was like he had disappeared into thin air. It was forgotten about in a matter of weeks. Owen’s chase had been televised daily. His reappearance in Miami only caused more coverage, and the news had fulfilled their role excellently. We were leading in the polls. The Convergence Party’s chance of winning was nonexistent. Although, the longer he remained out of our grasp, the more risk was involved. The last thing I wanted was for him to surprise us, to surprise the country. That would impede the work we have already done. It was counterproductive, and I was under strict orders to neutralize the threat Owen Marina posed to the existing establishment.
I had been chewing on my lower lip so frequently that I thought I tasted blood. I was unbelievably stressed. Angry, too—I was very angry. After what happened yesterday, I had to get out of that control room. I was so livid when I watched him escape from the Tahoe that I could have killed someone. I needed some alone time to think. What was our next move? Seven Miami officers were dead, and now the entire country was on edge. A week ago, I would have been content with Owen in handcuffs. A televised trial and then his certain prosecution. It was not like the trial mattered anyway because the election would have already been won. Now though, after what everyone saw on the news, would they want that?
The American People weren’t compassionate towards terrorists. They wanted justice, and in my experience, they saw justice as an eye for an eye. The old Owen was dead to them. He was no longer a hero, or even a citizen. He was a traitor. He didn’t deserve a right to a trial. So perhaps, we should give them what they wanted. An eye for an eye.
Three soft knocks came from my door. My head hurt too much to get up.
“Come in.”
Marc entered and sat down in the leather stationary chair. This wasn’t even my office. I hadn’t a clue whose it was. The President knew how badly me and Marc didn’t want to lose control of the White House, so he temporarily put us in charge of this operation. He knew what was at stake in this election. Someone had to do the dirty work behind closed doors, and I was happy to oblige. Marc let out a long exhale, and the bags under his eyes were more pronounced. His hair was a mess, and he just looked disheveled. I wondered how I looked…probably worse.
“Veronica,” he began, “We need to talk.�
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If it were anyone other than Marc, I would have thrown something at them and told them to get the hell out of here. This was my quiet time. I only had two hours until I went to the control room.
“Well then, let’s talk.”
I sat more upright and interlaced my fingers, resting them on my lap. I had been in politics for over twenty years, and I still loathed how uncomfortable business clothes were.
“I overheard the Intel guys saying you gave them orders that we want Owen brought in dead or alive? Have you lost your mind?”
My nostrils flared, and I felt my face contort before I had the chance to answer.
“Not yet,” I spat. “Have you?”
His forehead creased, and his eyes were wide.
“Veronica, are you kidding me?”
“No,” I replied flatly.
“The election is in the bag. Your party has taken the lead, and mine and Owen’s are trailing more and more every day. You did what the President asked of you, and now that you can sit back and relax, you choose to do the exact opposite. Why?”
“He is still out there, Marc!” I raised my voice. “A terrorist is still out there.”
He snorted and shook his head in disapproval.
“Listen to yourself!” he huffed. “We both know that is a lie, and it always has been. We created it.”
Anger began to bubble up inside me. Whose side was Marc on?
“We have seven dead cops on our hands! Do you want to just sit around and wait for Owen to pull his next stunt? Is that what you want?”
“Damn it, Veronica!” he shouted and slammed his fist on the desk. I pressed my lips together and stared at him, stunned. “I do realize that you are in charge here, but you need to remember that you were in diapers when I was in law school. I want you to get a grip of yourself! Seven dead is a drop in the hat. It makes me sick to think you have so easily forgotten about the seventeen lives that we took the night of the debate. The only reason I haven’t left Washington yet is because I need to collect my salary for a few more years before I can get the hell out of Dodge.”
The Gambit Page 33