by Hodgson, Jim
The familiar sound of cycling shoes clicking out of bike pedals and panting breaths that signified the return of the riders came from outside the gym door. Faith ran out, half expecting Miguel to grab her, stop her, but he didn’t.
Outside the door Buck was off his bike. He started to greet her, saying, “Hey, was that—” But she cut him off by grabbing him and holding him tight. She’d meant to run out and tell him what was happening, but when she saw him, she just wanted to be held by him. He was sweaty, but she didn’t care.
He squeezed her back, and she found her voice. She let him go.
“It’s awful,” she said. “Everything is awful. Barker is here, and Miguel’s guys grabbed him. He’ll go back to New Lyon. Tell them everything. And my brother will be ex—” She couldn’t bear to say it. Executed. Tears welled in her eyes. She couldn’t say the word. Executed. She could think it but not say it. Thinking it was fear, but saying it would make it real.
She had to see what was happening to Barker. He might be a controlling sociopath asshole, but he was also her fiancé. She left Buck and crossed the parking area to the double doors leading to the basement, expecting to find them closed and locked. But they stood open. Miguel was inside, along with the two Miami guys who still held Barker. Should she call them henchmen now? What were they? Not riders. Thugs? They muscled a protesting Barker into a chair and secured him to a nearby metal shelf with a pair of zip ties. The shelves were bolted to the floor and wall. He wouldn’t be pulling loose from them anytime soon.
Barker was still shouting things like “I demand to know the meaning of this!” and “You are making a grave mistake!” and Miguel was attempting to calm him.
“I realize this may seem unnecessary and cruel, sir, but I am afraid we cannot trust you at the moment,” Miguel said. “We will have to detain you for a short time.”
Barker’s face was nearly purple with rage. “Detain me? How dare you! Do you know who I am?” Flecks of spittle flew from his lips as he shouted. He strained to move his hands, but they didn’t budge. “Undo these at once! You—”
Barker stopped mid-sentence when he saw Faith standing at the door.
“You!” he screamed. “You stupid whore, this is all your fault! I should have known you’d never make a proper wife, coming from such a family.” He spit on the floor. “Well, you can fucking forget it, ma chérie! You may have the looks of a trophy, but you are a burden, do you hear me? A burden! And I’ll tell you another thing, you dumb cu—”
Miguel’s slap to Barker’s face sounded like a rifle shot in the basement. It bounced off the rectangular room’s cement-block walls and cascaded over itself, sounding almost like some sort of digital effect. Barker’s mouth hung open, and his head rocked back with the force of the blow. He goggled at Miguel, his eyes looking as though they wanted to pop directly out of his face like ripe grapes.
Miguel’s face, too, bore the heat of rage now, but he contained it, directed it—rode it like a stallion. “Compose yourself, señor!” he hissed. “You embarrass us all.” Barker looked around the room and into the stony faces of the Miami henchmen, who looked to Faith like they wanted to do a bit more than just deliver an open-hand slap. Barker looked at Faith; tears were leaking out of her eyes. She saw no trace of remorse in his face. If anything, he looked smug. Faith realized then what kind of husband he would have been. Cruel. Petty. Brutal.
“Now listen to me, señor,” Miguel continued, controlled and smooth as ever. “As I have said, I regret that we must keep you here against your will, although now that I have seen how you speak to Señorita Racing when you are angry, I know what kind of man you are. A small one, I think. I am glad for her that you have dissolved your engagement. But if you can compose yourself and act with dignity, you have my word that your stay here will be as comfortable as it can be. Do you understand?”
Barker nodded. His face had lost some of the purple color of his indignant rage, and Faith could make out the red outlines of Miguel’s fingers.
“Good,” Miguel said. He turned to Faith. “Would you like to say anything?”
Faith had a memory of being at her childhood best friend’s mother’s funeral. The priest was asking her friend if she’d like to say anything at the service, and her friend didn’t know whether or not she should. “Well,” the priest said, “in my experience, if you don’t know for sure that you absolutely must say something, you probably shouldn’t.”
Faith felt like that now. What could she say to this tiny man who’d hurt her, taken her gym from her? She didn’t have any love for him. He’d just made himself her only hope, so she’d clung to him. He’d never even bothered to give her a ring. At least now she wouldn’t have to sleep with him. She’d been dreading that. But what would happen to her brother?
In the end she just shook her head. She felt a hand on her shoulder and realized someone was standing beside her. She looked up to find Buck’s face, his features performing the symphony of emotions that should be in a man’s face in such a turbulent situation. He was concerned, angry, supportive, and ready to comfort her, hold her—ready to try to understand her.
“Oh, very nice,” Barker said. “You’ve been busy down here, I see—” Miguel raised his hand slightly as a warning, and Barker shut up.
When he was quiet again, Miguel nodded his satisfaction. He straightened, adjusted his coat, and then continued. “Now we will take our leave, señor. My men will make this space more comfortable for you.”
Faith wondered what they would do about the guns. Would Barker use one of those if he got loose? They were out of his reach, and Barker looked pretty well attached to the shelf, but still . . . Did he have the guts to shoot people? Maybe, if he was mad enough. If someone made him feel small, he would certainly strike out to make himself feel big.
Miguel nodded then gave a significant look to his men. They got busy taking rifles off the racks, checking that they weren’t loaded. Presumably they were going to move them somewhere. Faith turned to go and saw that the riders were all standing around. Everyone had seen what happened.
“Why don’t you all shower?” Miguel asked. “We will have something to eat and I will share a few things with you.”
The riders nodded. The twins had grim looks on their faces. Jose said a few quiet words in Spanish that Faith thought sounded along the lines of “okay, let’s move along.” Buck headed up with them to shower.
Faith sat at the table in the dining area, in her usual place next to Buck’s, but figured if she was sitting around, she might as well help Miriam in the kitchen.
Miriam was reluctant at first, but after she saw Faith chop an onion with a modicum of skill she let her handle a few other tasks. After a few minutes, everyone was washed up and dinner was simmering. Miguel and LeMond were at the table. Miriam gestured with a head nod that she could handle dinner from here and Faith should sit with the rest. A few of Miguel’s guys were missing, probably still in the basement moving guns around and situating Barker.
Miguel stood then appeared to think better of it and sat back down. He smiled. “I was thinking I should stand up when addressing this many people, but then I remembered we are all friends. Almost like a family. So I will sit.”
A few nervous laughs went around the table.
He went on. “What I am about to tell you is made of many secrets. I know I can trust each and every one of you, so I do not have to ask for your discretion, but I will say it anyway as a reminder to myself as much as to you. As you know, political relations between Miami and the French have never been good. What you do not know is that the French will not occupy New France much longer.”
Faith thought Miguel might possibly be making another joke, but his face was deadly serious. She looked around the table; the Miami riders looked serious, but she didn’t see questions in their faces. They already knew. So did the security team, it seeme
d. Or henchmen, or whatever they were.
Miguel continued. “It does not make it into the French news, but the French forces overextended themselves when they attempted to take Mexico. They have bled themselves dry. Soon, their line will break, and the Mexicans will liberate this land from French oppression, starting with the southwest but eventually moving into the mainland. We,” he said, pausing for emphasis and sweeping his hand in a circle to include everyone, “are a significant part of that plan.”
Faith looked at Buck. He turned to look back at her. His face bore traces of the same questions floating around in her head.
“The French are a great people,” Miguel said. “But they are also vain. They think everything is wine and cheese and cycling. These things are important, of course. Perhaps even essential. But not everything. I have been tasked by the Mexicans to help create a diversion so the Mexican attack on the French oppressors will have a greater chance of success.”
“How are you going to do that?” Buck asked.
“By forming a Miami cycling team to win New France’s precious Nationals race,” Miguel said, spreading his hands to indicate that it was the reason they were all here.
LeMond was smiling. He’d known about this plan already. Had he known about it when he brought Buck and Faith to the café? He must have.
“I am sorry I had to keep my true intentions secret,” Miguel said. “I did so to protect you, and also because I know you are all professionals. You train and compete because you love it. You do not need any more reason than that. But trust me when I say you have a reason: the eventual liberation of the former United States from French occupation.”
“Okay, but why all the guns in the basement?” Faith asked.
Miguel inclined his head slightly, as if to indicate he’d thought about that too. “This facility is excellent for our purposes, but it is also a strategically sound location for the Mexican army. Before we came here, it was disused except as a storage depot. I asked that they please remove the weapons from the premises, and I was told it would be done, but the Mexicans are busy planning to drive the French back to France once and for all, so it has not happened yet. Governments, no?” He smiled. “But they have sent a few men to assist us and serve as security.”
“So you’re supporting me to race at Nationals,” Buck said.
LeMond cut in before he could continue. “—to win at Nationals.”
Buck went on. “Okay, but supporting me as a distraction? So that the French will be more likely to lose to the Mexican liberators?”
“Si,” Miguel said. “It is not the only plan, but that is our mission, yes.”
Buck appeared to think about it. He looked at Faith, and she shrugged. She certainly had no love for the French.
“As long as I get to race bikes, I guess,” Buck said.
Miguel nodded. “Oh yes. You will race. I am told you are now as strong as you have ever been, if not stronger. I believe we stand a chance of seeing a good result.”
“I certainly think so,” LeMond said.
“I think so, too,” Faith said. She smiled at Buck. He smiled back.
“We will race!” Jose said, looking around the table at his fellow riders.
“Race!” they called in agreement.
Miguel beamed. “Yes, race! It will be a sight to see.”
“How will the attack start?” Faith asked. She didn’t like to break the we-will-race momentum, but she had so many questions.
“I do not know everything,” Miguel said, his brow knitting. “But I have heard speculation it will start by cutting off the New France supply of oil, which comes through the port of New Orleans. The oil-producing nations in the Middle East have no love of France and are backing the Mexicans. Soon, the French will not be able to move men or supplies and will have to surrender. This may already have begun without our knowledge. The French are careful about the information they release to the media, and we have all been busy.”
“Will the lack of oil affect us?” Buck asked.
“Perhaps,” Miguel said. “We will fly to Nationals a week from tomorrow. Then we will pick up vans in Denver and drive them back here when the race is over. We are predicting difficulty in air travel by that time.”
“Difficulty?” Faith asked. “Like, the sky will be full of war planes difficulty?”
Miguel shook his head. “I do not think so, no. Merely a lack of fuel. Higher prices. No fuel, no planes, no cars.”
“There’s another problem,” Buck said. “Faith’s brother. He’s in New Lyon. The man you are detaining downstairs is the only thing keeping him alive.”
Faith felt a surge of emotion. Buck was thinking about her and her concerns, not just about his race.
Miguel’s face darkened. He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a cell phone, which Faith recognized as being the one the security guys had taken off Barker. “This is Señor Barker’s phone. I have downloaded its contents and sent the data to my superiors in case anything important could be learned.” Miguel paused, either considering how to phrase his next sentence or just dreading saying it. Perhaps both. “It would seem Señor Barker has worked with the New Lyon government on your brother’s case. But he has not put off the execution. He has scheduled it as soon as possible. In one month’s time.”
Chapter 16
Buck knew Faith was fast. She wasn’t an endurance athlete, but a lot of her workouts focused on explosive movements: box jumps and the like. When it came to short distances, she was lightning quick. He wasn’t as surprised as everyone else when she leapt from her seat, grabbed the phone off the table, and headed out of the dining room. He knew where she was going, too. Down into the basement to confront Barker. He had no love for the man, but he couldn’t let Faith do anything she’d regret later. After all, Barker was surrounded by automatic rifles. Even if Faith didn’t shoot him, she could club Barker senseless with one of them in no time. Was she that angry? He didn’t know. Maybe. Anger can be a terrible intoxicant.
He was no more than a meter behind her as she pounded down the stairs and out the door, taking a right to head around the building. The basement doors were still open, and one of the Miami security guys was walking along with an armload of rifles. He turned to watch Faith rush past but made no move to stop her.
“Faith!” he called. “Stop. Just a second. Hey. Wait!”
She was hearing none of it, and was just out of reach when she rounded the corner and headed into the basement. She stopped abruptly just inside the door, and Buck bumped into her.
“Why, you bastard?” she demanded, her voice thick with emotion.
Barker was in a corner now. The security guys had found a cot and set it up in the back of the room so he could lie down if he wished. The last of the rifles had been removed, but the racks where they’d been stored were still there.
“Why what?” Barker asked. His face was blank, but his gaze was thick and malevolent.
“Michael!” Faith yelled. She took a step toward Barker, and the man shrank like a rat into a corner.
Buck was prepared to tackle her if he had to, but then, could he really stop her? She was awfully strong.
Barker gave a little laugh. “I thought you and your traitor friends might read my emails,” he said. “Figures. But don’t worry. That will be added to your list of crimes. Someone will come looking for me soon enough and you’ll all find out what it means to—”
He was cut off mid-sentence by the cell phone rebounding off the wall inches from his head. Amazingly, it didn’t break. It took a chip of cement out of the wall, and Barker blinked to clear his eyes of a piece of dust. Then he was glaring again.
“I said ‘why,’ you son of a bitch,” Faith said, her voice low now. “Why Michael?”
Barker lifted his chin to peer down his nose. “For the same reaso
n I closed your stupid gym. To teach you a lesson about who your betters are.”
Faith breathed in, filling her lungs before nodding. Buck waited for her to grab Barker and throttle him, but she didn’t move. Her calm worried him almost as much as when she was yelling or throwing things. Maybe more.
“I’ll tell you what I think,” she said. “I think you just couldn’t handle that first rejection. When you asked me out after class that first time. You’re so petty, so small, and so cruel that you did all this to get back at me.”
Barker scoffed. “Hah, don’t flatter yourself. Your brother’s a thief and he deserves what he gets. Now you’re a traitor, and you do too. You’re both traitors, and I’ll see you hang for it. Oh, and another thing—I cheated on you. How do you like that, you dishrag whore?”
“No you didn’t,” came a voice from the doorway. Buck turned to see Miguel entering the basement once again. “You tried to, but you didn’t actually do it.”
“Oh yes I did. It was amazing. I’m getting hot just thinking about it.”
“Then why did you send an email to a ‘Marguerite’ apologizing for ‘last night’ and saying you were ‘just tired from working?’ Sounds to me like your little jalapeño isn’t too spicy.”
“I sent no such thing,” Barker said. He tried to cross his arms defensively, forgetting that one hand was tied to a metal shelf.
“But you did,” Miguel said, plucking the cell phone off the floor. “I can find the messages in here. I will just search the emails . . .”
“It doesn’t matter,” Barker said. “Technically our bodies touched, and that is sex. I can get any woman I—”