by Tracy Lawson
Nothing happened. “Am I doing this right?” Still no response. His body sagged, and he dropped his head to the desk. “Are you kidding me?”
Then he heard a voice, and for a moment he imagined a two-inch-tall Mitch perched on his shoulder, like a cartoon incarnation of his conscience. But would he be dressed as an angel or devil? It was hard to know for sure.
“Hey! Yeah, I can hear you. Everything all right?” Mitch was breathing hard, like he’d been running.
“What’s going on? Are you okay?”
There was a rustling sound and something that could’ve been the crackling of logs in a fireplace. “Yeah, sure.”
“Okay, if you say so. You’re never gonna believe what happened today. Long story short—I’ve got a meeting with the president in half an hour.”
“Great! I’ll be right there with you. Looking forward to it.”
11:20 AM
Quadrant DC-001
Careen woke, disoriented, to complete darkness. She winced as she curled into a ball and wrapped her arms around her middle. She took slow, measured breaths, hoping it would help her overcome the panic that gripped her. Where am I? She wasn’t at home, where she always left a light burning to allay her fears of the dark. It took a minute for her brain to clear enough to remember what had happened. She counted to one hundred while she waited for her eyes to adjust to the inky darkness, but still she could see nothing. Finally, curiosity outweighed her fear, and she tried to get a sense of her surroundings.
She was so achy and sore that any movement brought protests from her muscles. She let her brain flash quickly through everything that had happened since she went into the student center in search of Tommy and Wes; lingering too long on any one memory would upset her tenuous grip on her emotions. She still had no idea where she was and reached out with one arm until she touched the edge of the bed. There were no rails, so it wasn’t a hospital bed. Her heart leaped when she realized her wrists were bare; the crazy-person restraints and the bandages on her hands were gone. Her fingers eagerly sought more clues. The bed linens were soft and warm and felt expensive. She was wearing pajamas made of some kind of slippery fabric. Satin? The bandage was gone from her head, but one remained on her cheek.
Her fingers brushed the edge of the nightstand and found a lamp. She switched it on and gasped as the light revealed a bedroom decorated like something she’d expect to see in a movie about a queen. Now she really had no clue where she was. After the privation and abuse at the hands of her interrogators, how had she ended up in this place? How long since she’d made the bargain with Madalyn? It could be a day or a week, for all she knew. Curiosity eventually outweighed her soreness. Just sitting up caused her to whimper in pain, and she steeled herself before taking the first step.
Thick carpeting cushioned her feet as she limped across the room to peek through the floor-to-ceiling velvet drapes, but they masked a solid wall. She made the long trip back across the room to where a door stood ajar and stepped into an oversized bathroom tiled in marble. The shower was large enough for two, with a touch pad that controlled several different jets and nozzles. She’d never seen anything like it in real life and wondered which of the settings would be gentle enough to soothe her bruises. The long countertop held stacks of fluffy towels and a range of expensive-looking beauty care products with unfamiliar brand names.
She peered at herself in the full-length mirror, glad to see the minor cuts and scratches on her face were healing, but when she peeled back the gauze on her right cheek, her stomach lurched; the black stitches that had closed the deep gash across her cheekbone were ripped loose. The half-knit wound was ragged, and dried blood crusted around the edges. As she replaced the bandage, she forced herself not to think about how it would look when it healed. She’d lost count of how many times she’d been slapped there. Her blackened left eye was as bad as Tommy’s had been, and her right temple was swollen and tender to the touch.
She unbuttoned her pajama top and slipped it off, shuddering at the sight of the bruises that had blossomed on her arms, shoulders, and torso. One was shaped like a handprint. She prodded her side. You can’t see cracked ribs, can you? I’m pretty sure I can feel them. She looked over her shoulder into the mirror. Her back was almost as battered as Tommy’s had been after combat training.
Next she dropped the pajama pants and inspected the abrasions on her knees and hip. I look thinner … and not in a good way. It would be a while before she recovered physically. How much longer would it be before she’d be able to forget and forgive herself?
Everything hurt as she stooped to pick up her pajamas and pulled them back on. Who had dressed her in them? She shook off the cringing feeling of embarrassment, determined not to dwell on the many things she couldn’t control, and returned to the main room, where there were two doors yet to be examined. She pressed her ear to one, then the other, but heard nothing. She grasped a doorknob and gently tried it, not wanting to attract attention if someone were on the other side. It was locked.
The remaining door opened easily, and a light came on as she stepped into a walk-in closet the size of the bedroom at her old apartment. It was stocked with clothes, shoes, and accessories that still had the tags on, and as she glanced at the prices, she became more bewildered than ever. Business suits, dresses, jeans, and blouses, more than she’d ever seen outside a store, hung in neat rows. Stacks of sweaters were folded on shelves. The drawers held underwear, and she scrabbled through the bras and panties, all new, all in her size.
What day is it? Is it sunny outside or the middle of the night? She was a prisoner; that was the only thing of which she was certain. But her cell was more like an opulent hotel room, and her prison garb rivaled the wardrobes of the wealthiest of her former classmates at the university.
Back in the main room, she spied an envelope addressed to her lying on the desk. She opened it to read a handwritten note on official OCSD letterhead:
This has been waiting for you since you arrived. It’s a small thank you for facilitating our elimination of the Resistance. You’ve made the right choice. Madalyn Davies, Director, Office of Civilian Safety and Defense
Careen’s knees buckled and she sank to the floor, her body convulsed with sobs of grief and pain. She’d meant to take the responsibility and the punishment upon herself; instead, had she doomed everyone to suffer an even worse fate than her own? How stupidly optimistic to think she could protect certain people simply by withholding their names! Of course Mitch and Jaycee would be captured, too, if the occupants of the Resistance headquarters were surprised by the QM’s arrival. She couldn’t save anyone. Then she remembered.
There was one name that hadn’t come up. It could never, ever, cross her lips, even if the interrogations started all over again. Not if she were drugged or beaten or … whatevered. She vowed to die rather than betray the last member of the Resistance’s inner circle. Kevin.
11:25 AM
As soon as Kevin was gone, Madalyn signed on to her computer. There was a message from Garrick waiting, and she scrolled quickly through his update. It was ridiculous that the intel they’d gained from interrogating Careen had ultimately yielded nothing more than a T-shirt and Tom Bailey. The shirt was useless, and Tom’s arrival had only whetted her desire to apprehend them all. Especially Trina. Knowing she was out there, combined with Tom’s threats … Well, it would be best to eliminate anything that could distract people’s attention from the benefits of the Link.
Her attempt to log in produced an error message. She impatiently started over, but the error message came up again. She shouted at Nicole through the closed door.
Her assistant replied over the intercom on the desk. “Yes, Madam Director?”
“I keep getting an error message when I try to access surveillance.”
“I’ll try from out here, ma’am.”
Madalyn drummed her fingers while she waited. There was no time for error messages or delays. She and Kevin were due at the White House in hal
f an hour, and she was dying to see if Careen was awake.
“There’s no signal from the video feed, Madam Director. I’ll submit another repair ticket to IT.”
“This is unacceptable! How am I supposed to optimize my time without surveillance cameras?” I can’t go over there and peek in on her every time I want an update. “Of all the places in the whole country, you’d think PeopleCam could keep their video equipment in working order.”
11:35 AM
Kevin, his new earpiece transmitter in place, arrived in the lobby before Madalyn. A man with a neatly clipped gray mustache waited near the elevators. Kevin didn’t recognize him, but as soon as Madalyn appeared, they both started toward her.
“Let’s go. Can’t keep the president waiting.” Madalyn held out her coat to Kevin, and he dutifully helped her into it.
The other man regarded Kevin with curiosity. “Is he your new driver?”
“What? No.” Madalyn flipped her hair free of the coat collar and peered at him. “What happened to your face?”
“Bailey. Never mind that.” He gestured toward Kevin.
“This is Kevin McGraw, the new assistant director. Kevin, this is Art Severson.”
Art stepped between them and spoke through gritted teeth. “I assumed I’d be the new assistant director.”
“We never discussed any such thing.”
Madalyn stalked past him before he had time to reply. As Kevin followed, he glanced back over his shoulder. Art Severson glared at him. Great. Just great. Looks like my first unofficial act as assistant director was to make an enemy.
Chapter 33
12:09 PM
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. President. Sir.” They shook hands, and Kevin gulped. All of a sudden, the expensive new necktie seemed to be cutting off his airway.
President Wright gestured Madalyn and Kevin to the sofa across from him and Senator Renald. Kevin wondered if the casual seating was supposed to relax them or catch them off guard. Renald wants my job; so does that guy Severson. But it’s mine. I’ve got to prove I deserve it.
Mitch’s voice came over the earpiece. “You can’t measure the success of any program by its intent alone. You also have to consider the unintended results.”
He paused periodically to allow Kevin to deliver the message at an unhurried pace.
“For example, take the Travel Restriction. Keeping people close to home was intended to make it easier for the QM to monitor the residents of their quadrants and recognize strangers, thereby preventing more terrorist attacks. But what about the unintended consequences?”
Madalyn was slowly shaking her head. He swallowed hard and pressed on. It was too late to stop now.
“How much did that Restriction cost the nation? How many tourism dollars were lost? How many auto workers lost jobs when the number of people allowed to own cars suddenly dropped by seventy-five percent?
“All but two of the major airlines and all the midsize carriers went bankrupt. Only one foreign airline has regular flights in and out of the United States. That’s got to be a direct result of the Restriction that bans air travel by civilians for pleasure.”
The president looked at him like he had two heads. Kevin shrugged.
“It seems like no one considered what the travel Restriction would do to our economy. I don’t know why it didn’t get attention from the national press.”
“Daddy!” Jaycee’s shrill voice blasted through Kevin’s earpiece and he winced before he could stop himself. Renald didn’t even try to conceal his curiosity as he stared at Kevin.
“You don’t get to ignore me just because I’ve decided to leave.”
“Hush!” Mitch’s voice boomed in his ear. “I’m with Kevin.”
Kevin’s eyes bugged out in his efforts to ignore the voices inside his head. What if the others can hear them, too? With effort, he focused on Madalyn, the president, and Renald, who were all staring at him.
“The what? I’m sorry …”
Madalyn gave him a straighten-up-right-now look. “I said just think of all the terrorist attacks that were prevented!”
Kevin heard Mitch chuckle, but he kept his own expression earnest. “None. Not a single one. I’ve checked with Analysis and Integration, the Chief QM’s reports, and the airport screening reports. There is no evidence that forbidding people to travel out of their home quadrant by car or take pleasure trips by air has prevented a single terrorist attack.”
“But that’s because the air passenger screening program is highly effective.” Madalyn’s voice was tight.
“No. Again, the airport screening isn’t monitored as closely as it was fifteen or twenty years ago, because so few people take domestic flights these days. Even so, statistics show airport security fails to detect and confiscate about eighty percent of disallowed items in the screened baggage.”
“Bye, Kevin!” Jaycee’s sarcasm-laden voice pulled him back into the space between the two conversations. Mitch stopped feeding lines to Kevin and began hollering at her. There was no way to turn anything off, and he caught himself turning his head from side to side, like a spectator at a tennis match.
The words garbled in his earpiece. Was it his turn to speak to the room? There was a lull in Mitch and Jaycee’s shouting match, and when Mitch barked, “No debit card!” it popped out of Kevin’s mouth before he could stop himself.
The president’s tone was dismissive. “Mr. McGraw, how does the elimination of debit cards fit in? Why would you suggest such a thing?”
Trina’s words came to him, as though it was she who was whispering in his ear. “You know more about the inner workings of the OCSD than you think you do.”
“Umm, what I meant to say was … actually, getting rid of debit cards wouldn’t fix the issue. If I wanted to make a real difference in how people live, I’d adjust the protocols for reports submitted to Analysis and Integration. That office is deluged with reports of terrorist activity that are simply unfounded.”
He glanced Madalyn’s way. She was making no attempt to disguise the surprise on her face. Was it because he was suggesting changes to the status quo or because he spoke with authority? Either way, her reaction gave him confidence.
“We waste so much time and manpower checking out leads that always—yes, always—come to nothing. Some of the claims are nothing more than ways to bully people. Sometimes they’re family feuds or disagreements with neighbors. In fifteen years, the OCSD has never prevented a terrorist attack because of a report submitted by a Watcher.
“I recommend we dial it back and raise the standards regarding evidence that must be presented before we investigate a claim. We might even penalize a person who makes a claim that’s determined to be malicious.”
Madalyn nudged him with her elbow, and he took that as his cue to shut up. She smiled at him, a smile that made his blood run cold, before turning to the president. “You see why Mr. McGraw is the man for the job. He’s an expert on Analysis and Integration.”
She settled into her seat and turned on the authority. “I’m more focused on implementing my new security system, which is nearly ready to go.”
The president nodded. “So you’ve been saying. Are you able to clue us in a little? Or is it going to be a big surprise, like CSD?”
Her gaze narrowed a little. “I’ll be glad to give you a quick overview of what it will mean for the future of this country. Imagine a security system that marries individual responsibility with complete and irrevocable access to help and protection, 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. Imagine a society in which children are never lost, never in danger, never denied food, medical care, or other resources that are rightfully theirs. Imagine a justice system that works swiftly and efficiently, punishing the wrongdoer and championing the victim.”
Renald cleared his throat. “Sounds like a wonderful thing. How do you propose to achieve this, um, utopia?”
“It’s simple, really. I don’t know why no one ever thought of it before. Well, maybe people thought of
it in the past, but now our advanced technology makes this kind of security possible for every American.”
2:03 PM
Quadrant BG-098
David Honerlaw’s own snores woke him up. He sat up on the sofa and looked around at everyone in the bunker, bemused. “How long was I asleep? More importantly, how soon can I open those files Tom left behind? I feel like a child waiting for Santa Claus.”
Grace wagged a finger at him. “Time’s not up yet. You agreed to his plan.”
“But surely a little peek wouldn’t hurt. This inquiring mind wants to know—even if I never get to expose all of Madalyn’s deep, dark secrets.” He stood up and wandered over to the computer equipment, his ex-wife at his heels. “Useless! This machine is far too old to be compatible with a chip drive.”
Lara fidgeted in her seat. “Do you think I should’ve let Jaycee leave? I feel responsible.”
Trina tried to reassure her. Again. “Surely she spent the night down at the diner or the boardinghouse. It would have been far too late to come back here last night.”
Grace came back to her chair. “Sometimes I think that child’s been raised by wolves. A girl that age needs a mother. Look at the way she clings to you, Lara.”
“She’s just lonely. I’m sure she misses Careen and Wes.”
“Now Tommy’s probably gone, too. That leaves no young people for company.”
“Danni’s around from time to time.”
“She doesn’t seem like a very good influence on a girl Jaycee’s age. Mitch ought to pay more attention to her upbringing.”
Trina quickly grew weary of the conversation. “You all sound like a bunch of gossipy church ladies after service on Sunday. Mitch is doing the best he knows how. And Jaycee’s fine.” She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to defend Mitch now, when she’d accused him of the same thing just yesterday. She wished Kevin was there to rein her in. Her lack of diplomacy and discretion had gotten her in trouble before. She needed to get along with everyone, for God only knew how long they’d be packed into the bunker together like sardines. She cast about for another topic and blurted out something that was sure to command their attention. “Mitch is buying the CSD formulas from Madalyn.”