The Inner Circle (Man of Wax Trilogy)

by Robert Swartwood

  It wasn’t surprising that within hours the news media was speculating on whether or not al-Qaeda was involved. One side believed this attack was in response to the U.S.’s involvement in Egypt. The other side went so far as to blame global warming. A few even mentioned solar flares as a potential culprit.

  Traffic in and out of the city was nearly at a standstill. The bridges and tunnels were packed, police and National Guard keeping watch on both ends. The trains in and out of the city went a little bit quicker, but still each car had to be inspected by soldiers with bomb-sniffing dogs.

  By the end of that first day, no bombs were found.

  • • •

  IT TOOK US two days to leave the city. We went in shifts. First the Kid by himself. Then Ronny and Carver, with Maya’s dead body wrapped up in the trunk of their car. Mason left the city with Beverly, Mason’s wife asleep in the backseat. Drew left with Chin, Mason’s dead son in the trunk. Some of them took the tunnel. Others took the bridge. None of them, thankfully, got stopped, despite the fact they were all driving stolen cars and that Caesar’s people were no doubt looking for us.

  We had anticipated we might have trouble leaving the city, so we had come up with several safe houses. These were places that could be easily accessed from the street, and which would give us optimal cover for a couple hours.

  I did not end up at one of these safe houses. Ho Sook took me to the place her father was stationed. It was the basement of a deli that had been shut down by the Health Department the day before.

  There I recuperated the best I could. There weren’t any medical supplies besides those few bandages and Band-Aids found in a dented First Aid kit, so I just lay in the corner and tried not to move my body.

  “I’m sorry about Seung,” I told Bae.

  He nodded.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t get Caesar.”

  He nodded again. Then, as an afterthought, said, “He may have died in the blast.”

  This was true. Chin and Seung had managed to secure a half dozen blocks of C-4 around the Fillmore—in the auditorium, the lobby, the banquet room. When they blew, they certainly took out several members of the Inner Circle.

  “How did your guys infiltrate the Coliseum anyway?”

  His smile was thin. “It was not very difficult, when all eyes were on you.”

  • • •

  BAE HAD COMMUNICATION with Chin, who got me in contact with the Kid, who told me that everyone had made it out okay. He was then quiet for several seconds before he said, “Dude, about Maya ... I’m so fucking sorry.”

  I lay in the corner, Bae’s phone to my ear, staring up at the ceiling. A single tear ran down my cheek. I didn’t bother wiping it away.

  “What about Graham?”

  “He made it out. Grabbed as many weapons and computers as he could, but, well, you know he couldn’t do much with his leg the way it is. Dude, they killed his bees.”

  “What?”

  “He left and went a few miles up the hill. He stopped at this lookout and used binoculars to watch the farmhouse. They came in SUVs and two helicopters. Graham said they searched the property, didn’t find anything, so they burned the house. Then, I guess to cover their tracks or to just be complete dickholes, they burned all the hives. Graham ... fuck, dude, Graham said from even where he was he could hear the fucking bees screaming.”

  • • •

  NOW WITH THE farmhouse gone—our own special safe house—just where were we supposed to go?

  This was what the Kid and I discussed next. We were working toward a location—or at least I was working toward a location—but the Kid kept changing the subject.

  Finally I said, “Kid, we don’t have much choice here.”

  “Dude, are you fucking crazy? First, there is, like, no room at all. Second, it’s my fucking house. My mom lives there. She ... she’s not going to be able to handle all the people.”

  “We don’t have to stay there for long. In fact, we don’t have to stay there at all. I’m sure there are motels nearby that we can hole up in. But right now, we need some kind of base.”

  “So my fucking house?” He was silent for a beat. “Fuck, man, I’m going to have to get extra toilet paper and shit.”

  • • •

  WE RESTED UP the next day, and began to secure our rides. Vehicles that wouldn’t be missed for a few days. Many people kept cars in the city for the few times of year they needed non-public transportation. That made it easier for us to borrow them.

  And borrow them we did.

  After all, we weren’t going straight to the Kid’s place in stolen cars. Again, we had anticipated something like this might happen, though obviously not to this magnitude. Along with the additional safe houses, we secured additional transportation. Only they were parked outside the city.

  Throughout the day everyone else left the city. Bae and I drove through the Holland Tunnel that evening. Ho Sook tailgated us on her Ducati. Because neither vehicle was stolen, we drove straight to the Kid’s place. It took seven hours. By then the deaths of several politicians and media moguls and celebrities were beginning to be reported.

  • • •

  NOT MUCH WAS said, of course. The deaths were small deaths, if there is such a thing. Heart attacks. Strokes. Car accidents. Overdoses. By themselves, they were typical deaths. All together, though, they created a disturbing pattern.

  But it wasn’t like anyone else noticed this. Everyone’s attention was on the Manhattan Blackout, which was what the media had cleverly named it and which was still unexplained. The Attorney General was getting involved to find out just what went wrong. And the riots in Harlem were still raging. Additional National Guard troops were being sent in to help matters.

  So all the focus was on the riots and the blackout. The deaths of some celebrities or politicians—deaths which appeared innocuous enough—were mentioned briefly in the news but that was it. No one gave any of the deaths much thought. And, quite honestly, there was no way of knowing whether any of those deaths were simply coincidental or the individuals had in fact been members of the Inner Circle, who had been killed at the Fillmore Theater either by crossfire or explosion.

  A good portion of the Fillmore was destroyed in the blast. The next day what little news the Kid could find claimed that the theater had burned. Faulty wiring. No word about any bodies found inside. No word even about any bodies found outside.

  By the second day, officials were still trying to get an estimated count of the fatalities throughout the city.

  • • •

  WE KNEW BETTER than to all stay at the same motel.

  Mason and his wife stayed in one motel, with Beverly taking the room next door. It was an adjoining room, so she could slip back and forth to treat Gloria Coulter’s wounds. The Kid had talked Carmen—a certified nurse—into bringing what supplies she could from the nearest hospital. Gloria would live, but she would not live well.

  Drew, Carver, Ronny, and I stayed at another motel three miles away. Carver and I shared a room on the first floor, Ronny and Drew a room on the second floor. Carver had given up the line that he didn’t need the wheelchair. It was clear that he did need it, and that he would need it for quite some time.

  Bae and Ho Sook and Chin stayed at a motel two miles away from ours. Bae and Chin shared a room, Ho Sook got her own.

  We used disposable cell phones to communicate when needed. But there wasn’t much communication between any of us that first day.

  Tuesday came and went and we all mostly stayed in our rooms, licking our wounds. Maya’s body and Mason’s son’s body were still wrapped up in their individual trunks. They couldn’t stay in there much longer.

  I called the Kid and proposed an idea.

  He said, “Fuck, dude, it’s my fucking house.”

  “You said that before.”

  “Do you know what I’m doing right now? I’m going through all the shit you brought back from the city.”

  The laptops and flash drives I sna
gged from the Fillmore, he meant.

  “Anything helpful?”

  “Can’t say quite yet. It’s all encrypted.”

  “That shouldn’t be any trouble for you.”

  “You’re right, it shouldn’t. But these people, dude, they’re hardcore. Don’t worry—I’ll be able to break it eventually.”

  “We don’t have forever. It’s a good possibility Caesar made it out of that place alive. Speaking of which, did you look into it?”

  “I did. Congresswoman Houser is an only child. And she has only one cousin, but it’s a chick.”

  “Doesn’t make sense. They’re definitely related somehow. He even admitted she was his sister.”

  “Don’t know what to tell you.”

  “Keep working on the encryption. Even if Caesar didn’t make it out alive, it doesn’t mean they aren’t prepared to continue with the Pax Romana.”

  “Dude, I fucking know.”

  “We need to know what it is.”

  “Dude.”

  “And we need the backyard.”

  The Kid was silent for a long time. Then he said, “Fuck.”

  • • •

  A SIX-FOOT FENCE surrounded the Kid’s entire backyard. It wasn’t a nice fence—the paint was peeling in many places—but it would do the trick.

  That Wednesday morning, we brought Maya and Anthony Coulter to the Kid’s house. Fortunately, the Kid’s house wasn’t very close to his neighbors. Unfortunately, he still did have neighbors, so we had to be careful. We backed up the cars, took out the bodies, walked them through the garage to the backyard.

  There Drew and Chin and Mason had already dug the two holes. There everyone else waited.

  We couldn’t put the bodies in caskets. Not without arousing too much suspicion. In the past, Graham had made the caskets, but he was still driving east, at least another day away. Even if he was here, it wasn’t like he could build the caskets in time, not without the proper tools and supplies. So we wrapped the bodies in even more plastic wrap, secured them, and lowered them into the ground.

  The sky was clear. The sun was bright. Those of us lowering the bodies and digging back in the holes were sweating profusely. When we were done, Beverly and Ronny both said short prayers. Everyone bowed their heads, even those atheists and agnostics among us. There was a long moment of silence, and then we all drifted away.

  I drifted toward one corner of the backyard and lit up a smoke.

  Mason approached me. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

  I watched him carefully, thinking this was it. That he knew the truth. That I had been in the same room with his family before they were tortured. That if I had done more, his son might still be alive.

  But he said, “When she ... when she died, I was there in the back of the truck. I was holding her hand. She ... she tried saying something and I told her not to, to save her breath, but she kept saying a word.”

  I took a long drag on the cigarette, blew the smoke out through my nose. Waited for him to continue.

  “I wasn’t even sure if it was anything, but I told Ronny about it and Ronny said I should tell you, and I meant to earlier, I really did, but I just ...”

  “What did she say?”

  “Your name. Or not really your name—she tried to say your name, but she couldn’t, not with ... well, she couldn’t. But I could see her lips. I asked her if she meant you. And she nodded and closed her eyes and she ... she squeezed my hand three times. Just three times, that was it. And then ... then she was gone.”

  • • •

  WE HEADED BACK to our separate motels. Carver stayed with the Kid. Ronny and I helped Carver down the stairs into the basement. The Kid’s mother was in the living room with Carmen. The Kid had asked Carmen to keep his mother in the living room for a few hours. Carmen, of course, agreed. After the Kid’s previous request of the medical supplies, it was clear she knew more than she let on. From what I understood, the Kid paid her very well for her services. So well that she knew to keep her mouth shut.

  Once Carver was situated in the basement, Ronny and I headed back to our motel. We had just arrived there when the Kid called.

  “Dude, you have to get back here right now.”

  • • •

  THEY WERE WAITING for me in the basement when I returned.

  The Kid said, “Pull up a chair.”

  “What’s this about?”

  “Dude, just sit down.”

  I sat down as the Kid typed on one of the keyboards.

  “Did you break one of the encryptions?”

  “Not yet. But a message was just sent out. It’s addressed to you.”

  “Me?”

  He nodded and kept typing.

  I glanced at Carver but he just sat silently in his chair.

  The Kid said, “We can’t do any more than five minutes.”

  “Before what?”

  “Before they trace the call.”

  “Who’s calling?”

  “Not sure yet. But it’s video. Here, scoot over so you’re front and center.”

  I moved the chair so I was sitting right in front of the monitor.

  The Kid said, “Ready?”

  I still wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be ready for, but I nodded anyway.

  He hit a button and leaned back out of view.

  The screen was blank for several seconds. Then an image blinked on, and a familiar face smiled back at me.

  “Hello, Ben,” Augustus Caesar said.

  • • •

  “WHAT THE FUCK do you want?”

  “Don’t be hostile, Ben. It doesn’t suit you. Tell me, is the Kid there with you?”

  I said nothing.

  “It’s simply amazing the skill someone like him possesses. He can do more damage with a single computer than most armies can do with a thousand soldiers. Speaking of which, were you impressed by the blackout? I will admit, I did not expect it to cause such a catastrophe. Granted, we knew there would be fatalities, but not such a high number. And to think, it all came about from someone like your friend pressing a few buttons on a laptop.”

  “Are you feeling guilty?”

  He smiled. “I should be asking you the same question.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Killing poor Clark like you did. When I was told you were spotted in Times Square, I had them put a camera on you and give the Jumbotron power. I was curious to see what you would do. You did not disappoint.”

  I said nothing.

  “Did you notice there has been no mention in the news of what appeared on the Jumbotron during the blackout, even though hundreds of people saw it?”

  “What’s your point?”

  “There were witnesses outside the Fillmore during your attack as well. Many of them attempted to upload videos and pictures to different social media networks. Within seconds, those videos and pictures were deleted. Any slight mention of the Fillmore has been deleted.”

  “Is this the part where I’m supposed to be impressed?”

  “No. I am simply giving another illustration of just how powerful we are. Tell me, did you ever figure out the hint I gave you in regards to the Pax Romana?”

  “Actually, yeah, it was pretty simple. The greatest thing the Roman Empire gave to the world was roads. So ... what, you’re into construction now?”

  Augustus smiled but said nothing.

  I asked, “So what do you want, anyway?”

  “For you to play the game again.”

  I laughed. “You’re insane.”

  “That’s exactly what Mr. Ellison called me. Is he there with you now?”

  I said nothing.

  “I guess it doesn’t matter if he is there or not. I’m done with him. You, however, are a different story. The Coliseum was ruined, no thanks to you and your friends. Many of those in the Inner Circle were either killed or injured. I feel I owe them something in return for all the suffering that was caused. And before the Pax Romana is finally in
itiated, I thought it would be grand if you played the game one last time.”

  “I can tell you right now, that isn’t going to happen.”

  “No?”

  “Positive.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “There isn’t anything in the world that would change my mind.”

  Augustus took a deep breath. “You see, Ben, I thought you would say that. And if that is your answer, then so be it. But before we part ways, there are two people who I think would like to say hello.”

  He had apparently been standing this entire time. He started to move back, away from the camera, until the room came into view.

  Behind him sat two people in chairs. Like back in the Torture Room, there were cloth bags over their heads.

  My stomach tightened. My entire body began to shake. In my mind, a familiar voice whispered a question.

  Are you ready for that secret now?

  Then Augustus, with a flourish, tore off the cloth bags—and the ground disappeared beneath me.

  They sat there, Jen and Casey, duct tape covering their mouths. Their eyes red and glassy. Their skin pale.

  Augustus, standing between them, the cloth bags in his hands, smiled back at me.

  “How about now?”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Robert Swartwood is the USA TODAY bestselling author of The Serial Killer’s Wife, The Calling, Man of Wax, and several other novels. His work has appeared in The Los Angeles Review, The Daily Beast, Chizine, Space and Time, Postscripts, and PANK. He created the term “hint fiction” and is the editor of Hint Fiction: An Anthology of Stories in 25 Words or Fewer. He lives with his wife in Pennsylvania. Visit him online at www.robertswartwood.com.