Flee The Darkness

by Grant R. Jeffrey

  “Well, as you are both willing to marry, I suppose I can pronounce you man and wife.” The preacher closed his little black book and smiled at them. “My wife and I will sign the license, but you’ll have to go down to the courthouse and let the clerk scan your Millennium Chip if either one of you wants to change your name.”

  “Whatever.” Daniel did not take his eyes from Lauren’s face. “Didn’t you forget something, Reverend?”

  “What?”

  The minister’s wife spoke up from her chair. “The kiss, Harold. Tell him to kiss her.”

  “Ah.” Lauren tried to suppress a giggle as the minister cleared his throat, then announced in a booming voice, “You may now kiss your bride.”

  Her giggles surrendered to a wave of warmth as Daniel tenderly cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her cheek and forehead and eyes and lips. Lauren closed her eyes, relishing the feel of his arms around her, then the minister’s wife broke the silence with a discreet little cough. “I’m, um, assuming you’ll want to leave for your honeymoon now.”

  “Right.” Daniel whispered. He pulled away from Lauren for a moment, handed the minister a hundred dollar bill, then took Lauren’s arm and led her out to the car. As they walked, Lauren was conscious only of his nearness, his strength, and the fact that they were now Mr. and Mrs. Daniel Prentice.

  Adrian Romulus might as well have been a million miles away.

  Lauren sat in dazed, happy silence as Daniel started the car and drove off into the night. Tasha rode in the back seat, her dark eyes following every movement with interest, and Lauren suddenly realized that the dog knew as much as she did about Daniel’s plans. “Do you know where we’re going?” she asked, amazed that he seemed to know the streets so well.

  “Yes.” He looked at her with a smile in his eyes. “Brad and I talked this all out. If there was any trouble at all—and we were pretty sure there would be—we knew neither of us could return to our homes. Brad has a car waiting for me in Fairmount Heights; he was going to take Christine home and then hide out in a hotel room for a few days. The less she knows, the better.”

  Lauren said nothing, but some of the shine wore off her happiness as she considered the facts. They were running even now. At her house, she’d quickly packed a bag with three changes of clothes, a handful of toiletries, her Bible, her cell phone, and a framed photograph of her with Victoria Stedman. Then she had grabbed a bag of dog food from the pantry while Daniel hooked Tasha’s leash to her collar. They’d only been in the house for ten minutes, but Daniel had been nervous even during that short time.

  He didn’t seem nervous now. He took an interstate exit and turned onto a side street, then pulled into a deserted gas station. A row of dilapidated cars lined a back fence, and Daniel pointed to a dark clunker with a red sweater wadded up against the back windshield. “That’s the one.”

  “That’s our car?” Lauren swallowed her surprise. Somehow she had imagined that a millionaire would go on the lam in a Porsche or a Mercedes, at the very least. This was a nondescript Chevy something-or-other, about thirty years old and dinged on every side.

  Lauren glanced nervously around, then stepped out of the car. She grabbed her purse and her hastily-packed bag, then slammed the door and walked toward Daniel. Holding Tasha’s leash with one hand, he ran his other hand under the chassis above the right front tire. After a moment, he grinned and pulled a sliver of duct tape from the dark space. “The key,” he explained, pulling the gooey tape away with greasy fingers.

  Lauren shook her head. Brad Hunter worked with some of the most expensive high-tech equipment in the world, and yet tonight he’d resorted to common dirt and duct tape. Then again, she thought, moving closer to the battered automobile, maybe a low-tech approach was the best way to hide from their enemies.

  “Here we go!” Daniel’s voice was almost cheery as he unlocked the car. He opened the door and whistled for the dog. “Here, Tasha! Good girl! Hop in!”

  Lauren tossed her purse and bag on the back seat next to Tasha, then pressed her hands to the small of her back and watched as Daniel moved to the trunk and opened it. Inside the dark space she saw a huge spool of wire, a small suitcase, and a briefcase-sized black box. Daniel opened the box, and in the orange glow of the streetlight she saw that it contained some sort of electrical equipment, a microphone, and what looked like a video camera.

  “Brad’s goodies.” Daniel snapped the box shut. “He thinks of everything.”

  Lauren drew in a deep breath as Daniel closed the trunk, then followed him as he walked around to unlock the passenger door. “Are you going to fill me in on the details or keep me in suspense?” she asked, taking pains to keep her voice light. “We’re married now, you know. We’re supposed to share everything.”

  Daniel opened the door and grinned while she sat and swiveled her legs into the car. “Is that a marriage law or something?”

  “You bet.”

  He was still grinning when he slid into the driver’s seat and started the car. The engine erupted into noisy life, and Daniel revved the engine like a teenage boy with his first set of wheels.

  “We’re going to Canada, honey.” He turned to check the seat behind him, but paused as his gaze crossed hers. “Romul doesn’t have Canada yet. We’ll be safe there, at least for a while. And we’ll have them off our backs long enough to make the transmission.”

  “The transmission?” she echoed.

  Daniel nodded as he threw the car into reverse and backed out of the parking space. “We’re going to tell the world about Adrian Romulus, right before the hardware virus kicks in at midnight on New Year’s Eve. And while Romulus and his people are scurrying around trying to figure out what corrupted their systems, maybe people will reconsider all that has happened in the last few months.”

  Lauren took a long, quivering breath to quell the leaping pulse beneath her ribs. Daniel stopped the car, put it into park, and paused. “Are you okay?”

  How could she explain the crazy mixture of hope and fear that whirled in her brain? She was afraid, more terrified than she had ever been in her life. She had seen what Romulus could do; she knew that his unseen agents were fast, intelligent, and nearly as adept with a computer as Daniel. More than that, she had seen the hatred in General Herrick’s eyes tonight. Daniel had bested him, and she could tell that Herrick was not a man who accepted defeat easily.

  He would come after them, but she would rather be with Daniel and take a chance than remain a prisoner in a country whose people didn’t even realize their freedom and lifeblood were slowly draining away.

  “I’m okay, Daniel.” She reached out and covered his hand with her own. “And I’m with you. All the way.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  2:30 A.M., Friday, December 24, 1999

  ALONE WITH HIS THOUGHTS, KORD HERRICK PROPPED HIS FEET ON THE velveteen ottoman and stared into the flickering fireplace. The servants had gone to bed, and Adrian had retired upstairs an hour earlier, his mood remarkably buoyant for a man who’d just been unmasked by a computer genius. Then again, Kord thought, swirling the ice cubes in his drink, nothing ruffled the master. And though Daniel Prentice seemed to know a great deal more than was advisable, he’d have to live through the night before he could wreak any real damage.

  Someone had installed a Christmas tree in the corner of this ornate oak room; its tiny red lights blinked randomly through the silence, casting an eerie glow over the overstuffed chairs and needlepoint pillows. Kord sipped at his drink, feeling the burn of alcohol on his throat, and dully wondered if he had failed at his job. He did not believe that Romulus intended to elevate that fool Archer, but still, Prentice’s jibe had stung. Just as Romulus’s threat, spoken so many months ago in the darkness of his Paris garden, had kept Kord awake through many an eternal night.

  Surely Romulus now regretted those words. In the succeeding months he had continued as always, depending upon Kord’s loyalty, his insights, and his thoroughness. That snooping Israeli reporter who had
attempted to locate Romulus’s mother had been eliminated; the maid who had stumbled into Romulus’s secret closet at the Paris chateau had disappeared without a trace.

  All because Kord was good at his job. A master planner. Archer had only been the pawn, someone to file reports and plant bombs and grind pills into a coffee cup. He was a mere foot soldier in this game, and after January 1, when Romulus took control, Archer would realize that he was only a bit player in the rising world government. Kord had been the one to woo the ambitious vice president; without Kord’s influence Miller would never have found the courage to commit the American military to a complete stand down on January 1.

  On that day, in the name of peace, Adrian’s worldwide disciples would take up the cry of unity. While the world celebrated a new millennium, several American and European military leaders would exchange places, sharing the job of maintaining peace throughout EU-affiliated nations. When the sun set on the first day of the new millennium, the formerly independent United States would bow its head and enter into the sheltering fold of Romulus’s world community. Prentice’s network of flawless Millennium computers would allow the American economy to be swallowed by that of the European Union, and the sheer weight of the resulting economic, political, and military amalgamation would convince the Pacific Rim nations and the Middle East to submit . . . or starve.

  A shrill sound warbled through the heaviness of his wool sweater, and Kord fumbled through the rich thickness for a moment before finding his phone. “Yes?”

  He grunted softly when he heard the news. Brad Hunter, the NSA agent who’d managed to slip away, had been unable to resist the temptation to call his wife. Of course, by that time she had been upset by the strangers prowling outside and, like a lovesick fool, he had rushed home to help her.

  “Keep them quiet and in the house,”Kord ordered, carefully setting his glass on the carpeted floor. “I am on my way.” He disconnected the call, then leaned forward and stared for one last moment into the fire.

  Romulus would appreciate this, too, when he learned of it in the morning.

  Kord rose and stretched for a moment, then stepped into the kitchen where a pair of guards and Romulus’s driver sat around a poker game. “Come,” Kord said, tapping the driver’s shoulder. He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to the man. “We need to hurry.”

  Once in the car, Kord checked his watch and settled back with a contented sigh. 2:25 A.M. Hunter’s neighbors in Arlington Heights would be nicely tucked into their colonial brick homes or vacationing at Grandmother’s house.

  As the driver moved with unhurried purpose toward their destination, Kord looked out the window. America, spawn of rebels and immigrants! The people of this country oozed arrogance, and Kord had never seen more overconfident men than Daniel Prentice, Brad Hunter, and President Samuel Stedman. Like their revolutionary forefathers, those three thought themselves above the common good. They could not see that individualism contained the seeds of destruction; the roots of peace lay in community. Romulus wanted something far more than freedom for his people—he desired the common good. He would win, he would demand the communal enjoyment of the fruits of the earth. Individuals who got in the way would simply have to be eliminated.

  The driver made a sudden right turn, and Kord resisted the urge to curse. He was lost, probably, confused by the District’s twisting maze of streets. They had entered a smutty part of town, a world of neon-coated sleaze and streetwalkers, several of whom hurried toward the limo and offered tempting smiles at whoever rode in the back seat.

  Kord gazed at them with passive indifference. In a year or two, once Romulus’s plans had been fully implemented, this would all change. The prostitutes would be off the streets, the drug dealers resigned either to prison or life in a menial job. The cash these hookers and addicts scrabbled for would have no value; they could buy food only if they purchased it with legitimately earned currency credits.

  The car stopped at a red light, and the crowd on the sidewalk edged closer. “I am sorry, sir.” The limo driver caught Kord’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Took a bit of a wrong turn back there.”

  “Just find the house.” Kord lifted his gloved hand to the dark window, through which a young girl squinted in a vain attempt to peer inside the car. He bent his finger and slid it over the glass, imagining the feel of the girl’s soft cheek beneath his hand.

  Such typical American presumption, imagining that he might be interested in what she had to offer. But she was only a child—in time, she would come to understand that there was a better way.

  The light changed, and the car moved forward. Kord folded his hands at his waist and set his jaw, ready to commence with the real work of the evening.

  Brad and Christine Hunter lived in a two-story Colonial, bricked in the front and edged with immature boxwoods. The limo driver stopped on the curb, opened the car door for Kord’s exit, then pulled away to wait at the end of the street. Kord stood in the yellow glow of a single streetlight and sniffed the chilly air with satisfaction. Though a mad spangle of Christmas lights adorned virtually every house, only a few dim lights burned in the street’s quiet windows. In the morning, none of the neighbors would be able to say they’d noticed anything unusual on this particular night.

  He walked up to the front door and entered without knocking. Three of his agents stood in the living room, a sprawling space to the right of the foyer. Christine Hunter, pale and lovely in her evening gown, sat on the sofa, her hands tied behind her back and a slice of duct tape across her mouth. Brad Hunter, who concerned Kord far more than the quivering woman, lay face down on the carpet before the fireplace. Plastic rope bound his hands, feet, and knees, while duct tape covered his mouth. He lay as still as a log.

  Kord frowned and glanced at the man nearest him. “He’s not dead?”

  “No, sir.” The agent stiffened as though Kord had struck him. “You said not to kill him.”

  “Good.” Kord walked over and knelt beside Brad Hunter’s head, then smiled at the wide-eyed wife. “Agent Dengler,” he called, still watching the woman,“bring me a glass of water from the kitchen. Be careful not to leave any prints.”

  Dengler vanished like a shadow, and returned a moment later with a glass in his gloved hands. Kord took it, swirled the liquid thoughtfully for a moment, then tossed the water into Hunter’s face.

  The man groaned, then his eyes fluttered open.

  “Good evening, Mr. Hunter.” Kord watched the American struggle, then smiled with smug delight. “I’m sorry we didn’t have an opportunity to meet at the reception tonight. I have already had a meeting with your accomplices, the delightful Mr. Prentice and Miss Mitchell, but you had slipped away by the time I encountered them.”

  He stood, then slowly sank into a wing chair a few feet away, keeping his eyes on Hunter. “You, my friend, made a grave mistake this evening— well, perhaps more than one. But I am afraid this will prove to be a fatal error.” He lifted a brow and pointed toward the woman on the sofa. “I can only assume that you called your lovely wife and were disturbed to hear that she heard noises outside. Despite your instincts, you came rushing home to comfort her.”

  Kord gave the woman a sympathetic smile. “He should have ignored you completely, my dear. Mr. Hunter chose to play a dangerous game tonight, but you have handicapped him. I have always believed that agents should not marry. Love makes one do . . . irrational things.”

  Kord began to pull his leather gloves from his hands, finger by finger. “Mr. Hunter, we are about to make a little bargain. Agent Dengler is going to remove the tape from your mouth, and you will tell us exactly what you and Mr. Prentice did tonight in the Treasury Building’s computer room. For each question you do not answer, Agent Dengler is going to break one of your fingers.” He bent down and leaned closer. “Did I happen to mention that Agent Dengler goes about his work very slowly? I’m afraid he does not know the meaning of a swift, clean break.”

  Hunter’s muscles flexed as
he strained on his bonds, but the ropes held tight.

  Kord jerked his chin toward Dengler. The burly man stepped forward, and a loud ripping sound broke the silence as he tore the tape from Hunter’s face.

  “Now,” Kord went on, his voice low and seductive as he watched his captive through half-closed lids, “tell me what you and Mr. Prentice did tonight.”

  Hunter’s face was dead white, sheened with a cold sweat that had soaked his hair and white shirt, but his eyes flashed cold and blue. “We went to a party at the White House.”

  “Lovely.” Kord clapped his hands and smiled. “You win round one. Now, tell me more, but skip the things I already know. I know you went to the Treasury Building. I know you entered the computer room with Miss Mitchell’s courier card. I know you accessed the mainframe computer.”

  Hunter licked his lips. “Daniel typed in the directory command.”

  “Tell me more.”

  Hunter’s voice was ragged with fury. “He wanted to check the mainframes to make sure they were on track for the Millennium Code.”

  Kord’s mouth puckered with annoyance. “You wouldn’t need to cover the cameras to do that, Mr. Hunter. What else did Prentice do?”

  “I don’t know.” Hunter chuckled with a dry and cynical sound. “Daniel doesn’t tell anyone exactly what he’s up to. He just does things.”

  Kord shot him a penetrating look. “I believe you may step forward, Agent Dengler. I have won a round. Take your point, please.”

  Hunter glared at Kord. “Do what you like with me, but touch my wife and you die.” Each word was a splinter of ice.

  “You’re in no position to make threats, Mr. Hunter. You are mine, and you will remain mine until I am finished with you. In the morning, or whenever anyone cares enough to come knocking on your door, your neighbors will learn that a terribly tragic home invasion occurred on these premises. Whether you and your wife will be found dead or severely beaten, however, is up to you.”