“Where are you taking me?” I ask, eventually, breaking the day’s long silence. Logan answers quite amiably.
“Cook County.”
“How original,” I sneer.
“It’s really the only prison facility we have,” he points out politely, ignoring my sarcasm.
We pull up outside the depressing building and, as we emerge in the sunshine, I catch sight of the VP, being led by two NUSA guards into the correctional facility ahead of me.
“Mr Williams!” I yell, and he tries to turn his head to look back at me, but it’s too late as he is yanked forward and disappears through the door. At least he is still alive, I think, desperately trying to look on the bright side of this awful situation.
The respectful manner with which I have been treated so far has lulled me into a false sense of security. As soon as I am escorted to my cell the nightmare really begins. Logan’s exaggerated civil behaviour is gone; he forces me into a heavy metal chair and chains my arms and legs, securing me so tightly that the metal bites painfully into my skin. I survey my surroundings. The cell they have brought me to is a closed, windowless room, the only light coming from a single fluorescent bulb hanging overhead. There is only one door and I am seated in the middle of the empty room, facing it. The room is completely devoid of furniture other than the chair I am bound to, and a metal bucket in the corner, from which a vile smell emanates. More ominously, there are metal brackets mounted in various positions in the ceiling, walls and floor.
The door opens again and a tall, insipid-looking man enters, looking decidedly uncomfortable.
“Joseph Hale,” I smile, “so nice of you to join us. I would stand to greet you, but as you can see, I’m a bit tied up at the moment.” I make a point of rattling my chains. Unlike Logan, Joseph cannot ignore the dripping sarcasm and his face pinches in contempt.
“Mrs Dane,” he begins, trying to sound intimidating, “you have been a thorn in my side for some time now.”
“I was aiming for pain in your ass, but close enough,” I retort.
“I need to know what your plans are,” he gets to the point. “What is the Resistance up to?”
“I have no idea. Why don’t you let me go and I’ll be sure to ask them?” Logan steps forward abruptly and his right fist connects with my face so hard that he breaks my nose and blood pours down into my mouth. I spit it out, gazing up at him hatefully, my curiosity about his ability satisfied. Logan is obviously strength-Gifted.
“Well, I see you’re not quite as refined as you like to make out,” I remark sardonically.
“Answer the President’s question,” he orders.
“I will answer the question,” I drawl, “when it is asked by the person wanting the answers. You,” I raise my eyebrows distastefully at Joseph, “are nothing but an errand boy.”
“I am the President of the New United States of America!” he cries petulantly.
“I wouldn’t brag about it. I killed your predecessor, and history has a funny way of repeating itself.” This time I am ready for it, but it still hurts like hell as Logan hits me again in exactly the same spot.
“What is the plan?” Hale asks again, sounding desperate. I say nothing, lowering my eyes to the floor and acting as if he isn’t there. After a few more attempts, Joseph stalks out, Logan right behind him. They switch off the light as they leave and, as the door closes, I am plunged into blackness.
I have no idea how much time passes. Time deprivation can drive a person mad, or so I have heard, but I refuse to think about it. Instead, I fill the time recalling happy memories, memories of my childhood with Aidan, of my mother and Jonathan; of the first time I met Reed and the time he saved me from Cole and Jared, two corrupt policemen enlisted by Eric. I think of Jenna and my dad, of Kwan and Jethro and all the brave soldiers I have the honour of leading. I recall the overwhelming relief that I felt when I learned that Aidan was alive, when I found that Reed had not perished during the cave-in down in the Chicago tunnels. Above all, I think of Alex. Every memory I have of him, from the time he took his first breath to the look on his face when I presented him with the toys I had collected in California; the way he bites his lip when he knows he’s in trouble and the way he hums to himself when he’s running; his brown eyes; the lone dimple in his left cheek; his cheeky grin. Around and around the memories swim in my head as if on repeat, and eventually I drift off to sleep.
I wake up when Joseph Hale steps purposefully back into the small cell. The sudden light burns my eyes and I shut them tightly for a minute, before I start blinking rapidly and tears stream down my cheeks. I am thirsty enough to know that it has been at least twenty-four hours since I have had any water, which means it has been at least four days since I have eaten anything. My stomach has been growling intermittently for days now. Normally, the lack of sustenance wouldn’t bother me, but I am worried about the baby.
Joseph produces a paper cup filled with tepid water and he holds it to my lips as I drink it down in one swallow. I eye him warily as he walks slowly around the chair before coming to stand right in front of me.
“Mrs Dane,” he begins, “I am trying to help you. I’m not a monster. I don’t relish the torture of a woman, even one as exceptional as yourself.” He pauses dramatically. “Please, help me to help you. Just tell us what we need to know.” It is so rehearsed, so polished, that I want to laugh at him. He’s a puppet and we both know it.
“Us?” He blinks in confusion before he registers what it is he has just unwittingly admitted to.
“What is your army planning?” He drops the facade and bends down, his hands on either side of me, gripping the arms of the chair that I’m bound to.
“I want to speak to the man in charge,” I insist.
“Tell me!” he screams, his mouth only an inch or two from my face. I jerk my head back and then bring it flying forward, head-butting him square on the nose. Blood spurts onto his pristine white collared shirt. I feel the skin on my forehead split, but almost immediately the tingling begins. Joseph clutches his nose, his eyes staring at me in horror and disbelief. Without another word he stumbles from the room. A second later the door bursts open and Logan smashes his fist into my face for the third time. Wiping his hand on the back of his navy blue cargo pants, he walks out, switching off the light and closing the door.
More time passes. I’m sure it’s longer this time, but I have no way of knowing for certain. Twice more I have been given a pitiful amount of water, but still no food. I am trying desperately to figure out exactly what it is that they want from me, other than the obvious – what the Legion’s next move will be. When Joseph returns he has a plaster taped over the bridge of his nose and two blackened eyes. I laugh at the sight, feeling a sadistic satisfaction and he glares at me furiously. He tries again; the same questions, the same threats, but I’m in no mood for games and I simply remain silent. He leaves after a few minutes, muttering in frustration and switching off the light. I am simply grateful that there is no sign of Logan; my nose has healed itself enough.
Time passes and the memories are becoming vaguer, the lines blurring between them. It is Aidan tending my gunshot wound, and Reed holding my hand when Alex is born. I also have mild cramps in my lower abdomen and I am starting to lose my fragile grip on my self-control. Every few hours I am given water, but I have resigned myself to the fact that food will not be forthcoming. I wonder idly how long it will take to starve to death. I think it’s about three weeks, but I have heard of people lasting as long as a few months. I hope if it comes down to death by starvation, that it is the former and not the latter. The next time the door opens Logan and another soldier slowly unfasten me from the chair and drag me across the room to the bucket. I am too relieved to be mortified as Logan instructs the younger man to pull down my pants. They look away briefly as I relieve myself, and then I am secured once more. Darkness descends again and I slump in the chair, wonderin
g what my friends are doing.
The door opens again and I barely have the energy to look up, but when I do, I am jolted wide awake, riveted in place by shock.
“Rebecca, dear, why did you have to make this so difficult?” Kenneth Williams stands before me, a small smile playing about his lips. There is no trace of blood on his face and he is wearing a suit and tie, looking in far better health than I have ever seen him.
“Mr Williams,” I croak, “what are you . . .” I cast around but I cannot find the words that I am looking for. This doesn’t make sense. My brain is foggy and I can’t seem to comprehend what I’m seeing.
“I thought you would be happier to see me, Miss Davis,” he croons, putting his fingers under my chin and tilting my head up to meet his maniacal gaze. “Haven’t you been asking to see me for days now?”
“Oh my God,” I whisper, unable to tear my eyes away. It was him all along; the Vice-President, not the General.
“Let’s get straight to the point, shall we?” he smiles and inclines his head towards the door. A well-built man enters and I gasp in surprise at the familiar face.
Jethro? My brain refuses to believe that he is in on it too.
“Unfortunately, Rebecca, you’ve made it quite obvious that we are going to have to do this the hard way,” Kenneth says reprovingly. “Now,” he presses his wrinkled, leathery hands together and rests them under his chin, “what is the Legion planning?”
“Why?” I ask. I am barely listening. I am so stunned by the revelation that he is behind it all. As quick as a snake striking, Jethro steps forward and plunges a short-handled knife into my right thigh. I howl with pain, my hands straining against the chains binding them as my instinct to pull the knife out kicks in. I take a few deep breaths and force myself not to struggle against my restraints and not to look at the hilt protruding from my flesh.
I glance up at Jethro, dazed and revolted by his betrayal, and then I see the faint birthmark on the left side of his face and I realise my mistake.
“You’re Mason,” I breathe, and his head snaps in my direction, his eyes widening in surprise. “You’re supposed to be dead,” I frown, trying to recall what Jethro had told me about his brother. Could this be my way out of here? “I know your brother,” I say quickly, glancing at Kenneth to see his reaction. He looks indifferent; not a good sign. “Your brother is alive,” I continue desperately, wondering if they had fed Mason the same lies they had told Jethro, “he’s on our side.” Praying that this will make a difference, I gaze up at him pleadingly but he does not falter.
“My brother is weak,” is all he says and then he steps back again, taking his place beside the now-grinning VP. My spirits plummet as quickly as they had been lifted.
“Ah, such an interesting story,” Kenneth rubs his hands together gleefully. “Mason is on my personal security detail. I told Eric he was special,” he adds, smiling fondly at the younger man.
“Eric?” I frown in confusion.
“Yes, Eric,” he rolls his eyes, “your errant husband. Everything was going so well and then he had to go and get all noble on me.” He shakes his head in annoyance. “I suppose I have you to thank for that.” His eyes harden.
“You were working with Eric?”
“No. Eric was working for me,” he boasts.
“But how is that possible? You were in New York; you were with my father in the fallout shelter. You lived in the Rebeldom from the beginning, how on earth could you have teamed up with Eric?”
“Before the war I was the second most powerful man on the planet,” he hisses, “but I had to stand by and watch as a decision was made and executed, a decision that destroyed our entire planet, that killed billions! My wife, my daughter . . .” he pauses, composing himself before he continues. “I tried to warn him. I told James Vincent that it was the wrong course, that it would destroy us. He wouldn’t listen and look what happened. I was the better man for the job, Miss Davis. If I had been in charge, none of it would have happened.” I keep quiet, trying to reconcile this madman with the kind and gentle person I had believed Kenneth Williams to be.
“I spent twenty years in the Rebeldom,” his voice is like acid, “in that godforsaken shit-hole!” I flinch, the word sounds worse coming from the refined, elderly man. “A lowly third to that self-righteous Harrison and your precious father neither of whom, I might add, have any idea how to run a country. America cannot be run on high hopes and good intentions. I had to stand idly by, supporting their cause, while Eric Dane usurped the position that should have been mine to begin with, while he rebuilt America and locked me out, along with the savages.” He examines his nails.
“But that’s exactly why the Resistance was created,” I insist desperately, “to overthrow Eric’s reign! To bring down the fences and unite America, to make things better, for everyone, yourself included!”
“Yes, Miss Davis, I know what the Resistance wants, I was there at its inception, while you were still milking cows in Michigan.” His voice drips with disdain.
“So, why are you doing this? We want the same thing!”
“No, we don’t,” he corrects coldly. “Not any more. I don’t want the boundary fences removed. I don’t want everyone out there,” he shudders, “coming in here and demanding equality and free will. Where do you think democracy will leave me?”
“So you want to replace Eric Dane?” I am nothing short of disgusted. “You want to pick up where he left off? To abandon the rest of the world and continue with the tyranny that he started?”
“In a nutshell, yes. Except that I intend to do it better.”
Chapter 38
“How did you get a man as powerful as Eric Dane to comply?” I cannot fathom how someone as weak and powerless as Kenneth could have coerced Eric to even give him the time of day, let alone manage to slowly obtain power over him.
“When I first approached Eric I told him I could feed him information about the Resistance,” he replies smugly. “It worked well; he slowly came to depend on me and the information I could give him. He was obsessed with defeating the Rebels – he feared them, and I fed that fear until he became reliant on my information.” He steps forward and examines the knife in my thigh with mild interest. It hurts like hell, but I’ll be damned if I’ll show it. I can feel the tingling, but my body cannot heal the wound while the blade is still impaled in my flesh.
“And then you came along,” he glares at me down his nose, “with all your idealism and steadfast determination to unite America. I wasn’t really concerned until you started forming the Legion.” He looks as though the word leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and I feel a surge of pride. “I couldn’t have you undoing all my best-laid plans. You posed a threat to everything I was working towards, so I informed your husband that you were working for the Resistance.”
“He never said anything,” I muse, remembering how Eric had started acting differently, how he had seemed not to trust me. “He didn’t know about my abilities,” I narrow my eyes in confusion, “you never told him that.”
“Why would I? He was obsessed with the Gifting procedures. If he had known of your Power of Three his curiosity would no doubt have outweighed his common sense. Sadly, I underestimated his feelings for you. When I realised that the Legion was becoming more powerful I told him he needed to deal with you. It was the only way to disband your army, to make the Legion vulnerable so that we could destroy them.”
“Well, as you can see, Eric didn’t manage to kill me. I’m sorry if that was inconvenient for you,” I mock.
“He didn’t fail!” he hisses. “He didn’t even try! He had more than enough time but he chose not to believe me. Or if he did, he couldn’t bring himself to destroy you. Either way, I could feel it all slipping away, all the years of planning, just when I was so close, and your Legion was growing stronger. I began to lose hope.”
I know now that Adam was right. E
ric had been threatened. They had threatened my life; the life of the woman he loved. It’s clear now. I cannot deny it any longer. Eric had loved me in his own twisted way, enough so that when he realised I was in danger, he turned his back on his allies and made himself vulnerable.
“Why didn’t he just tell me,” I whisper, almost to myself.
“Oh, I’m sure he intended to do just that,” Kenneth replies, almost jovially, “not that he ever knew my true identity, but he knew enough that you might just have put it together between you eventually. Which is why I suggested he kidnap Aidan. I knew that taking your lover would be the one thing that would ensure you would never stop to listen. He knew it would lure you out and I knew it would be the final wedge between you. I had realised by this stage that Eric had to die,” Kenneth continues calmly. “I already had Joseph on my side, a willing puppet, so all that I needed to do was dispose of the one man who stood in my way, who wouldn’t bend to my will.”
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