Revolution

by Shawn Davis

  “Where are you taking me?” Rayne asked without dropping his fists from a defensive posture.

  “Put your hands behind your back and don’t put up a fight,” the security guard said. “Otherwise, things will go badly for you.”

  Rayne watched with resignation as the newcomers in the black suits assembled around him. He hardly noticed as Connelly and the madwoman slipped silently away.

  “The odds are hardly fair, gentlemen,” Rayne muttered as he turned, faced the wall, and placed his hands behind his back. He knew that resistance at this moment was futile. He would bide his time until a better opportunity presented itself.

  The guards locked handcuffs on his wrists and turned him around roughly. His sight suddenly went black as one of them wrapped a blindfold around his head.

  “Is this really necessary?” Rayne asked as he was led across the room.

  “Shut the fuck up,” one of the faceless guards replied.

  Chapter 11

  Interrogation

  The guards led Rayne down several long corridors and he had no choice but to follow. They went right, left, and straight until he felt lost in an endless maze. Finally, they sat him down in an uncomfortable chair and ripped off the blindfold.

  Peter squinted against a bright light shining in his face. Glancing around, he saw he was in a bare room with only a single spotlight in the corner, which was focused on him. He heard a scraping noise behind him and turned to see the muscular madwoman enter the room dragging a chair behind her.

  “Cuff him to the chair,” Campion growled, setting her chair in front of the prisoner with the light behind her so her outline was silhouetted.

  The bright light outlined the hard edges of her muscular shoulders, which contrasted with the soft curves of her hips.

  Peter felt one of the guards fiddling with his cuffs and the next thing he knew, his wrists were fastened securely to the back of the chair.

  “You’re a bunch of sweethearts,” Peter said.

  “You’ll speak only after you’re asked a question,” Campion commanded.

  Peter tried to focus on her eyes, but he could only see her silhouette in front of the spotlight.

  “Go see if Connelly needs any help with the equipment,” Campion snapped at one of the security guards standing behind Peter.

  “Yes, sir,” the guard replied and left the room.

  Equipment?

  Panic flooded his system.

  What kind of equipment? Surely, these thugs don’t intend to torture me?

  “We’re going to conduct a simple test,” Campion explained in a flat tone. “If you answer the questions honestly, there won’t be a problem.”

  “How are you supposed to know if I’m answering honestly or-”

  “Shut up,” Campion interjected. “I told you that you will speak only after being asked a question. If you pass the test, you can talk all you want. But first, you must pass the test.”

  Test? What is this lunatic talking about?

  Rayne could feel his heart hammering in his chest and his veins pounding in his head when he heard the noise of creaking wheels behind him.

  Oh, no. This isn’t happening. They’re not bringing in some kind of torture device…

  The unknown object was wheeled toward him.

  “I need you to look straight ahead,” Campion instructed. “If you don’t comply voluntarily, you will be forced to comply.”

  Rayne didn’t see that he had any choice. He knew there were at least four guards standing in the room behind him and his hands were cuffed securely to a chair behind his back.

  He stared at Campion’s silhouette and tried to focus on her in order to avoid the direct glare of the spotlight. He was glad that her muscular shoulders blocked a good portion of the light, which would have otherwise shone directly into his eyes.

  Fear gripped his mind like a talon as he heard the unknown machine wheeled over and placed on his right-hand side. He couldn’t help turning and glancing down at it an effort to find out what it was.

  “Don’t bother looking at it,” Campion said. “It’s just a lie detector. We’re not going to hook you up to a car battery and watch you squirm. That’s what the government does.”

  “It’s just a lie detector?” Peter asked, relieved.

  “That’s it. Nothing to worry about. Now, face forward, answer the questions honestly, and you’ll have no worries,” Campion said. “It will take a few seconds to hook up the machine.”

  Rayne couldn’t be sure if they were lying to him or not as they hooked up a number of wires and electrodes to his arms.

  Could this be a car battery and they’re going to zap me with thousands of volts of electricity?

  “Stop looking so scared,” Campion said. “I told you it’s just a lie detector.” Her silhouetted head turned toward the man setting up the machine. Rayne noticed that her straight black hair fell a few inches short of her muscular shoulders. “Tell him, Rick.”

  “It’s just a lie detector,” a familiar voice spoke from his right.

  Rayne realized it was Connelly, the gray-haired Exec he had met in the spacious office. He relaxed somewhat, but not completely. He still couldn’t be sure what was happening.

  Why do they need to hook me up to a lie detector?

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Campion said. “Why do we have to hook you up to a lie detector, right?”

  Rayne found it extremely unsettling that Campion had just spoken what was in his mind a moment ago.

  “There’s a very simple reason for it. We have to find out if you can be trusted. Our organization has many enemies,” Campion stated.

  “What exactly is your organization?” Rayne asked.

  “We’ll get to that after you’ve passed the test. If you pass the test,” Campion replied, emphasizing the word “if”.

  “Great”, Peter said.

  “Now shut up and get ready for the first question. Are you ready?” Campion asked.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Rick, are we ready?” Campion turned toward Connelly, who was still standing next to the machine.

  “We’re all set,” Connelly said.

  “Good. Then please state your name, address, social security number, telephone number, and any other personal information you can think of,” Campion said.

  “Okay. That’s easy enough. My name’s Peter Rayne and I live at 422 Carleton Ave in the city. I don’t have a telephone number because I don’t have a phone. My social security number is 018-62-6657.”

  Rayne listened anxiously as the machine made a noise like paper being run through a printer. He saw Campion’s silhouetted head glance over at Connelly.

  “He’s telling the truth,” Connelly said.

  “Good. That’s a good start,” Campion said, leaning forward in her chair and resting her muscular forearms on her knees. “What are you doing here at the Hovercrafts International building?”

  “Like I told you before, I’m here to return your property to you.”

  Again, he heard the sound of the machine at work. Campion glanced over at Connelly.

  “He’s lying,” Connelly said.

  “Now, this is not good,” Campion said, sighing as if she were very disappointed. “I’ll give you another chance to make good. If not, we’re going to work you over. Got it?”

  “All right, give me a second. I’ve been telling you that for so long, I’m starting believe it myself,” Peter said, as he felt his mind racing with panic.

  Isn’t that the reason I’m here? To return the pocket computer? I told this to the security guard and Connelly. But does that make it the truth? No, it doesn’t. The real reason I’m here is the mystery.

  “I’m here to find out what’s going on,” Rayne said. “A lot of strange things have happened to me lately. I want to find out what they all mean and how I can get a handle on it. None of this makes any sense to me.”

  The machine spoke in its scratching mechanical voice.

  �
�He’s telling the truth,” Connelly said.

  “The truth?” Campion repeated. “How can that be the truth? Think about what you’re saying, Mr. Rayne. Why are you really here? Were you sent here by government agents?”

  “No, I told you I’m here to find out what’s been going on in my life,” Peter said. “First, I’m eating lunch with my friends and a travel agency blows up. Next, I’m walking home with my friends and we run into a bunch of protesters. The next thing I know, my best friend, Henry, has hitched a ride in a limousine with some women. The limo drives to the head of the parade and I watch the back window roll down. Then, I see my friend point a gun out the window and start firing at the front of the parade. You must have seen the footage during the live execution yesterday?”

  “No, I didn’t,” Campion lied.

  “Someone was forcing my friend, Henry, to shoot toward the front of the crowd. I don’t know if it was drugs-or pain-or what made him do it, but I know someone was making him do it,” Rayne said. “Whoever was forcing him to shoot wanted Prince dead. I don’t know why. One of the reasons I came here was to find out why Prince is dead and why my friend was set up for it.”

  Again, the machine did its mechanical dance. Campion glanced over at Connelly. Rayne followed her glance and saw Connelly give her a brief nod.

  “Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. What happened after your friend shot Martin Prince?” Jane asked.

  “My friend didn’t shoot Martin Prince. He was forced to shoot him,” Rayne said.

  “What happened next?”

  “They dumped him out of the limo and I ran over to see if he was all right.”

  “And was he?”

  “Not at all. He had an automatic handgun grafted to his hand with a laser scalpel.”

  “Grafted to his hand?” Campion asked, glancing over at Connelly.

  “He’s telling the truth,” Rick said.

  “Okay, grafted to his hand. Why weren’t you picked up by the Federal Police with your friend?”

  “I got lucky. The cops were there in less than a minute. They must have been waiting not too far away. My friend distracted them by starting a firefight and gave me a chance to get away. I ran and the cops chased me down an alleyway. I escaped by finding a manhole cover and going down into the sewers.”

  “The sewers? This story keeps getting better,” Jane commented, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

  “He’s telling the truth,” Rick interjected a few seconds later.

  “Okay, then he went into the sewers. Swell,” Campion said, rolling her eyes. “What happened next?”

  “I found some bodies down there. It was disgusting. They were wearing prison attire. My only guess is they’re executed prisoners.”

  “Prisoners? In the sewers?” Campion exclaimed.

  “Possibly hundreds of them,” Peter said.

  “Hundreds of them. Okay. Hundreds of them,” Campion repeated, glancing toward Connelly.

  Peter ignored the rattling of the machine as he continued his narration.

  “Then, they tried to flood me out of the sewers. I don’t know how they did it, but the tunnels began filling up with water. I almost drowned. I barely escaped through another manhole cover.”

  “Almost drowned in the sewers,” Jane repeated, glancing over at Rick. “Okay, what happened next?”

  “I returned to my apartment, got rid of my slimy clothes, and turned on the television. That’s when I found out my friend was going to be executed on Monday Night Justice.”

  “That must have been quite shocking,” Campion said, raising an eyebrow again.

  “It was a fucking nightmare,” Rayne said, becoming annoyed. “I thought my friend was going to get away and then he was tackled by an army of guards. That’s when I turned off the TV. I assume that he was executed after that. I don’t know for sure because I didn’t watch,” Peter said, looking down.

  All the dark emotions of the previous day came flooding back to him like a contaminated tide.

  “Then what happened?” Jane asked.

  “Then I went to sleep. I was exhausted.”

  “I’ll bet you were. You had a busy day.”

  “I woke up the next afternoon after sleeping for more than fourteen hours. I had breakfast and remembered I had placed Martin Prince’s pocket computer on the coffee table in my living room. I turned it on and searched through the files. That’s when I found the New Washington blueprints. I also found the name of your company in the files. I figured that you guys were somehow connected to what was going on. I put on my winter clothes and trudged halfway across the city until I got here. You know the rest.”

  “I only have one more question to ask and we’re done,” Campion spoke softly, but clearly. “Who really sent you here?”

  “I already told you. Nobody sent me here. I came here to find out what’s going on. I wanted to know why Prince was set up and why my friend was killed for it. It’s as simple as that,” Rayne said.

  The machine whirred as Campion glanced over at Connelly.

  “It’s the truth,” Connelly said.

  “It’s the truth,” Campion repeated, as if to convince herself. “It’s the truth. Rick, what is the failure rate of that machine?”

  “Its ninety nine percent accurate. This new model is greatly improved over the twentieth century model, which was only about 80% accurate. The only people who have been able to beat this model are those who have been genetically enhanced.”

  “Well, there are a few simple tests we can do to find out if he’s been genetically enhanced. Rick, why don’t you set up a blood test for our friend. In the meantime,” Campion said, standing from her chair and walking to the back of the room. “We can turn off this damn light.”

  Rayne wasn’t prepared for the spotlight going out and the complete darkness that followed. He squinted with pain as bright green spots flashed before his eyes. After a few moments, his eyes cleared and he could make out the faint outlines of the people in the room from the dim light of the nearby hallway.

  “Sit tight for now and we’ll get that blood test going,” Campion’s voice spoke from a dark silhouette. “After that, we’ll let you go and maybe answer some of your questions. How’s that sound?”

  “It sounds great,” Rayne replied, feeling relief flooding into his system. “I just hope you guys aren’t lying to me.”

  “We’re not,” Campion said. “You’re going to be all right.”

  Rayne sat anxiously in the dark for the next ten minutes. Someone came in, told him to relax, and stuck a needle in his arm. They held it there for thirty seconds and pulled it out. Peter waited in the dark another five minutes. Then, the lights switched on and he found himself squinting from the glare. When his eyes adjusted, he realized the lights weren’t so bright after all. Only a few dim fluorescents in the ceiling above. Rayne felt someone fumbling with his cuffs and he was free. He stood from the chair and stretched his aching muscles.

  “Follow me,” a guard said.

  Rayne followed the guard down several labyrinthine corridors until they were standing in front of a wooden door similar to the door to Connelly’s office.

  We’re back at Connelly’s office. At least they have some comfortable chairs in there.

  The guard spoke into the intercom and the door opened. Rayne was led into a spacious office, which he at first mistook for Connelly’s. After a few moments of looking around, he realized he was actually in a different office. Chairs and reading tables were set up in the corners, different paintings were on the walls, and one of the walls was actually an immense bookcase. Other than that, the office looked as comfortable as Connelly’s.

  The security guard led him to a reclining office chair set in front of a wide desk. Campion reclined in another chair behind the desk with her black shoes resting on the smooth, polished surface.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty tired after asking all those questions,” Campion said, smiling. “Have a seat.”

&nb
sp; Rayne sat down in the comfortable chair and sighed with relief. The security guard remained standing beside him. Jane turned toward the guard.

  “Why don’t you get our guest some refreshments. He’s had a long day.”

  “Yes, sir,” the guard replied, leaving the room.

  “You’re all right, Rayne,” Campion said, grinning. “I didn’t like you at first, but you’re really all right.”

  Peter leaned back in his chair and enjoyed the comfort of its soft surface. It was a pleasure to sit in the recliner after sitting in a hard wooden chair in the interrogation room.

  “Relax, Peter. Make yourself at home,” Jane said.

  “I am,” he said, returning her smile. “I must admit your hospitality has improved dramatically since we first met.”

  “That was just a misunderstanding. I thought you were one of them.”

  “And by one of them, you mean?”

  “A government spy. Someone sent here to set us up. But you’re legit. You’re just like us. Someone who isn’t happy with the system.”

  Rayne thought about her statement as he heard the office door open behind him and footsteps entered the room. The security guard returned with a tray and a folding table. He placed the table in front of Peter and put the tray on top of it. Peter’s mouth actually watered upon seeing the sumptuous steak dinner set up on it. The first thing he did was grab the tall glass of ice water on the back of the tray and drain it.

  “I think Mr. Rayne might need some more water,” Campion advised the security guard. “Why don’t you get him a full pitcher?”

  “You got it,” the guard replied, turning and leaving the room again.

  Rayne didn’t wait until the guard got back to dig into the steak. He went to work on it with the silverware immediately. He had finished more than half by the time the security guard returned with a pitcher of water, which he placed on the edge of the tray.

  “Thank you very much,” Peter said, between mouthfuls.

  “I guess you really did work up an appetite,” Jane observed, watching Peter attack the steak like a voracious animal.

  “You got that right,” he agreed.