Revolution

by Shawn Davis

  “It sounds like a perfect system. You get people to do the job, and yet still maintain complete security,” Rayne commented.

  “That’s true,” Burke agreed. “By hiring people as permanent below-ground workers in the complex, complete security is maintained.”

  I’m starting to understand why my organization knows so little about the Underworld. People come down here to work and never go back up. Only high-level personnel can come and go as they please.

  “I’m going to show you my apartment as an example of the living quarters in this area,” Burke said, leading them across the wide balcony to an elevator door.

  He pushed a button, entered, and gestured for them to follow. They rode the elevator up several levels before the doors opened again. They stepped into a hallway identical to the ones in the Presidential Tower.

  “This looks a lot like the Frump Tower,” Nicole observed.

  “You’re right, Nicole. All the apartments in this section of the Underworld are modeled after the apartments in the Presidential Tower.”

  Burke led them down the hall past a number of doors until they reached a door marked “B-238”.

  “This is my apartment,” Tom said, sliding his wrist across the adjacent door scanner.

  The door slid open and they walked in.

  “This looks just like my apartment in the Tower!” Nicole exclaimed as they walked through the small foyer into a spacious living room identical to her and Peter’s living rooms in the Tower. The two-tiered room even had the same clear walls overlooking the buildings of New Washington.

  More holograms.

  “Yes, all the apartments in the Underworld are modeled after the Tower’s luxury apartments,” Burke explained, sounding impatient. “With the exception of the barracks for the technical, maintenance, and security personnel. Those rooms are much smaller and designed according to the military model.”

  “Oh, that makes sense,” Nicole said.

  “I’d like to invite you both to make yourself at home while I make a quick phone call,” Burke said, gesturing to the spiral staircase leading down to the sunken area of the living room. “I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

  Rayne didn’t like the fact that Burke went out of his way to avoid making eye contact with him. Something about the way he spoke sounded like a prepared speech.

  “Tom, I just have one more question before you leave,” Rayne said, moving closer to the Security Director.

  “Sure, Malcom, how can I-”

  Burke wasn’t prepared for a sudden assault from his guest. Rayne lunged forward and struck Burke across the neck with his right arm, “clothes-lining” him. Burke was caught off balance and hit the floor. Gasping for breath, he held his injured neck and looked up, surprised, at his assailant. Rayne followed up his initial attack with several punches to Burke’s face.

  “Malcom! What are you doing!” Nicole screamed with a quavering voice.

  As a response, Rayne reached under Burke’s jacket and grabbed the butt of the pistol contained in his right shoulder holster. Peter pulled it out and leveled it on the fallen man.

  “Get up,” Rayne commanded. “You stand next to him,” he added, pointing the gun at Nicole before returning it to Burke.

  Rayne took a few steps away from the pair as Burke stood unsteadily beside Brenton. He kept the gun trained on Burke.

  “Malcom, what are you doing?” Nicole shouted as tears filled her eyes.

  “Nicole, I need you both to listen to me if you want to survive,” Rayne said, glaring into Burke’s narrowed eyes.

  “I thought it was you,” Burke muttered, clutching his neck. “I was about to get Underworld Security down here to check you out.”

  “When did you know for sure?” Rayne asked.

  “I knew for sure when you made that wiseass comment about “getting nuked.” I recognized your voice. I have to admit your transformation was impressive. When I interrogated you, your face was stained black, so it was difficult to make the connection. It also made no sense that you could be in the new position you were in. You’re Peter Rayne, the man I sent to the Arena.”

  “You’re right.”

  “How did you make it out of the Arena alive?” Burke asked, perplexed.

  “I’d love to chat, but I have some business to attend to,” Rayne said.

  “I’ll bet you do,” Burke said, lunging suddenly for Rayne’s gun.

  Rayne was ready for him. Metallic thunder exploded in the confined chamber as Rayne pulled the trigger. Burke dropped like wheat cut down by a scythe. He hit the floor hard, clutching his bloody shoulder.

  “I wouldn’t advise trying that again,” Rayne said.

  “You shot him!” Nicole shouted, tears streaming from her eyes.

  “The next shot will be fatal,” Peter advised. “I need you to listen to me and do as I say.”

  “Okay! Okay! What do you want?” Nicole shrieked.

  “I want you to help Tom to his feet and start walking down the hall.”

  Burke didn’t look like he was in any shape to walk. He lay flat on the floor, groaning. Rayne walked over to the fallen man and seized his uninjured arm with his left hand, while maintaining the gun in the right.

  “Help me pull him up,” he said to Nicole.

  Burke grunted with pain as they lifted him to his feet. Rayne stepped away as Burke put some of his weight on Brenton’s shoulder. Rayne loosened his own tie with his left hand, while he kept the gun trained on Burke with his right.

  “Start walking,” Rayne commanded, pointing the gun at Burke’s head.

  They made slow progress down the hall with Tom leaning heavily on Nicole for support. He almost fell twice, but he kept going with the threat of the gun pointed at his head. They traveled down the hall until they reached the study.

  “Go inside,” Rayne said, gesturing to the study door. “…..and sit down,” he added, pointing to the nearby couch.

  Burke fell onto the couch, exhausted, leaning his head back and breathing heavily. Blood streamed out from between the fingers of his left hand like red syrup being squeezed from a bottle.

  “Take his jacket off,” Rayne told Nicole.

  Peter lifted the back of his suit jacket and shoved his stolen gun in the rear waistband of his pants. It was difficult getting Burke’s jacket off and the attempt earned Brenton some painful groans from her unwilling patient. Finally, it was done with some help from Rayne.

  “Help me tie the jacket around his shoulder so it acts as a bandage.” Rayne instructed. “No, not like that. Tighter,” he added, holding one end of the torn jacket, while she held the other end. At this point, he thought there was little risk of another attack from Burke.

  He’s lost a lot of blood and looks like he’s about to pass out.

  Rayne helped Brenton rip the sleeve off the jacket, wrap it around Burke’s shoulder, and tie it off to create a makeshift bandage. He instructed Nicole to sit down next to Tom. Tom was leaning his head back on the couch with his eyes closed, breathing heavily.

  Peter made a quick search of Tom’s belt with his free hand. He found a pair of handcuffs contained in a leather case on the right side of his belt. Removing the handcuffs from the case, he snapped one of them on Nicole’s left wrist. Taking the other cuff, he snapped it onto Burke’s injured right arm.

  They’re not going anywhere.

  Turning away, Rayne went to the nearby desk computer.

  I hope this thing is patched into the Underworld Network. It should be, considering Burke’s top-level clearance.

  Rayne glanced over his shoulder to check on his prisoners. Burke had passed out on the couch with Brenton sitting anxiously beside him.

  “Malcom, why are you doing this?” Nicole asked, changing her demeanor to an icy, confident one.

  “My name isn’t Malcom. It’s Peter.”

  “Why are you doing this?” she repeated, glaring at him with fury.

  “I’m with the rebels. I’m on an assignment.”

>   “An assignment?”

  “Yes, I’m an undercover operative for the rebel underground.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Brenton said, as the familiar furrow creased between her eyebrows.

  “I’m not.”

  “You’re with the terrorists?” she exclaimed, with disbelief.

  “Call us what you want. At this point, it doesn’t matter.” Rayne said as he typed on the computer keyboard.

  “How were you able to impersonate Malcom Getty?” Brenton asked, her green eyes glinting with anger.

  “Nicole, like I said before, I’d love to chat, but I have a government to bring down.”

  Rayne turned toward the computer and continued typing. He ignored Brenton’s further attempts to ask him questions and distract him. As he worked, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure his prisoners hadn’t moved. Burke was passed out in the chair and Brenton was trapped with him. Rayne had difficulty concentrating on his work, as Brenton’s fury increased and she began making demands.

  “Look Mal- or whoever you are. If you let me go now, I won’t press charges.”

  Rayne turned toward her, raising his left eyebrow. “You need to come up with something better than that.”

  “If you don’t let me go, I’ll see that you are executed!” Brenton shrieked.

  “Ms. Brenton, I don’t think you understand the situation,” Rayne replied. “You’re a beautiful, intelligent woman and we had some good times together, but this mission is a lot more important to me than you are.”

  Nicole Brenton’s beautiful face flushed red as her exquisite body shook with rage.

  It took Rayne almost fifty minutes to crack the code and finally get into the system. But when he did, it was worth it. He found an index listing the defense programs. He clicked onto the program entitled “AUTOMATED DEFENSES”.

  It took another twenty minutes for Rayne to sabotage the Underworld’s computer defense system with a destructive virus. He tried to cover his tracks as best he could, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before the technicians traced the virus to this particular computer. Then, they would send an Underworld Security detail and find his two unhappy companions on the couch.

  I have to get out of here now.

  Standing from the desk, Rayne hurried through the study. He stopped to check Burke’s pulse.

  His pulse is extremely weak. I don’t have much time. The Bio-scan system Campion told me about will sound an alarm the instant Burke’s physiological functions cease.

  “He might not make it,” Peter said to his former lover. “I’m sorry. He was your friend.”

  “You’re just going to leave me down here with him?” Nicole snarled.

  “I’m sorry, but it had to be done,” Peter said as he turned and strode out the door.

  Rayne tried to ignore the stream of profanities being shouted from his ex-lover’s beautiful lips.

  Her language would rival the toughest female criminals in Inner City. I’m sorry, Nicole, but it had to be done. It had to be done. It had to be done.

  Peter repeated the same thought over and over to assure himself he had done the right thing.

  So much for long goodbyes. I just don’t have time to explain everything to her. I don’t think she would understand anyway. We are from two incompatible worlds.

  Rayne tried to calm his racing mind as he increased his pace down the corridor. He suddenly felt a sharp pain in his lower back as the gun butt pressed hard against his skin. He stopped for a moment to take it out and held it in his right hand as he ran.

  Rayne kept a steady pace through the living quarters area and the fake outside world. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he jogged down the dirt path intersecting the Terrarium’s wide wheat field. The artificial sun felt good on his face as he ran. Impossibly, a light breeze ruffled his hair.

  They must have gigantic fans hidden somewhere.

  Despite the breeze, Peter felt himself getting hot. He awkwardly stripped off his suit jacket with his free hand as he ran, tossing it into a row of wheat. Loosening his tie, he tossed it with the jacket. Jogging to the end of the path, he entered the forest.

  Rayne continued his rapid pace down the forest trail, paying less attention to the lush environment than he had on the way in. The trunks of the towering North American trees went by in a blur. Sweat was dripping down his forehead into his eyes.

  He crossed the quaint wooden bridge over the stream, keeping his pace when he reached the dirt path on the other side. Rayne listened to his own heavy breathing as he jogged up a steady incline that hadn’t bothered him before; probably because he had been walking in the opposite direction – downhill. Reaching the top of the incline, he continued running and encountered small hills and dips along the way.

  Rayne kept a steady pace until sweat poured down his forehead in tiny rivulets. He slowed to a jog.

  I can’t see the end of the path, but I know it ends soon. It’s all part of the holographic illusion of the place.

  Eventually, Rayne reached a clearing in the woods. He slowed to a walk to cross the clearing. As he reached the far end, the illusion of the endless forest faded into the black façade of a steel door.

  I’m here. Moving from one reality to the next. I’m definitely not ready for this.

  Peter reached up to touch his forehead and his hand came back soaked with sweat.

  You know what I look like? I look like a guy who just shot someone and is running away.

  Peter frantically wiped at his forehead with his shirtsleeve in an effort to assuage the sweat pouring down his face. Standing in front of the black steel door, he took deep breaths, trying to cool himself down. His sweaty hair had lost its slicked-back style and was hanging over his forehead. Peter found the sweat came in handy for one thing; plastering his hair back into its former position.

  Rayne stared at the gun in his right hand.

  If I hadn’t thrown my jacket away, I could have tucked this gun in the back of my pants. As it is now, I don’t have anywhere to hide it.

  Hesitantly, Rayne tossed the gun into a clump of bushes. He felt like a drowning man throwing away his life preserver.

  What a waste. I’ll probably need it later on.

  Peter tried to straighten some of the wrinkles out of his white dress shirt by smoothing it down with his sweaty hands. He did the same for his pants. His shirt was passable except for the wet marks from his sweat.

  Not good. Not good at all.

  Rayne tried to compose himself by standing straight and assuming a confident demeanor.

  I need to pretend I’m still in charge. I’m an important Executive taking a rare tour of the Underworld. The other two members of my party decided to continue the tour, while I return to the surface to take care of some business. It’s all completely normal. No one should suspect a thing.

  He looked down at the small wet patches on his dress shirt.

  Maybe the guards won’t notice?

  Rayne felt like he needed to cool down some more, so he sat down next to the door, leaning his back against the invisible wall. Closing his eyes, he tried to relax. Touching his forehead, he found it was still clammy with sweat.

  I have to cool down.

  Peter took deep breaths, trying to relax. It was to no avail. The momentous implications of his actions would not allow him to relax.

  All I can think about is Campion’s fleet of attack choppers converging on the city, and the resulting destruction that will follow their arrival. This is the moment when everything is coming together. How can I relax? Well, I can’t sit here all day. I have to go. Now.

  Peter stood next to the door. He forced an arrogant scowl on his face, pulled back his shoulders, and pressed the button to open the door.

  The door slid open and the pair of guards turned to see who was there.

  “Gentlemen, I had to cut my tour short to attend to some business,” Rayne said, authoritatively, as he strolled past the guards. The guards said nothing in return. Rayne kept walki
ng without looking back.

  Why did I think I’d have a problem with those guys? They’re paid to protect people like Malcom Getty; not hinder his movements.

  Rayne tried to keep his pace slow and steady, but it was difficult not to speed up and break into a run. He figured one of two things could happen now. Either Burke’s pulse would eventually become non-existent and alert the Bio-scan system, or Brenton would figure out a way to drag Burke’s body to the closest phone and call Underworld Security. The second option didn’t seem likely to him because Burke weighed a good 180 pounds and Brenton couldn’t have weighed in at more than 110. She was strong, but he doubted she was strong enough to drag one hundred and eighty pounds of dead weight a hundred feet down a corridor to get to a phone.

  Chapter 33

  Pursuit

  Rayne took a right into the main personnel corridor and walked briskly toward the area where they had entered the complex. Looking straight ahead, he put on a confident, determined expression whenever he passed a tech or security guard.

  Rayne hurried by several empty transport platforms where ghost cars came and went without any passengers. As he neared the exit to the underground facility, pedestrian traffic began to pick up and he passed numerous techs and security personnel. Rayne tried to pretend he was expected at an urgent meeting and belonged in the corridor as much as them. His photographic memory helped him to recognize the transport platform they had initially passed when they entered the Underworld. He knew his destination was ahead.

  Rayne smoothed his shirt and pressed down his slicked-back hair as he took a left into the corridor leading to the elevator. He set his jaw and flexed his muscles as he traveled the security corridor with the transparent walls. He kept his gaze focused straight ahead and didn’t bother looking at any of the security techs scrutinizing him from their consoles on the other side of the bulletproof glass walls. He made it through the security area and continued striding down the steel-walled corridor. Turning a corner, he saw the two checkpoint guards.