by T. K. Toppin
Josie’s face pinched in fear, her eyes widened. John reached out and cupped her face. She sucked in a breath and her shoulders drooped. “Shit.”
Chapter 42
Adam Lancaster being put under house arrest shook the foundations of the Citadel, leaving people stunned, worried, and filled with questions. John fielded an onslaught of media attention, while the entire cabinet of ministers demanded explanations and answers. It went on well into the early hours of the morning. War was brewing, and people were scared. They wanted answers and someone to blame, and John was the first person they could think of. After all, he was a Lancaster, and they were never blameless.
Simon enforced the necessary security measures as quietly as possible with quick and sure efficiency. The sector we were in was isolated from the general public, and special emergency procedures were already in place. For the greater population, the evacuation procedures were made secretly with air shuttles and transport on standby to take them off-site the moment the alarms sounded. Simon trusted only his own team of Elites to carry out these procedures.
Despite reports that neighboring countries and cities were under attack from a rogue military force, and the growing fear as people began to worry and even panic about an imminent war—the last war still too recent in their memories—everything went about as normal. I had to admire the courage people of this century had, as if conditioned from birth that life still went on in the face of terror. My thoughts went to Quin, how he’d grown up under a reign of oppression. I knew I would never be able to imagine such a thing, my own childhood being a rosy shade of bliss. But looking around now, bolstered by the courage of others, their confidence, I made the effort to try.
The terror that ensued outside the eastern perimeters was quickly quelled. The tip from Lorcan about the western cities being under attack meant we were able to meet it head-on. The attacking army was quickly “dispatched” and the situation “stabilized.” And that was all I heard about that. Reports came in that the other countries under attack were managing. The conflicts were localized to military bases and facilities, though many civilians had died.
I was sequestered to my rooms. Trudi was on full alert, and so were two security droids, which had materialized out of nowhere to stand guard, one outside my front door, the other on the terrace to the bedroom. Simon gave me a small pulse gun, and spared what few precious moments he had to brief me on how to use it. It was the size of a regular twenty-first century handgun, but with a strong recoil action. And, I was told, it was effective. Like an air compressor, it sucked air in and shot it out at high pressure, boring a hole the size of a coin right through your target. Suitable for continual use since it required no ammunition, it took only one and a half seconds to recalibrate and “reload.” Slow for these modern times, but reliable since you weren’t bogged down with ammo. To keep it activated, it simply required your body heat.
Simon told me to keep the pulse gun on my person at all times in the special groin holster, which was affixed just above my pubic bone. I’d never been trained to use one in my ad-hoc training with Trudi, but I’d seen them before. Lorcan had used one the day he saved me. Except his was much bigger.
That night, I slept alone. Unable to shake the icy cold grip of fear, I longed for John’s presence. Nor could I chase away the oppressive sense that something terrible was about to happen, so horrific in nature, it clouded my thoughts. I lay restless and agitated all night.
My knees were perpetually weak, and a cold grip clutched my spine with relentless fascination. I’d never experienced a war before, never in my life would I even have imagined such a thing were possible. All the stories I’d heard had been buffered and tamed by generations of objectivity, placid recounts of experiences from people I didn’t know, about wars in a time I wasn’t even born to know about. I came from a world layered deeply in peace. Ignorantly blissful. And now here I was, standing at the brink of a war, and feeling as if I was waiting for my execution.
I refuse to run, John had said.
So we would stay and fight, even if it killed us. I’d never killed anyone, and wondered if I could when the time came. I didn’t know. I wondered about Lorcan, where he was at that very moment. Was he hiding? Waiting? Ready to fight or ready to die?
Was I?
And Adam. Was he being truthful? Did he really want to help? Or had he planned this whole thing—this elaborate scheme—from the very beginning? And now, with his arrest that he suggested, was he deflecting any blame off him? Had he planned it this way? He was a strategist, after all.
And John, I remembered his pained face. He had been torn between loving his brother and questioning his trust, protecting the Citadel from destruction and keeping a tight hold on his empire, while a murdering extremist wanted to take it all away. It was too much for one man to bear. Was it worth it? Could he just give it all up and walk away? Some could; many would. But could he? Would he?
No. He wouldn’t.
That much I was certain of. He’d fight to the very end. If he could, then so could I. This was his life, his destiny, what he’d been born to do, and he didn’t doubt himself in the least. It would never occur to him that he should doubt.
This was my life, too.
And I was going to start living it.
Chapter 43
The Citadel lay nestled on the southern mountain slopes of Switzerland along the famous Valais Alps. It butted against the northern border of Italy and faced Lake Geneva in the west; a sprawling city, self-sufficient and independent from the rest of the country. Twenty kilometers long and ten wide, it greedily draped across a series of mountains, stretching down from their peaks into deep valleys and gorges. The main waterfall, renamed the Doucet Falls after Dane Lancaster’s mother’s maiden name, supplied the entire Citadel with power.
It boasted a fusion of modern and old-style architecture, from the sleek metal structures spearing up the side of the mountains to the massive stone columns and arches that braced the foundations. Buildings were stacked on top of each other to take full advantage of the mountains’ many levels, crags and plateaus, a blatant showcase of the wonders of modern architectural innovation. Throughout the Citadel, manmade forests and massive arboretums, parks, and nature trails, even small grazing areas for livestock and farming graced strategic areas.
Approximately fifty thousand lived and worked crammed within the Citadel walls. A few thousand more filtered in and out daily as day-students to the three universities or as consultants and specialized technicians to the various institutions. Many were also granted special visa status as visitors, guests or tourists, and of course, the multitudes of government officials coming and going on a daily basis.
Created by Dane Lancaster sixty-five years ago, he declared it the capital state of the world. It reflected his blatant tyrannical approach to rule, right down to the secret underground web of special passages and escape routes. By the time Baird inherited the Citadel, more changes had been made, more secrets, escape routes and underground rooms. As Baird’s outlook abruptly changed halfway through his rule, he added two more universities and special clinics and research facilities. He even opened the doors to the general public, which was looked on with great apprehension.
And now John faced the greatest challenge since inheriting the office. Many had tried over the years to overthrow the government, and some had come very close—usually angered cabinet members or those within the immediate circle of the governing body. But never in the history of the Lancaster rule had someone ever broken into the Citadel from the outside. The Citadel was deemed the safest place on earth, the most heavily guarded, with a mesh of security and surveillance measures that boggled the mind. But with recent attempts at assassination within the walls, the break-in, the suspicion of traitors within, left him rattled to the bone.
John sat, weary and exhausted, in the very seat his brother had occupied just twelve hours ago. His mind blank and numb, he didn’t know what to do next. All the years, all the condit
ioning, all he’d been raised and trained to do, had simply evaporated from his body.
John had moved through the day since Adam’s arrest in an automatic daze. He said the necessary things that needed saying to quell the anxiety of the ministers, he replied, in the rehearsed PR jargon he’d been coached on, to the media, all with calm authority and a confident manner he’d been born with—inherited.
He needed to sleep, but restlessness spurred him on. He wanted Josie, but he was too agitated, distracted. Instead, he sat in silence with a half glass of neat, single malt whiskey, which he held loosely on his knee. Dawn was another hour away, his favorite time of the day. A time when clarity came to him like a blinding light, where the world put the troubles and worries, and even the festivities of the night away, safe and sound, out of sight. For John, dawn was when the first weak rays of light brought a sense of calm and serenity, unlike the sadness and loneliness of a sunset. A moment when the possibilities were endless, when anything could happen, when he felt most alive. A moment when he could think, feel, and know what it was he had to do. It was a quiet time, his own private moment when he knew himself the best. A time that lay uncluttered and open, vast and new. It was what he needed now.
So he waited. His answers would come; he knew they would.
Just wait…
And they came—in the form of Lorcan Wellesley.
If John hadn’t been so utterly out of his mind, he might’ve heard and had a chance to react accordingly. Maybe not, since Wellesley moved as silently as a cat. Instead, he merely stared at Wellesley as if he saw an apparition.
“You…” John blinked rapidly, his drink nearly toppled from his knee. “How in hell?”
Wellesley offered a half smile. He looked like his old self, not how Josie had described him, and was dressed in a sort of dark gray that seemed to blend in with the dawn’s dull light. If he didn’t have a face, John would’ve sworn Wellesley looked like the rest of the room.
“I could tell you how, but I’d have to kill you.” Wellesley held a hood in his hand, which he stuffed into a pocket, and took a seat across from John.
“What do you want?” Recovering enough to form words, the first sharp tug of anger tightened John’s face. He gave up on asking how Wellesley managed to get past his security. Did it really matter anyway?
“I’m fine, by the way,” Wellesley sat on the edge of his seat as if ready to sprint away in an instant. “As for what I want? Nothing.”
“I don’t believe you.” The moment was so bizarre, John’s temper eased. “Drink?” he offered, raising his glass amiably.
Wellesley considered it for a moment, then shook his head. “I just need to tell you something, and maybe hear some assurances.”
John pushed up a brow, took a sip of whiskey and inclined his head. “Tell me, then.”
“Josie.”
“What about her?” John’s hackles rose.
“You love her, don’t you?”
“I do. Why?”
“Then I want your assurance that you’ll do everything you can to protect her.”
“You know I will. What else?”
Wellesley narrowed his eyes for a moment. It wasn’t a doubtful look, more like satisfied. He nodded, and continued. “I’ve got thirty men with me. Outside. I’ve come to offer you our services, on the condition that they are compensated—should they live.”
“Yourself as well?”
“I need nothing. Just the assurance I asked of before.”
“You…intend to die here, then.”
Wellesley didn’t reply.
“And your men, how can they help?” John continued.
“They’re like me.” Wellesley smirked. “Would you not say I’m rather special?”
John snorted, and even let a small chuckle out. “That you are.” Shaking his head, he regarded Wellesley. Wariness evaporated, and he found himself at ease, musing on a thought. As always, Josie had been right, her instincts spot on. Lorcan was a good man. “I suppose there’s no point asking for their names so I can tell my guards to allow them entry and add them to the duty roster.”
“None, whatsoever.” Wellesley smiled and eased back in his seat.
“Why are you doing this? For Josie? I know you certainly aren’t doing it for me.”
“It’s just…right.” Wellesley studied John. “A bit late in coming, but it’s right. Let’s just say, I haven’t forgotten. The code.”
“You know,” John chose his words with care, staring at the whiskey. “She told me I should trust you. Funny thing is, I do. Against all my better judgment, I do.”
They sat for a moment in silence. A multitude of unspoken words passed between them. John watched as Wellesley stared back. Wellesley had come here, John thought, knowing he could die at any moment, with nothing to lose, taking every risk possible to save one person. He’d already said his peace to the world, knowing the outcome might be uncertain. A man resolved. John wondered if, like him, Wellesley’s words would be of regret, of wanting to extend a friendship, an alliance, all for Josie’s sake. But that would be considered a way out, an escape route for someone like Wellesley. And he seemed reluctant to speak further. His mind was made. For him, there was no turning back, no repenting, no forgiving. Just fixing a wrong. Lorcan Wellesley would walk proudly to meet his fate.
John realized now, accepting Wellesley was something he could do. He admired him. He was no longer jealous, or angry, or even worried. Josie was his; he knew it without a doubt. And Wellesley walked a different path, one Josie would not follow.
Wellesley spoke, quite abruptly. “Why have you arrested your brother? Adam, is it?”
“It’s complicated.” John took another sip, and gave Wellesley a brief account.
“He was the strategist? Ha!” Wellesley laughed and ran a hand over his cropped hair. “Now that’s a surprise. But he’s not really a player. I did follow him, but only to get a head start. I didn’t even know he was your brother. Fat guy, right?” Wellesley ran his eyes over John’s body, as is trying to determine if obesity was a gene trait.
“No, quite thin. Sickly. He wore a disguise. Not many people see him in person. He’s…paranoid.”
“Ah.” Wellesley nodded. “Well, Uron Koh is young. Tall and strong. You can tell by the way he walks. I’ve no clue what he looks like. He could be anyone. He’s got seven men with him, his Federation Council, like the old days of Switzerland. But mark my words, they aren’t your run of the mill politicians. They’re his Black Guard, specially trained and deadly—like your Elites. I’ve seen the way they move, how they behave. They’ve got skill. You can be sure they’re packing an arsenal with them. Some have the feel of, well, you lot.”
“What? Training-wise?” John frowned.
Wellesley nodded. For any who saw, they appeared to be two old friends sitting companionably, sharing war stories over a drink.
“I know what I saw,” Wellesley continued. “They’re going to blend in as I did, and they could be anywhere. They are everywhere. I know, I’ve been all over this place and no one’s stopped me. But then I’m special, remember. I’m not saying your security personnel have been compromised, more like hindered. Protect her, Lancaster. I don’t know why, and it’s gone past any point I can think of, but they want her dead most of all. And you, of course—that’s a given.”
John returned the nod; his mouth tight with thought. “Thank you.” Before he could stop himself, he extended a hand. It had to be said. “I wish…well, circumstances aside, we could have been friends. Maybe when this is all over, if we’re all alive to see the end…”
Wellesley stared at the offered hand for a moment, then grasped it, shook firmly, and held John eyes with his before releasing it. He stood to go, John did likewise.
“Maybe.” A wry smile twisted Wellesley’s face. “But then, you did steal my girlfriend, so can I get back to you on that?”
John restrained a smile, lowering his head. “Touché.” And as he watched Wellesley slink out
and all but disappear in the dim light, he muttered. “But then, you did throw her at me.”
Chapter 44
I woke up hungry and thirsty, and realized I hadn’t eaten since…well, I couldn’t remember when. Breakfast yesterday? No, not since dinner the night before and most of that had ended up down the toilet. Dawn had just broken, and it was way too early before Trudi arrived, so I stumbled into the kitchen and foraged through the refrigerator, coming up with half a ham and cheese sandwich I remembered trying to eat for lunch the previous day. Not even bothering to warm it, I stuffed it into my mouth and swallowed it dry, all the while fumbling with a container of watermelon juice. Not my favorite, but it would have to do.
Hunger still snapped at me, but I couldn’t find anything else readily available, so I made do with another glass of cold juice and found myself before the terrace doors, staring out at yet another bleak and wintry day. All I saw was gray and fog. Yesterday’s events seemed like they’d taken place a million years ago, like some bizarre dream. Unreal. I wondered what would happen today? Whatever it was, I promised myself I’d to be ready for it. I was going to be an active participant in life now. No more backseat driving for me.