by T. K. Toppin
“Then you know. An innocent man always tries to prove his innocence. What is the real story behind you, then?”
I ignored that as well. “True. But are you, say, an innocent man with a clever mind who will bide his time and gather proof? Or, say, a guilty man with a clever mind, who will just bide his time? And wait for reinforcements. As it stands, your actions don’t leave any room for us to believe you. You could so easily have stopped this all. But you didn’t.”
“Oh, you are a canny girl, aren’t you? I do like you.” He smiled. “What would you say if I was an innocent man who is clever but has a weak nature?”
I snorted. “I wouldn’t call you weak in nature—just an egoist. Weakness is something you can’t do anything about, something natural. Ego, to me, is more a virus, an affliction. The more you’re exposed to it, the worse you get. Nothing you’ve done shows any weakness. You’re a very calculating sort of person. If anything, your weakness is the love—supposedly—you have for your family. It brought you here, didn’t it?” I spread my hands to indicate the room.
“But did you know, sometimes, the weakest of people are the strongest? Their determination.”
“Are you referring to yourself again? You’re only weak physically.”
Adam gave me a long, serious look, very much like John when he assessed something that piqued his curiosity. “Yes,” he said slowly. “I do like you. Your honesty is very brutal.”
“Tell me something, Adam.” I couldn’t shut up now. “Who would you say would read a book like that? I mean, who would it appeal to? Someone who’s curious? Angry? Misunderstood? Like a rebellious teenager? A vengeful person, jealous of power?”
“Yes. Someone like that.”
“Are you vengeful? Jealous?”
“Not vengeful, no.” He frowned, his voice distant. “Jealousy is for the young. I’m too old to be wanting things I can’t have. I know my limits, and accept them. And what should I be jealous for? This place? I’ve enough money to make my own city. Besides, I already have everything I want. What else is there? And if you’re thinking there’s ruling an empire, you can stop right now. It appealed to me once, I will admit, but not anymore. Bollocks! It means shaking hands with too many people and…touching them, breathing their polluted air.” He made a face and rubbed his fingers absently. Vigorously.
“So why do you think killing me to be so important?” Everything I’d been thinking of these past few days fell straight out of my mouth before I could even stop them. Maybe it was because Adam seemed genuinely open to such talk, of bouncing around thoughts and scenarios without worrying if I was okay or being exposed to too much, like how the others treated me.
Distracted, Adam cocked a brow up before answering. “Maybe to get to John. Jealously, maybe? John has something they want.” He shrugged, his shoulder thin, sharp. “Now then, who have you upset?” He looked at me curiously, a hint of humor in his eyes before it vanished quickly. I got the full Lancaster inspection from head to toe.
But it was a good question.
Lorcan? No. I didn’t believe that. He’d pretty much relinquished whatever hold he had on me a long time ago. Besides, if it was Lorcan, he would’ve tried to kill John the other day in his office, instead of walking right in and having a chitchat. And he could’ve killed me ten times over when we met in the courtyard. No, I knew it wasn’t Lorcan.
Michael Ho. He was surely pissed off at me. And Uron Koh, whoever he was. I must’ve pissed him off even more. My mind flicked back even further. Surely, not Quin. Did he think me responsible for Madge’s death? I was, in a way, but definitely not by choice. But to think it had anything to do with Quin was too unfathomable to believe. How would he have the resources to fund an army? Well, yes, he did know Lorcan—by chance. And they were friends. But Quin didn’t have a violent bone in his body. His life was dedicated to the resurrection of lives, not the destruction.
The Naturalist movement, they wanted me dead. I was an abomination. A vile, unnatural creature! But Lorcan had killed them all, hopefully. Unless, I had to swallow, someone managed to survive and now they wanted their revenge. And yes, there were many more groups just like them. But that still didn’t make sense. Okay, they were extremists, fanatics. No telling how they’d react if they found out I, the abomination, was still alive. But how would they know where I was?
The butcher. How was he involved? Everything seemed to connect with Lorcan. The butcher used to give Max the fond eye; he was never interested in me directly. I couldn’t recall ever speaking to him, let alone giving him the wrong ideas. In fact, I was never even in any direct contact with him.
Gianni. And the hydro-bomber. Lorcan had been watching a video clip of it. There it was again, a connection right back to Lorcan. Damn! Michael Ho could’ve given the clip to Lorcan to watch. The students…the professor. But none of those students were familiar to me, nor the professor, and none of them had ever been to Lorcan’s house. The strange, signal-repelling suits or whatever—was that another link to Lorcan? He was even wearing one of the suits. And then the whole poisonous dart thing.
The professor, the students, the butcher, Michael Ho, the printery, the book—all seemed linked together. And all centered around or were directly linked to Lorcan.
Illness wormed its way inside me again. And fear. It chilled me, and my muscles ached with some sort of unexplainable dread. A prickly, cold sensation crept along my spine. It just couldn’t be Lorcan!
I glanced at Adam. Even he linked back to Lorcan. But the more I spoke with him, and just from sitting here with him, I realized he couldn’t be involved. I was positive of that now. Adam was just a bystander. And even if it was Adam, his motive would’ve always been to be World President. Meaning John would be his intended target. Not me.
“Are you all right?” Adam’s voice brought me out of the chaos ringing in my head with a jerk. Concern was etched across his face, as if fearful I might projectile vomit at any minute. He was actually pressed against the back of the chair, as though readying himself in case he had to dodge quickly.
“Uh, maybe I will have some water.” Something nagged at me. Something within my reach, and I just couldn’t place my finger on it.
Adam returned quite quickly with a cool glass of water, which he gave me with the hesitancy of one approaching a nasty puddle of sewage waste. I took it, but didn’t drink immediately.
“Adam? How old were you when you read the book? When it tweaked your curiosity?”
“Pardon?” He composed himself, literally brushing his hands on his shirt and backing away—sideways—no doubt in case I started spewing forth. “Oh, ah, about twenty or twenty-one. Why?” He propped himself on the arm of the chair. “Look, should I call for Aline? You really look…off.”
I did feel off, sick to my stomach. “And after you read it. How did you react?”
“It was silly drivel—a waste of my time. I told you. I forgot about it soon after. Why?”
“No reason.” The air left my lungs. My mind raced, spinning with random bits of information and thoughts. The glass of water, still untouched in my hand, shook. I watched as the water rippled and pitched inside the glass.
The butcher, his father and grandfather were printers—inflammable material—and were arrested several times. The butcher and the book… He must’ve read the book—must have. Or knew about it and could’ve even reprinted it! But where did wanting me dead fit into all this? He liked Max. But did Max like him? Max said he knew of someone he was interested in. Even though he said otherwise, I’d just assumed he liked another man. Did the butcher think it was me Max liked? That I’d stolen Max’s attention away from him? Or was it…wait. Did Max think I was interested in him? In Max, that is. Did I send him the wrong signals?
“Oh, fuck!” I stood abruptly, dropping the glass of water from my hand, where it thudded on the carpeted floor, bouncing once before emptying.
“I’m calling Aline!” Adam shrieked, and was already at the intercom button.
> Max! Could it be? He was the connection, the missing “dot” that brought things back to Lorcan. Max. He was young, impressionable, living in a household that loathed the Lancasters. He was smart, knew all sorts of things, had money, and possibly knew how to get more. He was shy, socially awkward, burning with emotions. Vengeful? Possibly. Jealous? More possible. And then my relationship with Lorcan—had he been jealous of that? Did he plan all of this? Very possible!
Max was smart, a thinker. Always thinking, calculating. And Lorcan, did he know?
No! He didn’t. He didn’t have a clue!
And now Max was conveniently erased. Vanished. On purpose! He was here. The students, the professor—connection! John said Lorcan told him Uron Koh was young—Max. He hadn’t just come in the other day; he’d been here all along!
John! I have to tell him. It’s Max. It has to be. Oh my God, Lorcan. What will he do?
I think I screamed. I can’t be sure, but Adam Lancaster was ashen-faced with horror. In the end, he came to my side and forced me to sit, pushing my head between my knees and gingerly patting my back with what felt like the tips of his fingers, pleading with me not to be sick.
I didn’t feel sick anymore, but I was pretty sure I’d lost my mind!
It was clear now.
Crystal clear.
I reflected on the time I’d spent with Max. The long, lingering looks he’d given me. The red-faced flush of shyness and embarrassment because he was smitten with me. I’d just assumed him to be socially awkward and nothing more. A shy, young boy.
A boy.
And during those long conversations, listening to me with rapt attention, silently basking in my presence, it seemed. Encouraging me to talk, asking questions, wanting to know about me. But we’d always gone back to topics that interested him, like science and technology, trivia and history, and what, in his opinion, people should do. And yes, there had even been talk of war—politics and warfare, tactics and analyzing military victories in history, weapons new and old. And deaths from genocides to war criminals.
And his sudden flashes of anger, the burning emotions he’d keep bottled up. The way he held his body tight and rigid. Clenched, as if controlling a violent outburst. How things offended him easily. He hadn’t taken to teasing, not that I’d teased him much, knowing his sensitivity to it. He always kept very much to himself, and watched—always watching. And now that I recall it, he’d always been there when I needed something, as if anticipating me.
It all made sense now. How could I not have seen it? Was I that blind? That trusting? That stupid?
And then it had all ended abruptly—the day after I first kissed Lorcan. Had Max seen? He must’ve known, or sensed, something. Lorcan didn’t strike me as someone who would hide a flirtatious dalliance from his own son. That must have set him off. All of a sudden, Max had become scarce, engrossed in his own things, barely talking to me. Never home. Never around.
And the more I thought of it, the butcher, that hadn’t been a longing look of desire he’d been giving Max. That was a look of someone who knew the other and knew that they both shared a secret.
A very dark secret.
How long had it been going on? When did it all start? My attraction to Lorcan must’ve set it off, put the wheels in motion. Something told me Max had been planning this for a very long time. He had the untiring patience of someone who knew how to bide his time, someone who thought himself to be a fallen hero rising to meet the final challenge of his life in a fanfare of blood and glory.
Someone like Uron Koh.
Chapter 48
John returned from topside near frantic with worry. His jaw ached from keeping it clenched tight. Aline’s urgent call had jangled his nerves. He heard Adam’s panicked and horrified cries in the background while Aline voiced her concern loud and clear. She’d found Josie sitting on the couch with her hands clutching her head, rocking back and forth and muttering incoherently. While John sprinted back to the sub-levels, he listened as Aline reported her immediate assessment that Josie appeared to be having a mental breakdown. Again.
Aline was running a topical scan when John burst into Adam’s quarters. A low chime from the device indicated she’d switched frequency to perform an internal scan to check if Josie’s internal organs were functioning normally. Aline shrugged and frowned; it told John nothing was wrong with Josie other than visible mental distress and an elevated heart rate. His sister then shifted to Adam, and administered a mild sedative to calm him. Adam’s skin had a sheen from perspiration, his face pale and ghastly, and a hand pressed firmly to his mouth.
John moved to sit next to Josie and ran his palm over her back. It felt heated and damp. She sprang to her feet and immediately babbled about Lorcan and Max.
“Josie, what…?” Blinking back surprise, John listened intently, trying to remain patient as she rambled disjointedly about Max, about connections and coincidences, and dots that linked to those connections, and back to coincidences that weren’t coincidences.
“Don’t you see, John? Can’t you see it?” Josie’s eyes widened, staring at him, but he suspected she didn’t really see him. Her focus was far away, back in that cursed house with Wellesley. “He’s the missing link!”
Josie carried on, ignoring offers of water or to sit calmly. She stopped and swore many times as she paced the floor, arms flapping. Sometimes she jerked to a stop mid-sentence and stared off into space, working her lips in silent mutterings, then just as quickly resumed her ranting.
John had no reason to doubt Josie’s hunches or suspicions regarding Max Wellesley. He had to agree, however far-fetched and random these hunches were, it was by far the best lead they had. At this point, he wasn’t about to split hairs and be choosy.
Since she showed no signs of wanting to be calmed, and the fire in her eyes showed she wanted action instead, John led Josie to Simon’s offices directly following her erratic explanation. He sat her down in front of the massive screen and presented her with a running portfolio of all male persons within the Citadel between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five. This included those who had visited or lived, worked or studied, within the Citadel for the last six months.
Josie seemed too agitated to sit still, but diligently studied the faces and profiles that flitted before her. John left her to it, but not before giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” John cupped her face with both hands, making sure she heard him.
“Yeah-yeah,” Josie mumbled. A knot formed between her brows as she pointedly tipped her head to see around him to the viewing screen.
“Stay here, okay? You’ll be safe.”
She nodded absently, and pulled his hands away from her face, clearly annoyed at him for distracting her. He had to be satisfied that searching for Max would keep her out of trouble. With one last look, he turned and headed back topside, and with effort, forced his mind to focus on other tasks.
Throughout the day, there had been a steady and very discreetly executed stream of citizens heading into the sub-level bunkers. Citadel citizens showed incredible camaraderie and support by diligently following orders, leaving John swelling with pride and able to concentrate on quelling the fears of the nervous ministers. Many, fearing death and destruction, had removed themselves and their families to the Tertiary Sub-Level without delay. But several adamantly refused to leave, insisting they would stand by their president and fight. While this touched John to know of their loyalty and allegiance, he insisted that Vice-President Sarah Tretyakov had to leave. If anything were to happen to her, there would be no one left to lead. It had been a tense moment, but she finally relented and joined the other ministers belowground.
John considered, for a brief moment, having Adam take charge for an interim period, should the need arise. In the end, he decided against it. For one, Adam’s health earlier had looked grim and, secondly, he still had his doubts despite Josie’s hunch that Adam might be innocent. Whatever had transpired in that room,
he’d have to think on it later. Aline would be the better choice, but John knew she would refuse. She was, first and foremost, a physician. That was her calling.
He’d given the order for evacuation, sector by sector. North sector first, then East followed by the West sectors. The last would be South and Central. Even though the progress was smooth, so far, he estimated it would take another two hours for everyone to be herded together and shepherded through to their appropriate evac-points. Undoubtedly, and unavoidably, many among those might be members of The Path. It was a chance he had to take if he wanted to ensure the mass population of the Citadel was out of harm’s way.
Before seeing to Josie, he’d supervised the lock-down and evacuation of the main entrance with Simon. That was the easiest, but also the most difficult, since it caused the greatest amount of panic among the general population. Located on the northeast, it connected to a massive, multi-tiered underground parking facility and drop-off point housing roughly five to six thousand vehicles. Above it was a landing strip and docking facility for airborne transportation, large enough to accommodate ten 50-seater shuttles, two 100-seater shuttles, and about fifty small airlifts and single-manned aircrafts.
These all connected to the main entrance block via a network of passages and checkpoints that opened out into a large assembly hall, not much different to an airport immigration hall, with boothed officials verifying passes and identifications, and issuing the appropriate electronic stamps. Once clear of this checkpoint, visitors and guests then went through another security scan to check whatever they carried on their person before proceeding into the various sections within the Citadel. Just off to the eastern side of the main hall were special holding areas containing secure rooms and interrogation cubicles for suspicious or dangerous individuals, such as the hydro-bomber.
The moment a red alert for evacuation was announced, the entire main section would lock down and be made impenetrable, and quite literally be ejected away from the Citadel’s main complex by a series of special hydraulic arms and tracks on which it rested, pushing the main entrance block at least thirty meters away. After that, a set of grid-like shields would go up, blocking the hole it left behind.