The Lancaster Rule - The Lancaster Trilogy Vol. I

by T. K. Toppin

  John, propped up on pillows, had his fists balled tightly. His eyes were open and glowering straight ahead at the door, as if willing it to do something mean to him.

  I sat up, stiffly. The lack of pain suggested I was in a pleasant, drug-infused fug.

  “Okay?”

  He nodded once and cut me a sideways glance; a tight smile tugged his lips. At least his eyes softened a bit.

  “What’s been happening?”

  “I’d love to know.” He gritted his teeth, and resumed his scathing inspection of the door.

  “How long has it been since we came here?” I shifted until my legs were over the side, dangling, and once my vision stopped warping, regarded John with caution. He looked ready to explode on contact, and I had no intention of being the one to make first contact.

  “I’ve been waiting for the last three hours. How long does it take to get some bloody answers?”

  “This isn’t over, is it?” I asked, dread filling me.

  “Doesn’t feel like it.”

  “Do you know what’s happening outside? The siege? Is it really done?”

  He nodded. “That much, I do know.” He pulled at his hip, wincing. “Simon’s lot have taken over and restored calm. Max’s men, some have scattered, others turned themselves in. Most are dead, anyway. They were young, the higher ranks, that is. His military were assorted mercenaries and hired assassins. The assassins have mostly fled—they hold no allegiances once things go astray. Everyone is up in Holding, waiting for transport out of this place. They’ll be tried in Geneva; it’s closest. Then there are the ministers and other officials that were part of this. For that we’ll need a thorough cleansing to see who the traitors are. Wellesley’s men are assisting for the time being. Only seven are left of them.” He glanced across at me with a pained look. “I’m sorry…about Wellesley.”

  I lifted a weary shoulder, not wanting to think about it just yet. “What about the Citadel? How badly has it been destroyed?”

  “Some areas are worse than others, mostly the cabinet offices and community areas. Explosions and fires in the northern sectors knocked out the weather shields, so snow is coming in from there, but that’s under control.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “The rough estimate is about six hundred dead on our side—mostly military and police. We’ve not counted outside in the border cities. That may be higher. They burned a lot of buildings and properties. Some were still in their beds when it happened. Burned alive…”

  “Shit.” My lungs constricted, and my thoughts went to Lorcan. Not yet, I ordered myself. I’ll grieve for him later.

  “Max had help. And I hate to think it was Adam who helped him. I’ve got a really bad feeling about this whole thing.” John groaned. “What is taking so long?”

  “Shall I go and find out—something?” I offered, easing off the bed.

  “Please.”

  I walked out and straight into Aline. She gave me a reprimand and shuffled me back, casting a harsh expression at John.

  “If you are able—and I advise you don’t—then come into the lounge. Look,” she paused with a thin-lipped frown. “I let him out. I had to. With no word from any of you, someone had to take charge. I’m…not sorry. Deal with it.”

  Ignoring her, John got up, grimacing and grunting with effort. He was on his feet, leaning heavily on his right leg, and hobbled out the door. I followed, looking back at Aline in case she tried to stop me. Her face was set in a grim mask.

  The doctor’s lounge had a scattering of chairs and a single table in the middle that took up most of the room. A small kitchen and stores were tucked in at one side, along with a door to a restroom. We found Simon there, his back to us, leaning on the edge of the table. His face was washed clean, his head patched up with skin sealer, his right wrist bandaged. He stood tight-faced, staring down at the floor in silence. Next to him sat Adam, who looked drawn and ill. Dark shadows bruised the skin under his eyes, and his face seemed somewhat thinner than the last time I saw him. He gave me a weak smile and inclined his head. I returned the gesture, uncertain what else to do.

  “Will someone please start talking before I start hitting people?” John spat, limping around the table to find a chair-back to grip. Expelling a long breath, he leaned onto it and faced Simon and Adam. I followed and propped against the wall beside him. Aline lingered by the door, for once looking uncertain.

  “Banks intercepted a call your brother made to Max. I’ve decided that maybe this should be kept quiet for now.” Simon hesitated. John stared hard, prompting him to go on. “I don’t quite know how to proceed on this one, John. But know this,” he rounded on Adam, “harm John, and I will have to kill you.”

  Adam nodded and cleared his throat. “I don’t care what you do. Do whatever you feel is right. I won’t resist.” He inspected his hands on his lap.

  “You and Max, you were in this together?” John glared at his brother, his knuckles white as he gripped the back of the chair.

  Adam nodded. “For a time, yes—”

  Aline made a noise and fisted a hand to her mouth, but did nothing else.

  “But, it got out of hand,” Adam continued. He stared at his sister as if in apology. “He wouldn’t listen to reason anymore. He was…quite mad.”

  “You killed Father.” John’s words were laced with acid.

  Adam glanced down at his hands again. He nodded slowly.

  “What?” Aline rounded the table and stood before Adam. “What are you saying?” She looked from John to Adam, then back to John. “He died from a stroke. I checked the files myself—saw the autopsy video.”

  John shook his head. “I found him, remember? He looked…off. There was a strangeness about everything.”

  “Well, most people who die suddenly do look a little off.” Aline retorted, but her voice shook a bit. Doubt marred her features.

  “I know how death looks, both natural and unnatural. Things were out of order in his room. It just looked different—smelled different.” John said with finality. He stared hard at Aline, then back to Adam. “How did you do it? And why?”

  “I injected him in his ear. We struggled a bit. I tried to tidy it up a little. Guess I didn’t do too good of a job, did I?”

  “Why?” John pulled the chair and sat heavily. Leaning back, he laid a protective arm over his hip left. He was paler, and I saw beads of sweat forming by his hairline.

  “It was Max’s idea,” Adam said. “We met online about ten years ago, a secret underground network of cyber friends exchanging and promoting anti-government ideas. A network I created for the sheer fun of it. I was a teenager then; I’m talking over twenty-five years ago. It was something to pass the time while I lay sickly, bored, in bed. It was exciting, dangerous, and secret. My own private place that I alone controlled, unlike this illness that controls me.”

  Adam went on to say that years later, Max had joined, burning with ideas and energy. He was young, only nine, enthusiastic, and best of all, angry. Adam liked him immediately and encouraged him, mentored him. But, Adam insisted, for him it was still and only ever all fun. He made the mistake of introducing Max to the graphic novel as sort of an induction process. Max then brought in more friends, more radical ideas.

  “That scared me.” Adam’s slender fingers rubbed his mouth. He closed his eyes. “My private world was becoming too well known. I tried to shut it down, dissociate from it, but Max was smarter, hungrier. Like a mutiny, he took control of the site. And he found out who I really was. He’s held it over my head for years. All the while, I found out later, he had been recruiting more and more people. His army.”

  Max had grown aggressive too. He’d insisted that Adam kill Baird Lancaster, or he’d expose Adam for what he really was: a co-conspirator in destroying the government. Adam got scared. His play-world had become real. Obscenely real. Everything he’d built would be destroyed.

  “Look, I panicked, all right.” Adam’s hand shook. “Max blackmailed and bullied, he waved money in front of me. I
f I killed for him, I could leave unmolested by his new Federation Council of The Path, even become the new World President, the figurehead for him, the real new leader.”

  Adam’s face paled a fraction, perhaps the guilt made him ill. “The boy was quite mad by then. Insane. In the end, I agreed. I’m weak. A coward. Greedy. Yes, I killed Father. It was me all along. My hands did it. Then I tried to convince everyone I should, by rights, assume presidency. But I couldn’t do it. I was…dirtied. It was wrong. I was ashamed. It was easier to run. So I did,” he lifted a shoulder a fraction, “Taiwan. To hide and suffer.”

  I watched as John clenched his fist tighter, his knuckles white, reflecting the rage coursing through him.

  “But Max wasn’t done with me.” A weak laugh escaped Adam. “He tracked me down, then used me with Father’s murder. I had been so foolish to think he’d set me free.”

  Adam was forced to come out into public. Max played him like a puppet, making him jump to his every beck and call. So Adam had done as he was told, and he’d done it well.

  “Then…but then.” A sly smile played across Adam’s face. “I formulated my own plan. After all, it’s what I do. I decided to play the puppet in the hopes that I’d find an opening in which I could bring Max down. But of course, I was too late. Everything was too late. For that, I’m truly sorry.”

  Chapter 58

  Aline walked out the room in silence. Simon went around the table, peeled a pale and shaken Josie off the wall and put her in a chair next to John. He paced for a bit, then with a long sigh, sat as well. John leaned against the table and clutched his throbbing head. He kneaded his temples with his thumbs and tried to order his mangled thoughts.

  “Answer me some questions, will you?” John wearily lifted his head and looked across at his brother. “Michael Ho. Where is he now?”

  Adam tipped his head sideways. “Gone. Max may have had him killed. I don’t know.”

  “And the butcher? His connection?”

  “A wannabe. A runner, spy, informant. Whatever you wanted him to be, he was ready and up for it. His family being printers, well, that had been pure coincidence. The graphic novel was handmade, tirelessly replicated to the last detail by a fan. There was only one real copy that ever existed, made by the artist himself, and the exact whereabouts of it are unknown. But limited copies were made by this fan, at least three that I know of. I had one, which Max then took as his own.”

  “And the professor, his connection is obvious.”

  “He supplied all the know-how for those suits, the bombs, the poison.”

  “And Max had him killed.”

  Adam pushed up his brows. “Is he dead? Understandable, since he knew too much about everything, especially about Max and his plans. Max was a student of his for the last six years. He was an online student first, then, after he staged his disappearance, he enrolled full-time. He used three different guises to enter the Citadel. He’d been here since September, never left save one time to do business elsewhere. He’s the one who let the assassin in to kill you, Josie. He tried a few other times, personally. But you were always too heavily watched. I am glad you are still alive. I am…very glad.”

  “So who was it Lorcan saw entering a few nights ago?” Josie asked and seemed to be repressing a shiver. John put a hand on her thigh and squeezed. She relaxed a smidgeon.

  “His little assistant, Solange. He sometimes posed as his decoy. I understand he is also dead?”

  Josie nodded. “Very dead. How did Max get all that money?”

  “He stole it.” Adam shrugged. “From me—some of it. But he had a devious mind for business, for strategy. It seems I taught him that bit too well. Some he earned genuinely, invested through Michael Ho into all sorts of businesses, quite a bit into bio-chemical products and research. Then there was the illegal pharmaceuticals and weapons end of it, all before his fifteenth birthday. I can give you an endless list of his business dealings. I’d planned to bring him down that way. But things…escalated.”

  “Did you really have to kill Father?” John watched his brother. A cold, dispassionate sensation dropped into his stomach. His brother was now a complete stranger. A murderer.

  “I don’t know,” Adam’s voice went thin, distant. “He was essentially a lot like Grandfather. The only reason he changed was because of what happened in the park, with our aunts. And I hated him.”

  “And you are worse,” John spat.

  “True.” Adam sighed. “I am. I know that now. Father saw it, too. From very early on. We were very much alike, he and I. Power-hungry, greedy. Born from the original seed of evil, the great Dane Lancaster. But Father had a flaw. He cared too much despite his evil ways. Perhaps it was Mother’s influence. Who knows? And I scared him, I think. When he changed, he decided you were more suitable to take his place. We fought—bitterly. I despised him for his sudden weakness. I was the rightful choice to succeed him. But in the end, he was essentially more like you. Aline, well, she had her calling. So you it was, our next leader. He was right, too. You are the better choice. I can see that now. You have compassion. Understanding.” Adam laughed. “You don’t have a greedy bone in your body. What is that like, I wonder?”

  Simon spoke for the first time. “Why didn’t you just run? Why come back here and get involved at all? You were basically out of the picture. Free.”

  “No, never free. Max had me good. For someone so young, he was a savage brute. Savage. Unconscionable. I suppose this is so cliché, but the guilt…I couldn’t do it anymore. He was going to destroy this place—you, all of you. All of us. I had to try and stop it. That’s why I tried to call him earlier. I hoped I could stop him; knock some sense into him. I still consider this my home. Maybe not fit to be called a Lancaster anymore, considering. But I am, still, part of this place.” Expelling a long breath, Adam rubbed his face. He leaned back in his chair and gazed up at the ceiling. “Look, John. I’ll make this easy for you. I surrender. I’ll do whatever you want me to do or ask of me. Whatever fit punishment there is, whether you want to cast me off in some deep, dark dungeon or execute me on the spot, I’ll accept it without complaint or protest. I’m putting my fate completely in your hands. I’ve done wrong. I’m evil, no better than Max. I’ve killed. Do with me as you please.”

  What John really wanted to do was to reach over the table and bludgeon his brother to death. His confession, if it could be called that, not only sickened him, but also sounded hollow and empty. Like a formless shadow, simply darkening the world and partially hiding the true nature of the monstrous beast he really was.

  “I need…air.” John rose abruptly, ignoring the pain in his hip. He pressed a hand on Josie’s shoulder to keep her from following, then hobbled out the room, a ruddy haze marring his vision. He didn’t know where he was going, but just the fact he was no longer in that room made his sight clearer and his breath come easier.

  As he walked through the clinic, battered and bruised, injured and so tired even his bones ached, he passed people he knew and those he didn’t. They saw him and their eyes kindled with recognition. Some greeted him with relieved smiles, while others just looked up at him in expectation. Regular, ordinary people—people who looked to him for leadership and protection. They were hurt, scared, and confused, just like him. But they had put all their trust in him that he’d see them out of this madness. He had to. John felt their collective weight pile up on his shoulders. It was a weight he’d been born to accept. He couldn’t turn away from that.

  Yes, Father was right. I am the right choice. For here. This Citadel. But was he right for the rest of the world? Maybe not. Look what had happened. A misguided kid had decided to overthrow him.

  Something had to change. For over fifty years, the world had been under one rule. Would it be so easy to change?

  He stopped before a door and saw his sister working over a young boy. The boy’s left leg was gone, a deathly white pallor draped over him as he lay on the bed. His mother sat nearby, weeping. But the boy remain
ed still, and listened obediently to Aline’s instructions.

  “He’ll be fine,” Aline reassured the mother. “Once the swelling is down, we can give him a new leg. It’ll be good as new—better. I promise you.”

  Good as new—better. Yes, John smiled with encouragement as the boy glanced his way, he knew what to do now.

  * * *

  “The Citadel will be rebuilt—just as it was, but better. I will remain as leader, but at the end of the year, I will announce that any country wishing to part ways with us is free to do so. Those who wish to stay can stay, and we will continue to co-exist and protect them as we have always done. As it is, most are already independently run and have their own governing structures in place. The transition, should it take place, shouldn’t be too difficult.

  “The time of the Lancaster rule needs to end, but the Citadel will still remain its own independent country. It’s still mine. Ours. Grandfather built this city as a reminder of the power and the authority he wielded, and now I will run it to show the world that change has come, for the good. Like a nasty, evil scar, it holds its own secrets and mystery—its own story. A history. We can’t change it, but we can try making changes for the future. It’s time for change. And when my time is up, whoever takes over can lead it into the next phase. But deciding who leads next will be done fairly. They will be elected, officially, by the people of this Citadel. All this war and killing, it has to stop. I know it’s an impossible feat, but we have to try, at least.”

  “And what of me?” Adam asked.

  “You?” John considered him. “You will have the harshest punishment a man like you will ever have to endure. You will relinquish your wealth, and give it away to those who need it, to the families of those that died today, here, and in the border cities. You will live here for the remainder of your life. You will be cut off from everything. Your friends, associates, contacts—everything. Communication with the outside world will cease for you. You will live like a pauper. If needed, you will assist me in the daily running of my government; offer advice and strategies for whatever it takes to bring the world back to independence. You will be watched every day of your life. And when you are not assisting me, you will assist Aline in the clinic, helping rehabilitate those who have been injured and maimed because of what you helped to create. Your punishment is to witness and suffer with those who have suffered. The ill, the sick, the traumatized. A fitting punishment for one like you who is averse to the ills of others, don’t you think?” John slammed his hand against the table and leaned forward. Glaring down at Adam, he whispered, “The only reason you’re still alive is because you saved Josie’s life. And consider this the only time, the last time, I will ever say, thank you.”