by Lincoln Cole
Dominick shrugged. “A hobby.”
They drove the rest of the way in silence, and at some point, Haatim must have dozed off. Dominick tapped him on the shoulder to wake him.
“We’re here.”
Haatim grunted in response, staggering out of the car. The cold wind felt bracing on his skin, waking him fully. He shivered and headed inside. Halfway to the elevator, he let out a huge sigh and turned, instead, for the stairs.
Dominick chuckled behind him. “Good. You’re learning.”
“Have I told you yet, today, that I hate you?”
“Nope,” Dominick said. “Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow. We’ll get exercises in before the trial starts to help limber up your muscles. Helps with the recovery.”
“Great,” Haatim said. “Just what I wanted.”
“Don’t worry; that’s the big hike. It’ll get easier from here.”
Haatim didn’t know whether or not to believe him.
He leaned toward not.
Haatim sighed again, heading into the stairwell and staggering up the stairs. His body cried out in agony with each step, but somehow, he made it up to his room and inside.
There, he collapsed face first on the bed, fully clothed, and fell asleep in seconds.
***
“We’ve heard the testimony from my son about the events that took place at Raven’s Peak,” Aram addressed the Council members gathered around the table. “I will not dispute that her actions were heroic and that she showed willing to risk her life for the sake of saving others, including my son.”
From his corner of the room, Haatim watched his father, nervous about the fact that one of the most important chairs sat empty—well, emptier than normal, considering the AR glasses and digital connection.
Frieda’s chair remained conspicuously empty. She hadn’t answered her cell phone. Haatim hadn’t heard from her all morning, and this on the last day of the trial with them set to cast their final votes.
A task his father seemed in a hurry to do. They’d told Haatim that he wouldn’t be allowed to speak during this meeting, but could watch.
“However, we also saw the video of Abigail’s indiscretion with Sara Heinelman in which she disobeyed a direct order from the Council. This was not the first time, nor even the second, that she made a mockery of our decisions. Her willful disobedience has gotten out of hand, and the question here today is whether or not we can ever trust her again.”
Haatim wanted, desperately, to speak up and remind them that this wasn’t a vote about slapping Abigail on the wrist. The vote held much more importance, and his father tried to downplay the responsibility.
“The Council had their concerns about Abigail when she was a child. They worried about what sort of person she might grow into. They wondered what sort of corruption might manifest itself. Many of you were present during those days, and you remember that the machinations that kept her alive were not based on reality or facts.
“We keep giving Abigail more chances to redeem herself, and every time, she throws them back in our faces. This sort of behavior can become infectious and create a cancer in our organization if left unchecked. I, for one, feel it is time we checked this behavior and did the necessary to assure the future of this Council.”
“Perhaps, we should await Frieda’s presence to cast our votes,” Jun Lee said. “This isn’t a decision about what sort of takeout we’re going to order.”
“And where is Frieda?” Aram asked. “Have you spoken with her?”
“I have not,” Jun said. “She has not answered any of my messages.”
“It seems she is too busy to be bothered with this trial,” Aram said.
“An unfair characterization,” Jun said. “Perhaps, she has other issues to attend to.”
“What issues might these be?” Aram asked. “I know of no other issues more important than this.”
“Perhaps, a pressing issue only just presented itself. I feel we should postpone this vote until Frieda is present.”
“I can go look for her,” Haatim blurted out. Everyone in the room turned to look at him, and many of them wore angry expressions.
“No,” the red-headed woman said. “I agree with Aram. We scheduled this meeting, and at an inconvenient time for many of us. If Frieda chooses not to attend, that is her prerogative, but we will not hold back on our vote to accommodate one person. I recommend that we move the vote forward and cast it immediately.”
The room fell silent for a minute, and then Jun Lee said, “Your actions feel deliberate.”
“Your tone sounds accusatory,” Aram said. “I am not the one who chose today to make myself unavailable.”
“This isn’t justice,” Jun Lee said. “I refuse to vote until all Council members are accounted for.”
“That is within your rights,” Aram said. “But, I am in charge of this meeting. All in favor of casting our final votes now rather than postponing?”
Everyone shifted and cast their votes. A tally flashed up: seven for, five against. Only Frieda’s vote remained unaccounted for.
“Wait,” Haatim said, standing up. “This isn’t fair. A decision so important shouldn’t be handled like this!”
“That is the second time you’ve interrupted,” Aram said, staring pointedly at Haatim. “It will not happen again.”
Haatim opened his mouth to speak again, and then changed his mind. He sat down and bit back an angry sigh.
Where the hell are you, Frieda? What the hell is so important that you’re missing this?
“It is agreed,” Aram said, addressing the room. “We will now cast our votes for the future of Abigail Dressler.”
***
“Who sent them there?” Frieda asked.
“I don’t know,” Martha said.
“What the hell were they doing in France?”
“I can find no record. Ma’am, you must go to the Council meeting.”
“I will, as soon as we sort this out,” Frieda said. “If this was Aram, I’ll finally have what I need to bring him down.”
“You think he did this?”
“Who else?”
“We have no evidence.”
“Nothing direct,” Frieda said. “But, certainly enough to justify looking more closely.”
Frieda sat in her room with her assistant. Jim Fronson and Michael Epplinger had been out of contact for the last few days, suspicious on its own, but now she stared at images of their dead bodies in the streets of Paris. Murdered in gruesome fashion and left for the authorities to find.
Jim lay torn apart, and Michael hung from a balcony in an alleyway, his abdomen torn open to spill his intestines. Whoever had done this didn’t just want the two men dead; they wanted to send a message.
Neither Jim nor Michael was supposed to be on a mission right now, yet both had drawn from their mission funds and organized a flight to and from Paris on a private jet. The most confusing part was that their flight to Paris listed two passengers, and the flight back added a third. No other information showed as logged about the trip, nor a signoff of approval from any Council member.
Which meant someone had gone behind her back and sent these Hunters on a mission. What worried her the most? The fact that a Council member had acted to control her Hunters without permission? Or the fact that Jim and Michael had gone along with it and disobeyed her?
“You need to get to the meeting,” Martha said. “It is the last day of the trial, and Abigail needs your support.”
“The trial will need to be postponed,” Frieda said. “Or dismissed completely. This is significantly more important. Two Hunters are dead, Martha, and someone is actively working against us. We have a traitor in our midst.”
“We still can’t prove it.”
“Not yet,” Frieda said. “But I will still enjoy watching Aram squirm when I bring this information to the Council’s attention. His time is nearly through.”
She strode out of the room and down the hall. The Council meeting had bee
n scheduled to start twenty minutes ago, but they would, probably, still be discussing and deliberating and waiting for her to show up.
Their deliberations would end, however, when she brought this to their attention. Even if she couldn’t find a way to tie it to Aram, it would be enough to turn a lot of his supporters to her side.
But that wasn’t the only problem.
Frieda didn’t think that Aram would work against the Council. Sure, he was self-centered and prone to manipulating things to serve his agenda, but he’d always been a loyal member. She couldn’t imagine him working actively against their interests, and he had someone in Paris he was searching for.
Who, and why?
She needed answers.
Frieda burst into the Council meeting in a rush, determined to take control and get her answers. She knew immediately, however, that something had gone terribly wrong.
Aram, seated at the end of the table, wore a smug expression. Haatim sat in the corner, looking worried and depressed.
Martha appeared beside her, handing her a pair of AR glasses. She put them on, and the rest of the Council appeared around the table. They had various expressions of happiness and anger on their faces.
“Frieda,” Aram said. “So good of you to finally show up.”
“We have a problem,” she said. “Someone is acting without the authority of the Council.”
“What do you mean?” Jun Lee asked.
“Two Hunters were sent to Paris a few days ago, and now both are dead.”
“Who sent them?”
“It wasn’t logged,” Frieda said. “So, it could be anyone.”
The Council members murmured and looked at each other. Frieda tapped a few times on her tablet and transmitted the images to all of them, showing the brutal images of Jim and Michael. The murmuring intensified.
“What assignment were they on?” a Russian woman named Vasilisa asked. “What were they doing in Paris?”
“Nothing was reported,” Frieda said. “Neither of them was on assignment, yet both of them requested a private jet and planned on bringing something back with them.”
“Back where?”
“To here,” Frieda said.
“The only Council members out there are you and Aram,” Jun Lee said.
“Perhaps, a mistake?” Aram said.
Frieda glanced at him. He looked at the images in horror. His face grew pale, and she knew, instantly, that she had it right. He had sent them and hadn’t expected this outcome.
“No mistake. Council funds were approved and used, and now two men lay dead. Whoever did this has betrayed us completely and will have to answer for their crimes to the Council.”
A hush fell over the room. Frieda wheeled on Aram.
“We must suspend the trial until after this is taken care of. Perhaps, it will shed some light on the truth about what’s been going on and help in Abigail’s defense.”
No one responded, and Frieda realized from the silence that events had moved faster than she.
Jun spoke up, “Apologies, Frieda, but we have already cast the vote. Abigail’s fate has been decided.”
“Decided?” She looked around at the Council in bewilderment. “What has been decided?”
Another hesitation, and then Jun said, “She is to be executed.”
“Then, it needs to be stopped!” she said. “Is it scheduled for the morning? We can cast a vote to revert the decision until all of this is sorted out.”
This time, Aram spoke up, cowering meekly in his chair and tugging at the collar of his shirt. He cleared his throat. “I’ve already dispatched Hunters to carry out the sentence.”
Frieda froze, completely shocked by the information. She stared at Aram for a few seconds, and then said, “You pathetic coward.”
Then, she took off the glasses and threw them onto the table. Next, Frieda sprinted out of the room and down the hall. Haatim ran behind her, as they dashed for Abigail’s room.
“You won’t make it in time,” Aram shouted from behind.
Frieda prayed he had it wrong.
Chapter 7
Abigail waited to hear the decision of the Council, as nervous as she’d ever been in her entire life. She’d tried exercising to take her mind from worrying, but it hadn’t helped, and she found herself pacing in the center of her room once more.
It felt like it had taken forever but it hadn’t been that long. Either it would be a quick vote, or they would take a long time deliberating, and she didn’t know which one worked better in her favor. Seconds dragged by at a snail’s pace, and Abigail felt sick, she was so scared.
She kept her body moving, focusing on breathing and relaxing. Should she try to escape? That might be her best option at this point, and the more time that passed, the better that option seemed. Her hearing nothing probably meant things had gone poorly, and they were trying to decide the best way to kill her. The most humane.
At least, that’s how she imagined it.
The thick walls held no other openings leading into and out of her room other than the door. The bars on the windows offered gaps too small to slip through, but maybe she could jar one loose and slip out.
Or, maybe, she could make a run for it as soon as the door opened. She could push past the guards and try to escape down the hall before they could put a bullet in her back.
None of those options, however, made her feel any better. Neither of them would work. Abigail had left it too late to try and escape now. If that had been her plan, she should have done it months ago.
Now, she was stuck with whatever fate the Council handed down. Haatim had assured her it would go in her favor and that they had all the votes they needed to find her innocent of these crimes, but she still couldn’t help but imagine he might be wrong.
If this were to be her end, then she wouldn’t beg or plead. Arthur had taught her to remain strong and independent and to face death bravely. Sure, she hadn’t planned to go out, but at the very least, she could take control of the situation and go out on her terms.
After what felt like an eternity, the door opened. Four men stood just outside the room.
Two of them, the mercenaries posted as guards, and the other two, Hunters she’d known for years. Colton Depardieu and Anong Sao.
The pleased expression on Colton’s face told her what decision they’d passed down. They hadn’t come to set her free.
Anong, a small woman and pretty and nimble, came from Southeast Asian descent. Colton, a burly and ugly man, had blonde hair and blue eyes. He loved attention and behaved like a complete jerk in his treatment of women. That formed part of why she’d never gotten along with him. The other reason came down to him just being an asshole.
They all stepped into the room, leaving the door open behind them.
Colton looked thrilled to be here now that he would get to murder her. He’d always hated Abigail, and Arthur too. An unrepentant bully, he didn’t like that Arthur always proved quick to put bullies in their place. Anong, carrying a pistol and frowning, looked worried and a little disconcerted by the situation.
“It’s time, then?” Abigail tried to sound brave. Her voice came out a lot weaker than she would have liked, and her pretense felt all too obvious.
“Yes,” Anong said. “Abigail, I am so sorry about all of this. I know you—”
“Oh, shut up,” Colton said. “It’s long past time we did this. She’s been a problem since the Council first rescued her, and if not for Arthur, I would’ve put a bullet in her a long time ago.”
“She’s one of us.” Anong shook her head. “She deserves our respect.”
“She’ll never be one of us,” Colton said. “She’s one of them: a cultist. They should have killed her when she was a little girl. But, at least we get to rectify that mistake now.”
Abigail’s muscles tensed as he spoke. Her hands clenched, and she forced them to relax. Her nails dug into her flesh.
“Wait!” someone shouted from down the hall. Footsteps appro
ached. The four turned and aimed their rifles back at the door.
A second later, Dominick appeared. He skidded to a halt, holding up his hands, and they all lowered their guns.
“Don’t do this,” he said, speaking to Anong and Colton. “Let’s think this through.”
“We’re past thinking,” Colton said. “The Council ruled that she’s to be executed for her crimes, and I, for one, am thankful that I get to be the one who does it.”
Dominick pulled out his gun and aimed it at Colton. “I’m warning you. I won’t let you do this.”
The two guards and Anong raised their guns as well, aiming them at Dominick. A tense moment passed.
“You aren’t thinking straight,” Colton said. Casually, he walked toward Dominick. “You don’t want us to have to kill you, too, right?”
“Dominick, it’s okay,” Abigail said. “Stay out of it.”
Dominick glanced at her but didn’t lower the gun. “I’m warning you to stop.”
“Or what?” Colton asked. “You’ll shoot one of your own?”
“You seem ready to.”
“Abigail isn’t one of ours.” Colton stepped closer, hands up, and Dominick jerked back. His hands shook. “She never will be, and you’d do well to remember that.”
Then Colton reached out and grabbed Dominick’s gun, yanking it from his grasp. Dominick stood there, hands still shaking.
“See? That wasn’t too bad,” Colton said. Then he flipped the gun over and pistol-whipped Dominick on the face, knocking him to the ground. He hit hard, dazed.
“Hey!” Anong shouted.
“Don’t worry,” Colton said. “He’ll be fine.”
“You didn’t have to hit him so hard.”
“He’s just getting what’s coming to him. Like Abigail, and Arthur before her. You know, I’m glad Arthur is dead. Such a pretentious jackass all the time, always thinking he was better than the rest of us.”
Abigail felt in a daze, barely breathing. Her muscles clenched tighter, and she could only see red as rage washed over her. Colton’s words infuriated her, but also so much more than that.
“Everyone thought he was great, but I knew better. I knew he was just an uppity—”