Go! - Hold On! Season 2

by Peter Darley

  Tyler looked into his brother’s maniacal eyes and swallowed hard. He knew of Brandon’s condition, The Scorpion. He’d borne witness to it once before during his trial at Fort Bragg. He’d seen him take out five military police officers within seconds under the effects of a Scorpion attack. He knew that if Brandon was to set upon him, he wouldn’t stand a chance. Gripped with fear, he shivered.

  Thirty-Three

  Meltdown

  Belinda and Miranda raced up to Brandon vocalizing a chorus of “No, Brandon. He’s your brother!”

  Belinda held him by the shoulders. He looked into her pleading eyes, her panic instantly bringing him back from the edge of the abyss. It was as though he could see the horror of what he was about to become through her eyes.

  He shook his head, and the scar faded again as his moment of meltdown abated. “Oh, my God, Ty. I–I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .”

  Tyler exhaled and rested a shaking hand on Brandon’s shoulder. “D-don’t worry about it. Let’s just get this sorted out.”

  Miranda moved to the far corner of the room and opened the door to the stairwell. “Look guys, I really think you have things to discuss, so I’m going to point you to the spare room. Top of the stairs, second on the right. There’s a double bed and a spare mattress in the closet.”

  Tyler turned to her regretfully. “I am so sorry for what just happened. It was my fault. I really do appreciate everything you’re doing for us.”

  She smiled with forgiving eyes. “It’s my pleasure. I’ll call Tamara right now and ask her to come over.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ve got a client coming in an hour. Just keep quiet up there, and nobody’ll know you’re here.”

  “Client?” Belinda said.

  “Yeah. You’ll probably hear some strange noises coming from below. Just ignore it.”

  Having their own issues on their minds, they left their host to her own devices, and climbed the stairs.

  Once they’d reached the landing, Brandon touched Tyler’s arm with a look of disgrace.

  “You all right now?”

  Brandon looked down at the floor. “I can’t believe what just happened. I’m so sorry, Ty. You’ve done so much for me. For all of us. And I just went and blew up at you like that. What the hell is wrong with me?”

  Belinda stood beside them with a worried expression.

  “They messed with your mind, bro,” Tyler said. “I don’t know how you’re gonna deal with this. But what I just saw downstairs was terrifying. Your eyes changed, your face changed, and something happened to that scar between your eyes. It was like you weren’t you, anymore.”

  “That’s the problem,” Brandon said gravely. “It was me, Ty. The real me. Who I am most of the time isn’t true. I’m a fake. An illusion.”

  Tyler looked at him pensively. “I think you’re whoever you want to be, Brandon. You can choose your identity, just as I choose mine, and just as Belinda chooses hers.”

  “He’s right,” she said.

  “You can deal with this, bro. It was just a glitch, like a chink in your armor. You’re strong and you can handle this. I know you can.”

  Brandon recalled the moment the rage took control of him, and he wasn’t as confident as Belinda and Tyler. The scene played over in his head. He was overcome with doubt and felt he was falling into a deep depression. It was followed immediately by a need for a drink that he couldn’t even consider permitting himself. The urge simply wouldn’t leave him.

  Miranda’s words, when she’d called him a hero, repeated in his mind. It was the last term in the world he would’ve chosen to describe himself. His recent bout with alcohol, and his rage episode made him feel more of a villain than anything else. A sense of gross unworthiness came over him.

  After a moment, he somberly headed for the bedroom.

  ***

  Tamara Quinn settled into her apartment for the evening after a long day at the office. Having secured the transfer of a popular dance group from an indie label, she felt particularly satisfied by the day’s events. She knew that under A & Z Records, the band would soar to heights they’d never have dreamed possible.

  Living alone, single by choice, she couldn’t feel trusting enough toward a man to commit to him.

  However, always body and diet-conscious, she stood at the kitchen sideboard preparing a chicken salad.

  She heard a knock at the door. Setting her knife and cutting board aside, she wiped her hands and exited the kitchen.

  She opened the front door ajar with a chain bracing it and peered into the gap. Who she saw on the other side caused her heart to quicken. “Nicole? Is it really you?”

  The young woman on the other side raised her head, concealed under a straw hat, sunglasses, and dyed brunette hair.

  Tamara slid the chain away and ushered her visitor inside. The woman put down her suitcase, removed her sunglasses and hat, and embraced her.

  “Oh, Nicole. Thank God you made it. You’re staying here. Agreed?”

  The woman nodded, but appeared profoundly emotional.

  “What’s wrong?” Tamara said.

  “It’s been five years since I’ve heard anyone speak my real name. I’ve been called ‘Jodie Madison’ for so long I’d almost come to believe it.”

  “Jodie Madison? Oh, sweetheart. Where have you been hiding all this time?”

  “Oregon for the last three years. I’ve been raising horses on a ranch.”

  “Sounds great. You know, you really do look different now.”

  “That was the intention.”

  Tamara gestured to the couch. “Rest for awhile. I’ll get you something to eat. Would you like a drink?”

  “Do you have any beer? I’ve kinda developed a taste for it.”

  “Sure.”

  “When am I gonna meet these people?”

  “Soon. So far, they think you’re a myth. I had to lie to them. I told them I’d keep searching until I found someone who knew how to contact you.”

  Nicole nodded in approval. “Do you trust them?”

  “It’s impossible to trust anybody. Anybody at all. But let’s just say I have no reason to distrust them.”

  The telephone rang. Tamara hurried into the kitchen and answered it. “Hello? Oh, hi, Miranda . . . Not quite, but I’m getting pretty close . . . They are? OK, I don’t think this is gonna take as long as we thought.”

  Nicole entered the kitchen and fixed her gaze on Tamara as she was ending the call.

  “In fact, things are looking pretty good. Wait for my call. Bye. ”

  “That was them?” Nicole said.

  “Yes. Brandon Drake and his brother have arrived, and they’re just itching for information about you.”

  Nicole’s expression was deadpan. “If my sister had been taken in by Sapphire, I’d be pretty damn eager to get some answers too.”

  “What do you think we should do?”

  Nicole paced the kitchen thoughtfully. “We play it cautiously. Set up a meeting, and we’ll go to them. From there, I’ll weigh up the situation to see if I can trust them. My instincts are pretty good.”

  “OK.”

  “This is so dangerous, Tam, but what else can I do?” Nicole came closer to her, the fear in her, undeniable. “You saved my life five years ago, and I have to do what I can to help someone else escape, but I’m so damn scared. I really hope Brandon Drake is as formidable as so many believe, because he’s gonna need to be.”

  “You’ll be safe if you hide out in here. First thing tomorrow, we’ll go see them.”

  “I want Sapphire to be taken down so badly. I just want my life back.”

  Tamara shot her an encouraging smile. “Maybe this time you will.”

  “There is no ‘maybe’,” Nicole said with conviction. “Sapphire has to be stopped. The lives of countless innocent women and children are at stake. Failure is not an option.”

  Thirty-Four

  The Other Cabin

  Andrew Wilmot drove a
rented, black, Jeep Wrangler through the rocky terrain of Arizona’s Sonoran Desert. The intense heat was made bearable only by the wind blowing through his hair. The legendary high temperatures of the area demanded the best open-air form of transport to his location—advice provided, most helpfully, by Treadwell.

  The vast, flat plains spread across to every horizon. Only scatterings of cacti, and the occasional giant saguaro, broke up the vision of the sun-baked, rust-colored wasteland.

  He continued, following his destination direction via GPS. Despite numerous visits to the place, the location was so remote it was impossible for him to get there from memory. There were no roads, landmarks, or directions anywhere.

  After four hours, he saw the mesa in the distance and smiled, knowing the end of his arduous trek was in sight.

  He often wondered how Treadwell had managed to find such a contender for the most remote spot in the United States. It wasn’t a part of any national preserve, Native American or military reservation, as was much of the Sonoran.

  The closer he came to his destination, the more his anticipation gripped him. There was so much ground to cover in his forthcoming discussion.

  He finally came to the base of the mesa and slowed the jeep. After parking beside an identical model on his immediate right, he stepped out with a two-liter bottle of unavoidably-warm water.

  Looking around him, he took in the barren landscape as the sun beat down on him. Even his white t-shirt and jeans were too much for this climate. The dry heat struck him with an oppressive, claustrophobic grip.

  He walked ahead slowly so as not to exhaust himself in the infernal environment. Keeping within a narrow shadow at the base of the mesa, he eventually reached the end.

  Turning the corner, he saw a wooden cabin and marveled at how effectively Treadwell had concealed it at the base of the mesa. It was hidden away from any roads or routes where it could be seen. The top of the mountain hung overhead, obscuring it even from the air.

  He saw the front door was ajar and made his way up onto the porch to push it open.

  “Thought you’d never get here,” a raspy female voice said.

  Stepping inside, he smiled at the sight of a striking woman wearing sawn-off, high-cut jeans, and a blue t-shirt. Her blonde hair was cut harshly short in an almost-militaristic style. Her defined, angular jaw complemented her piercing blue eyes.

  He walked across the spacious living room and glanced inside the small kitchen through a door at the end. He noticed the oak floor was polished, and a circular cream rug in the center of the room had been recently vacuumed. The top-of-the-line, high-definition television set on the wall above the mantelpiece was spotless, as was the digital MP3 music system positioned to the side. “You’ve been busy,” he said.

  He stood beneath four electric fans that whirred overhead. The installed air conditioning alone didn’t alleviate the heat effectively enough.

  The woman walked into the kitchen and immediately returned with two glasses and a chilled bottle of chardonnay. “Care to join me?” she said in a sultry voice.

  Wilmot placed the water bottle on the living room table and exhaled with outstretched arms, absorbing the refreshing breeze of the fans. “You have no idea how much I would. I can’t get used to this damn heat.”

  She handed him a glass of wine. “I love it. It makes me horny.”

  “What doesn’t?”

  “How was your trip to New Hampshire? You never told me.”

  “Surprisingly enlightening. It seems our Mr. Drake is not who he thinks he is. At least not entirely.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It seems Treadwell subjected him to some kind of memory-altering procedure in an attempt to make him more manageable. In my opinion, he made a mistake.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “I think it’s the morality and compassion he planted into him that led to him attacking us. Treadwell couldn’t see the bigger picture, but it’s given me a change of plans.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I want him alive.”

  “Do you know if Kerwin and Rhodes have managed to acquire a lead on his whereabouts?”

  “Not yet. They’re in L.A. trying to find information on this Sapphire organization. Something about this just doesn’t sit right with me.” He took the sofa and sank into its cushioned embrace.

  “What doesn’t sit right with you?” she said.

  “I’m not sure. They said the people in the bar were absolutely terrified of Sapphire. You don’t get a reaction like that if there’s no official trace of him. So what the hell is going on?”

  “As with all mysteries, there’s always an explanation,” she said with a wily grin.

  “It’d be a hell of a lot easier if I could bring in more reinforcements on this, but the time isn’t right. I’m still running Treadwell’s operation under the radar. I just need Drake, and then we can introduce Nemesis in an official capacity. There are genuine threats we can apply it to now.”

  “And then?”

  “Then I’ll have options that will enable me to propose it to congress and eliminate the need for cover.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Very.”

  “What about Jed Crane?”

  “Right now, I have no idea. That lucky son of a bitch could be anywhere.” He paused and gave himself a moment to survey the cabin. “You know, as many times as I’ve been here, it never ceases to amaze me. Treadwell thought of everything. Self-contained electricity and its own filtered water supply. It’s remarkable. He must’ve suspected his days were numbered.”

  “He got real unlucky with the helicopter crash, that’s all.”

  Wilmot shook his head. “I’m not so sure. Before he died, he sent me a letter detailing his entire plans, and directions to this cabin hideout. He knew he was going to die. There’s more to his death than meets the eye.” The thought that had tormented him for days returned. “So, why didn’t he tell me about Drake?”

  Calculation appeared in the woman’s eyes, as though a computer was registering behind them. “I think he was convinced Payne would kill him. There’s no other explanation.”

  “Maybe. But nobody has ever been able to pin Drake down. He just disappears for months on end. Two years ago, he’d show up, stir a little trouble, and just vanish without a trace. Where the hell did he go after Leavenworth? No sightings anywhere for two months, until his idiot girlfriend punched out a priest. How do you figure that?”

  She looked around the cabin intently, and then her jaw dropped. “Oh, my God.”

  “What?”

  “There’s another cabin.”

  His head snapped toward her. “What do you mean?”

  “Think about it. You said Treadwell had Drake’s memories altered, right?”

  “Right.”

  “OK. He was clearly a test subject, and one that Treadwell would’ve needed to keep track of. I’m telling you. Somewhere, there’s another cabin just like this one. It’s remote and hidden away just like this place. I’d bet my bottom dollar it has exactly the same design as this one too.”

  “Why?”

  “Human beings are habitual. If they build two houses in different locations, the two properties usually have parallel designs. The design of this place is very simplistic. There’s not much of a margin for variation.”

  “But where?”

  “I have no idea. Studying Drake’s past itinerary may provide a clue. We could also search for any information on who built this cabin, but it’s unlikely the two cabins share the same builders. And Treadwell wouldn’t have allowed himself to be known as the vendor. He was too shrewd for that.”

  “You’re right, but it’s a moot point. Drake’s hidden away in Los Angeles right now, and that’s where I’m headed first thing tomorrow.”

  “And he just may disappear again. Take me with you.”

  He looked into her eyes, awed by her keen mind. Leaning across, he kissed her deeply. “I wonder if T
readwell ever imagined this place would be used for our secret liaisons.”

  “More than likely,” she said, grinning.

  “I know relationships between operatives are encouraged, but with what we’re doing, I think it’s best we keep our relationship to ourselves. At least for now, Cynthia.”

  “I agree. I ask only one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Call me by my other name. You know how much it turns me on.”

  He smiled at her familiar-but-unusual sexual quirks. “Of course . . . Agent Garrett.”

  ***

  Brandon lay in the double bed in Miranda’s spare bedroom. Belinda slept soundly beside him. Tyler rested comfortably on a makeshift bed on the floor next to them.

  Brandon looked around the basic room, but could see only dim shadows reflected by moonlight through the drapes. He estimated it was past midnight, but he couldn’t sleep. His mind was awash with tortured questions. What was happening to him? He pondered how he’d fallen so far into the depths of what he now feared was alcoholism. His natural father had been an alcoholic, and there was a genetic predisposition to the disease. What could have possessed him to have allowed it to happen? What if it couldn’t be overcome?

  His liberation from Leavenworth had been fraught with turmoil. He’d been seriously injured and almost lost his life. Then there had been the following weeks it had taken him to recover from the bullet wound. Even now, almost two months later, he still suffered pain from it. His two year wish to be reunited with Belinda in the cabin, with harmony, peace, love, and serenity, had been hampered by so very much.

  He recalled the first time he’d helped himself to the liquor cabinet, thinking nothing of it. He was free. He could do as he wished. It was only a relaxing drink.

  But then he’d realized how enjoyable it was. Enjoyment was something that had eluded him, seemingly forever. He’d subconsciously decided to take his share, night after night.

  Before long, seven o’clock in the evening would arrive, and his heart would quicken. It was excitement that he found irresistible, and yet it wasn’t a problem. He wasn’t hurting anyone. If anything, it made him easier to be around. It took away his intensity and concern about the persona that was constantly lurking inside him, waiting for any opportunity to erupt.