Go! - Hold On! Season 2

by Peter Darley

  “Channel 7 has a remarkable history with Drake, from his exposé of the staged terrorist attacks instigated by the late Senator Garrison Treadwell, and Channel 7 studios falling under attack by the senator’s operatives, to his last stand in Los Angeles. With the arrest of Commissioner Jason Landis for his alleged involvement in human trafficking, there is no doubt that Drake’s story is destined to become one of the most captivating chapters in the annals of American history.”

  ***

  In somber reflection, Belinda, Tyler, Emily, Charlton Faraday, Nikki Hawke, and David Spicer stood in the cabin’s living room awaiting Brandon’s imminent burial. Insulated coats covered their black suits and dresses. Their dark snow boots made for the most unorthodox funerary attire, necessary though it was. Mumbled chatter among them enabled the avoidance of agonizing silence as they waited.

  Tyler approached Emily. She seemed vacant and was keeping herself distant from the rest of the group. The doctors had decided it was in her best interests to attend the funeral, although her counseling and rehabilitation required considerably more time. “Hey,” he said. “I thought you might like some company. Are you all right?”

  She turned to him sadly. “I–I’m not sure.”

  “You’re doing fine. If there’s anything you need, just tell me, OK?”

  She nodded sorrowfully. “I’d like to know about him.”

  “Brandon?”

  “Yes. I only saw him once.”

  “You saw him? When?”

  “It’s difficult to explain. I felt as though I was out of my body, like in a nightmare. The woman was holding me, but it didn’t seem real. That’s when I saw him. He looked at me. I saw his eyes. I instinctively knew he was my brother. He made me feel so safe, but then he was gone. I never saw him again.”

  Tyler hugged her gently. “I had no idea, Emily. But you were right to feel safe with him. There was nobody better to be with if you found yourself in a jam.”

  Tears came to her eyes. “I see him in my dreams. Every night it happens. If only I could have known him. He died because he saved me.”

  “He loved you, Emily. I love you, and we’re gonna take care of you.”

  “And that’s a promise,” Charlton said from behind them. “Take as much time as you need, Emily. When you’re ready, we’ll help you to start a new life, if you’ll let us.”

  She stepped forward and hugged the older man. “Thank you so much, Mr. Faraday. You are both so very kind.”

  David Spicer moved over to Belinda. She’d been comforted by Nikki, but he felt he should at least try to say something to console her.

  “Hi, David,” she said.

  He noticed her tone was weak and quiet. “Hi. I’m so sorry for your loss. Is there anything I can do?”

  “No, David. I really appreciate you just being here. I know it’s what he would’ve wanted. He thought highly of you. I can’t tell you how much you’re helping by doing the eulogy. I don’t think I could have coped with that.”

  “Oh, believe me, it’s a privilege.”

  “I couldn’t even kiss him goodbye,” she said. “Apparently, he was burned beyond recognition.”

  “So I was told, but I didn’t want to bring it up. It was a horrific crash.” David looked around the cabin, eager to change the subject. “So, this is the place he got himself sent down to keep secret?”

  “Yes. He was happiest when he was here. We both were. We only had trouble when we left. Its secrecy is meaningless now that he’s gone. Burying him here is the only way I can still be close to him in our special place.”

  “I can understand that. I also think it’s interesting that you’ve chosen to give him a secular burial.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not religious, and Brandon never gave me any reason to think he was. I want to celebrate his life the way I knew him. With honesty. I ask only that you do the same. Speak about the real Brandon, David. Not a bullshit fantasy. Can you do that?”

  He swallowed hard at the request, but nodded in concurrence.

  A man in his early forties entered the cabin. His fulsome brown hair and wholesome features complemented the compassion in his eyes.

  “Hello, Mr. Bixby,” Belinda said to their Humanist celebrant.

  “If everyone would like to follow me, please,” Bixby said in a gentle tone.

  Belinda began to hyperventilate. “Oh, God. This is really happening. He’s gone. Brandon is really gone.”

  David placed his arm around her shoulders. “It’s all right. Just take your time.”

  Slowly, they all followed Bixby out of the cabin and round to the clearing at the back.

  The mourners stood before an ornate white casket, which Tyler had financed, positioned above a six-foot-deep grave.

  Belinda knew there was no other place to lay her lover to rest. It was perfect. Snow covered the ground, and the aspen trees provided an ideal, picturesque vision of peace.

  Bixby began his commentary on Brandon’s life. Most of what he said was what Belinda and Tyler had told him, including Brandon’s battle with alcohol. He made reference to what he’d personally witnessed when Brandon’s privately-made video recording was broadcast, two years earlier. He commented on how sincere, passionate, and honorable Brandon had appeared to him. The way in which he’d taken on three gunmen, live on national television, hadn’t failed to captivate all who’d seen it.

  Bixby summed up the emotion Brandon stirred up in all people, even in those who opposed him. Drawing reference to him even being adopted into comic book culture, he referred to him as a ‘marvel’.

  As Belinda listened, it all came back to her. From the moment she first met Brandon as the mysterious stranger on the Carringby rooftop, to the love they came to know in the cabin, and the extraordinary rescues he’d performed. Every act and escapade had left her with the subconscious belief that he was invincible. Such was the nature of her sense of shock.

  Tyler recalled the first time he’d ever laid eyes on his brother in the Fort Bragg courtroom, and the dazzling combat skills he’d displayed against the MPs. He’d known at the time that Brandon was seriously damaging his chances, but he remembered how impressive the fighting moves had been. It had instilled his heart with awe.

  His first actual meeting with his brother at Fort Leavenworth flashed before him. He’d discovered such a contrast to the warrior in the courtroom. Brandon’s emotional state revealed a man of deep sensitivity and profound vulnerability. Brandon had wept copiously at the realization he had a brother, like he’d been given an anchor to a true, tangible identity. It had been in that moment that Tyler wanted nothing more in life than to help him find happiness again.

  Tears rolled down his cheeks with a combination of unbearable sadness and rage at such a cruel injustice.

  Nikki placed her arm around his shoulders, and he turned to embrace her. Their relationship was developing quickly, and he couldn’t deny his need for her.

  Emily absorbed Bixby’s words as they filled her with a yearning to know everything about Brandon. She continued to struggle with the knowledge that she would never actually meet him. His face, as he looked at her in the factory, persistently haunted her mind.

  “And now ladies and gentlemen,” Bixby said, “a very special guest has come here to help complete the story of the man whose life we have come to celebrate today. Sergeant Major David Spicer of the Eighty-Second Airborne Division.”

  David stepped forward and positioned himself beside the casket as Bixby joined the mourners.

  David was hesitant for a moment, but quickly gathered his thoughts. “I served with Brandon for six years on many tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan. On the field, he was the finest combat soldier any of us had ever known. He was the best with weapons, hand-to-hand combat, and he had the engineering skills of a genius. We never lost a battle when he was on our team. But it came at a price.”

  He looked up and saw Belinda watching him. The slight nod she gave permitted him to continue with a clear conscience.
“I was asked to give a true and honest account of Brandon. What I have to say may not be easy for some of you to hear.”

  Belinda nodded again.

  “Nobody ever liked Brandon,” he said. “He made it impossible for anybody to like him. He was one of the coldest men I had ever met. Nobody ever got close to Brandon Drake. We didn’t think it was possible for him to love anyone, and we even had a nickname for him. We called him The Scorpion, because that’s what he was.

  “On our last mission together, he saved my life, and he almost died in the process. But he didn’t pull me out of the way of a grenade out of a sense of duty or camaraderie.”

  The mourners hung on David’s every word, the air dense with anticipation.

  “He saved my life because I owed him money from a poker game.”

  David noticed Belinda’s sad smile as she touched her abdomen. It was as though his words were completing a very real picture of the one who had left his one true legacy with her.

  He continued. “And then, two years ago, I had the shock of my life. I met a man who looked just like Brandon Drake, but who was nothing like him. This man was kind, selfless, and immeasurably courageous in the way he stood alone. He had a sense of honor that the Brandon Drake I knew couldn’t have even contemplated. This was someone I was proud to be associated with. He was committed to justice and compassion. The Brandon Drake I knew was no longer, and regardless of how he got that way, he was the epitome of—” Becoming choked with emotion, David paused to collect himself. “The All American hero,” he said finally, invoking the motto of the Eighty-Second Airborne Division. “He died taking on every kind of bully you could imagine.” David placed his hand on the casket affectionately. “Rest easy, soldier.” With that, he returned to the mourners.

  They were alerted by a rustling in the trees. Belinda tilted her head, and her eyes widened in disbelief as he came into sight.

  She made her way forward slowly, and David gripped her arm protectively. “Belinda, don’t.”

  She looked behind at him and smiled. “It’s OK, David. I know him.”

  Reluctantly, he let go of her, and she continued to move along through the snow.

  More memories came back to her. How does he always know?

  He had been there for Brandon when he needed him the most, to help him through his period of loneliness. Brandon had loved him, cared for him, and he only left after Brandon had found Belinda—after he knew that Brandon was no longer alone.

  The huge, brown bear finally stopped at Belinda’s feet and lay flat on its stomach. It had the saddest eyes she had ever seen.

  “Hi, Snooky.” She knelt down in the snow and petted his brow. “You know, don’t you? He’s gone. How do you always know?”

  She finally broke down. Her tears fell upon the bear’s fur, and he looked up at her with an impossibly empathetic stare.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and he allowed her to hold him until her grief was spent. She glanced behind her to see the mourners watching, open-jawed.

  She eventually let go of Snooky. He raised his head to the heavens with a roar so powerful that it reverberated throughout the mountains—a mournful wail of anguish that was beyond human understanding.

  Belinda listened to the remnants of the cry. For the briefest moment, she was certain she could hear Brandon’s voice, almost as an echo on the wind.

  She just couldn’t make out what he was trying to tell her.

  Epilogue

  Wilmot and Garrett briskly stepped out of an elevator into the lower levels of a sprawling, neon-lit complex toward the laboratory on the far side.

  “You were right, Cynthia,” Wilmot said.

  “Right about what?”

  “Treadwell had another cabin, and Drake was holed up in it all along.”

  “Deductive reasoning.”

  “We actually did it,” he said with victorious pride. “It couldn’t have worked out better.”

  “I still have concerns about Kane Slamer.”

  “Slamer’s formidable.”

  “He’s a maniac.”

  “So are you. Warriors have to be. There’s no other way.”

  Garrett lightly held his wrist to halt him. “What about Crane?”

  Wilmot’s joviality faded for a moment as he considered the question. “We’ll get him.”

  He pushed open a white door marked Testlab 9 and Garrett followed him in. The pristine lab offered an array of monitor screens, medical apparatus, and shelves filled with a myriad of drugs.

  “Cynthia,” he said. “Welcome to the future of Operation: Nemesis.”

  Doctors Matthew Seymour and Frederick DeSouza greeted them in white coats.

  “Good morning, gentlemen.” Wilmot shook Seymour’s hand. “I can’t tell you how much we appreciate your help with this project, sir. I understand how difficult it was for you in Los Angeles, but we couldn’t have done it without you. The department will certainly make it worth your while, and your cover will be protected.”

  “Thank you, Director Wilmot,” Seymour said. “It was painful to say the least. But this is in the interests of national security.”

  Wilmot offered his hand to DeSouza. “It’s good to have you on board, sir.”

  “Director.”

  “So, how’s the patient today?”

  “We’re keeping him in an induced coma, but he’s fine,” Seymour said. “A few cuts, bruises, and fractured bones. Nothing serious. His recovery period will be approximately four to six weeks. Come and take a look.”

  Seymour and DeSouza led Wilmot and Garrett into an adjoining, small, cell-like facility with a hospital bed in the corner.

  Brandon Drake’s unconscious form lay motionless under the sheet, his face severely bruised, his eyes swollen, and his arms and legs in casts.

  Wilmot grinned. “Perfect. The world thinks he’s dead, the cadaver of a homeless vagrant is in his grave, and we’ve got another weapon who’s now, officially, off the grid.”

  “I’m seeing it, but it’s difficult to believe,” Garrett said, astonished. “We were both there, Andrew. We saw the crash. I still can’t imagine how he survived.”

  “He knew what he was doing when he took all of that equipment from Mach Industries,” Wilmot said. “The Turbo Swan was constructed from a concussion-resistant alloy, which absorbed most of the shock when it crashed. The helmet he was wearing had a similar composition, and his armor was made from an advanced, heat-resistant form of Kevlar. Without those advantages, he would have been incinerated.”

  Wilmot’s expression darkened as he turned to DeSouza. “When do you think he’ll be ready for the new revision?”

  “Now would be as good a time as any, while he’s still unconscious. But as I told you before, introducing another persona to his consciousness could result in permanent catatonia.”

  “And I always pay attention in class, doctor, which is why I’m not going to ask you to do that.”

  DeSouza looked at him with bemusement. “Then, would you mind telling me what it is that you want me to do?”

  “Treadwell made a grave mistake, and I want you to undo it. Eradicate Drake’s current persona, and his memories of the last four years. Everything we need to replace them with is already in there.”

  “You mean, you want me to—”

  “That’s right, doctor.” Wilmot paused momentarily before affirming the order. “Bring back The Scorpion.”

  To be concluded in

  Run!

  _________________________________________________

  Hold On! Season 3

  Out now:

  http://www.amazon.com/Run-Hold-Season-Peter-Darley-ebook/dp/B011YZ9KLO

  Run!

  _________________________________________________

  Hold On! Season 3

  Video trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hmvcyqLurMg

  Excerpt

  Drake took in the extraordinary scenery surrounding him—hundreds of meager homes piled upon one another. Rising u
p into the hills in such vast quantities, the properties formed a giant, sprawling cluster. It was the most elaborate example of poverty he’d ever imagined, so far removed from the thriving, bustling city. Unique to Rio, he knew the favelas were a sight one would find nowhere else.

  Slamer took out a palm-sized satellite navigation device, and Drake looked over his shoulder. He noticed a flashing red dot in the middle of the map screen.

  “We’re here,” Slamer said. “Crane’s apartment is on the other side of this shithole.” He tapped the brickwork that made up part of the rear of a dilapidated structure.

  Drake looked up and saw a flat roof approximately thirty feet above them.

  Slamer took a twelve inch cylindrical tube from his belt with a targeting sight fixed to the exterior. “You ever used one of these?”

  Drake took an identical device from his own belt and looked at it curiously. “Nope.”

  “It’s an upgraded spider cable launcher. Apparently the originals had the cable inside a ball-like container. Pretty clumsy, if you ask me.”

  “I’ve never seen one.”

  “Well, let’s get up there.” Slamer aligned the targeting sight with a railing that lined the roof and depressed a button on the casing. A high-tensile steel cable shot out of the end and a metallic claw clasped the rail.

  Drake aimed and fired his cable. The claw gripped the railing almost a yard apart from Slamer’s.

  They put their helmets on and secured them, the visors covering their eyes. After hooking their gun-carrier straps over their shoulders, they pulled out hand grips from either sides of the cable launcher tubes and held them tightly. Depressing the quick-release switches at the ends of the grips, motors within the devices reeled the cable in, drawing Drake and Slamer up to the railing.