by Chris Ayala
Vanderbilt smirked, "She gave up." He left, tossing a pair of handcuff keys in the walkway and closing the door behind him.
She gave up. Royal drowned out the sounds of Zharkova and Anton talking, desperately trying to sit up. They spoke in their language, presumably planning on crawling to get the keys to un-cuff themselves. But Royal, her breath finally caught up, didn't move. She gave up.
Moments later, Anton had crawled over to the keys and unlocked himself. His mother demanded he free her next, which he did hastily. After he loosened Royal's cuffs, she didn't bother to stand up. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"
Hurt could mean many things. Physically, no. Royal had taken a worse beating than that, thanks to this awful visit to Russia. She didn't answer him. "Do you know how me and Sirius got so many followers? We traveled around and gathered people. This will be as difficult as making a good bowl of jambalaya, but not nearly as bad as trying un-make jambalaya."
He stared, "Okay."
"Me and you are going to need to do some traveling. Trains, buses, walking, whatever. But we need more followers. Not protesters…followers. Do you understand the difference?"
At first, he didn't seem to, but after a moment he nodded. "Yes. But what about taking you home?"
"I'm not going anywhere," Royal said. "They want to kill eight thousand of us? Then next time, we bring twice that."
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Slamming his laptop lid down, in the middle of a heat argument online, Gerard tried not to seem too suspicious. But his visitor, the fat guru turned fit guru, Lester still showed concern. "What were you doing?"
"Watching porn," he replied glumly from behind his desk, hoping the Tech Czar would leave the subject alone.
"Hmm," Lester said, swiping and tapping through menus in his tablet, "I don't see anybody logged into our 'net."
The best way to get out of a blunt lie was to make the instigator seem foolish, Gerard's old man taught him. "Are you saying I'm a liar or there's a bug in the system?"
It worked. Lester, in that awful tie with short sleeved shirt that a person who worked his way up to that handsome physique would never wear, immediately became apologetic. "No! Of course not! It's obviously a bug in the system. Duh."
From his desk, ergonomically shaped like a crescent moon with a chair he could sleep in (and he did often), Gerard opened a drawer and placed a titanium-shell flash drive on the glass surface. Lester's eyes widened, staring at the flash drive. "Is that it?" He asked ravenously.
Between his fingers, Gerard wiggled and tapped the drive on the desk. He liked his office, even though he assured it to be plain and unflattering, it became his second home. What he was about to do would put an end to all this. It felt like saying goodbye to a grandfather who wouldn't shut up about old time stories, but when gone - the room would get too quiet.
"Is that it?" Lester repeated. "The decryption code?"
"Yep. With this, you have the location of everyone on the rebellion registry."
"They've all been chipped? Like planned."
Gerard nodded, finding it hard to handoff the flash drive. "All of them."
Lester held out his hand. "Let's get it over with. I can upload it now."
"Yeah," Gerard breathed, "let's get it over with."
He handed the flash drive to the Tech Czar. Even though it was smaller than a regular thumb, it felt like a humungous weight lifted. Lester grasped it firmly. "Come on. Follow me. Let's go to the mainframe."
Following Lester, he couldn't help but notice the way the former obese man walked. He still gave too much room to people strolling by in the hallway and still gave that annoying snort, that gene therapy couldn't get rid of. "So now," the Tech Czar continued his latest technology rant that Gerard never asked about, "pre-crime algorithms are a reality. See, before, we had the programs to do it, but you know all that government BS wouldn't let it happen. Our Supreme Leader, on the other hand, is totally for the idea of tracking possible criminals and stopping them before any crimes are committed. Sort of like that old movie with Tom Cruise. But we don't have magic, just plain algorithms. The mainframe can do this all. It's quantum."
"I don't know what that means," Gerard grumbled.
"Quantum? It's like super fast, noob. This system is even working on creating genetic therapy formulas. We got ways to prolong life. I brought this same plan to your father-in-law years ago. But with such an enormous population, making people live longer wasn't in the best interests of any country leadership. The funding fell through. But thankfully, the Union is making it reality. Now that we got a smaller population, it's possible."
Sarcastically, Gerard muttered, "Yeah, thank God billions of people died."
"Oh, you what I mean! Of course that's not cool. But at least we can make something of it. Once you and all your staff move out of our Tech building and into the castle, we're making your office into a testing facility."
The last he heard, the castle was still partially under construction but safe enough to begin moving personnel into it. Gerard would've liked working in a castle.
The entry to the mainframe was heavily guarded, four men with semi-automatic weapons. Dressed more like Armed Forces rather than Security Guards, Gerard could sense the urgency for protection. They both pressed their thumbprints to scanners for the turnstile to release. "Where's Marcel?"
"When you going to stop calling him that? It's disrespectful," Lester said emptying his pockets into a conveyor belt and walking through a metal detector. "Our Supreme Leader is already inside waiting. I texted him when you gave me the drive. He's so thrilled."
"I bet," Gerard said under his breath as a guard frisked him too close to his crotch.
Once inside, the talking died down. He couldn't help but be mesmerized by the machine. Centered in the room that took up the space of two stories, was the quantum computer. Being used to massive storage shrunk to the size of a key, he was taken aback by the structure. Circular, with four chairs and monitors around it, the computer probably cost a great fortune.
Marcel said nothing as he clasped Gerard's hand for a shake.
"I know," Gerard smirked, "we did it."
"Yes we did. We can finally put an end to this battle and save lives. I have Union Keepers ready to find and arrest members of the People of Bliss. God, I hate saying their name, don't you? It makes them seem like they aren't savages."
Gerard counted a total of eight people in this vast room with them. Two women with lab coats attempting to look busy with tablets they were probably playing Tetris on and six armed men standing in spots for no apparent reason but to protect their beloved leader. Gerard placed himself in the room, behind a steel desk with computer junk and his back to a large window.
Lester didn't hesitate to rush to a computer connected to the quantum structure. He plugged in the flash drive and began typing vigorously. Marcel secured both hands onto the back of Lester's chair. Together, they looked like proud parents peering through a glass wall at their newborn.
It happened.
Lester's face went from raised eyebrows to squinted eyes. From the other side of the room, back to the window, even Gerard could see the lines of code on the monitor go haywire. Lester whispered something and yanked the hard drive out. The lines of code increased, being devoured by new lines of code. Panicked, Lester stood up, "Jesus Christ! It's overwriting the system! Linking to every file Gerard's ever uploaded since the day he started!" The Tech Czar turned to face Gerard, eyes wide and sweat forming on his temples. "He's been fooling us this whole time!"
Marcel swung around, giving this look of disbelief, dismay, and disgust at the same time. "It…he…no…he wouldn't."
Smiling, because truth finally revealed itself. Gerard had infiltrated the Union with Marcel's greatest weakness: trust. And now, with Adam Durham's help, they just overtook the most powerful computer in the world. "Hey," Gerard shrugged, "I told you not to trust me."
All his life he'd done awful things: stole money from drug deali
ng foster parents, got the Vice Principal fired for smoking weed with him under the bleachers, and even made sure his dorm roommate (an acquitted rapist) failed all his classes by memorizing his computer password then changing all the answers on his tests. None of these he felt guilty for. But as Gerard saw that look on Marcel's face…he felt guild. He just spent a year collapsing this system's surveillance chip system, an idea that he gave Lester in the first place. All so he could get access to the Union Keepers and their locations, therefore helping the People of Bliss.
His heart pumped adrenaline and time slowed. He didn't have much time to face guilt because four armed men were ready to fire at their Supreme Leader's command. Ready to fire on a traitor to the Union. Gerard kicked over the steel desk he purposely had placed here, with a window behind him. From the holsters on his belt, he yanked out two revolvers and began firing in Marcel's direction.
Two guards rushed in and pulled Marcel to the ground, the bullets missing and shattering the mainframe's monitors. The guards fired back. Gerard slumped behind the steel desk and listened to the bullets ricocheting off its surface.
The gunfire ceased for a moment. While reloading his guns, Gerard snickered, "Can you guys please move out of Marcel's way?"
"Fucking traitor!" One of them yelled.
Gunfire ensued. Glass from the window shattered and sprayed to the floor. Covering his face from the debris, Gerard started contemplating how long this desk could withstand the bullets. Bending outwards like goosebumps, his shield wouldn't last long.
"Take the leader out of here!" Another one yelled.
"I can handle him!" Marcel said.
Immediately disagreeing, another guard commanded, "No telling what the traitor has planned. We got to get you out of here."
From the reflection of the glass, Gerard could see Marcel being rushed out of the room with three bodyguards around him. Good. That's exactly what he had planned. Sure, Marcel could magically destroy everyone in this room, but he wouldn't risk hurting his followers. With three guards gone, it meant only three left. Once Marcel was out of the room, Lester and the two lab coats followed.
In the reflection, he could see the three guards, arms forward and guns pointed, approaching the desk. "You're obviously out of bullets," he stated, "or else you would've kept firing."
"Yeah." One of them admitting, "You?"
Gerard sighed, "Yep."
He stood, facing the three guards, each sharing this determined bitter face. One by one, they re-holstered their guns. The first guard, much taller than Gerard, cracked his knuckles. The next guard, much slimmer would be a faster fighter. The last guard, with a cocky smirk and perfect teeth, spoke first. "Ready to get your ass kicked?"
"Wait a minute," Gerard said, holding up a finger. "I just spent nearly a year…manipulating a man that, rumor has it, can read minds…therefore, proving I'm quite possibly the best liar on this planet…and you believed me when I said I was out of bullets?"
He pointed and shot three bullets, each one hit each guard between the eyebrows. Thanks to years of visiting the gun range, Gerard couldn't be more happy to have ignored Janice's objections to guns.
Once the dust settled, he inspected the computer system. As planned, his bullets had destroyed any access to it. He pulled a small headset from his inside pocket and secured it to his ear. On the other line, Adam's voice was heard. "It worked! I have it all uploaded. Worldwide maps! All the chips of Union Keepers! All the chips of our people! We can even inform our followers! Give them access to food, medical attention –"
"Yes, I know, dweeb. That was the whole point. Where's Marcel?" He said, yanking off a leg from the table and using it to remove all the rest of the shattered glass from the window edges. Like it had been rehearsed before, Gerard removed a rope from a duffel bag hidden behind a filing cabinet in the room.
"Just like you said he would, he's following the escape plan. Elevator B Service. Should be in the garage in four and half minutes."
Gerard peeked out the window. It must've been a fifteen story drop, the farthest he's ever repelled. "Get the chopper ready. And you better have given me enough rope."
Adam, sounding overly thrilled and happy, said, "Of course! You ready to do this?"
"Are you?"
Gerard tied one end of the rope to a carabiner and secured it to the window ledge. After a few tugs to make sure it held, he removed his shirt to reveal a harness underneath then secured the other end of the rope to his body. With one big breath, he leapt out the window.
Marcel punched the wall of the elevator three times. This must've been the release Brent felt when he'd lash his ire out on inanimate objects. "He betrayed me! Gerard! I can't believe it."
Feeling the nervousness of the three guards in the elevator, Marcel ceased his show of outrage. He'd have to center all that pain, just like Brent would, and unleash it when he saw Gerard again. Never the violent type, this new sensation thrilled him. Maybe he could draw fire into his mouth, just like the last man to betray his trust. Maybe he could influence water to bubble around his head, drowning him no matter where he ran or tried to hide. Maybe he could cause a gust hard enough to tear Gerard's flesh from his skin.
"Supreme Leader?" The guard said, as though he had repeated himself. "Do you understand the evacuation plan?"
Rehearsing these scenarios seemed as dull as a fire drill. Now, in the situation, Marcel wished he paid more attention. "Yeah. We use the direct service elevator to the ground level and ride the limo to the nearest safe haven." At least he remembered that much, but recalling what the safe havens were surpassed his memory.
"Yes, keep your head down at all times. We will create a barrier fence around you."
The thought made Marcel realize the sacrifice these men were about to make. Rebels could be in the garage, camping out with automatic weapons. One of the guards, pale and too young to be in this situation, nodded his head rapidly. Marcel used to do the same thing, in the days when he succumbed to fear instead of embracing it. "What's your name?"
"Brad," his voice squeaked. "I'll be the driver."
"Brad," Marcel said, placing his hand on the youngster's shoulder, "I promise nothing will happen to you. I'm a god. Understand? They should be scared of me."
The pep talk worked, Brad nodded more slowly.
The elevator dinged. All three guards readied their guns and pointed. Marcel was ready to block bullets if he had to, his bond with wind could stop any projectile. The elevator doors opened.
Nothing.
Besides the musky smell and three cars in the parking garage, nothing else occupied the space. The guards stepped out, regardless, and surrounded Marcel as he kept his head low. Using hand signals to communicate amongst themselves, the team checked behind dumpsters, cars, and dark corners. Nobody else was here.
Relieved and yet suspicious, Marcel made his way to the limousine. Looking through windows, the driver Brad gave a hand signal for all clear. He opened the door and let Marcel inside the back. Even though he could control the elements around him, at will, Marcel still felt his heart beating his chest. Inside, the sense of safety calmed him. Bullet-proof glass, semi-automatic guns protruding the windows, and hidden blades in the seat definitely guaranteed security. Instead of grabbing a weapon, he banged a compartment between the seats and a drink bar slowly began to emerge. Too slow. Marcel yanked the drink bar, hearing the bottles and ice rattle around. He grabbed a small bottle of vodka and chugged it. Something Janice would do.
The third guard, who he just noticed never spoke once, sat next to Marcel. Then the limousine lurched out and skidded through the parking garage, bouncing over a speed bump. Marcel ripped the cap off another tiny bottle of vodka, letting the liquid burn away his stress. How could Gerard do this? Everyone that he loved turned against him. Why? He was only trying to do good. Trying to create peace. Why did no one want peace?
"Supreme Leader, the closest safe haven is less than fifteen minutes. I'm notifying General Vanderbilt of the breach."
Marcel could already hear his general's response. I told you so. His thoughts were interrupted by the loud sounds of chopper blades. As they sped through empty streets and tall skyscrapers under construction, he could see a shadow on the ground. A shadow of a helicopter. He peeked out the window. High above, in perhaps one of the most corroded vehicles he'd ever seen, the chopper followed their every turn. Noticing no Press logos or Union emblems, Marcel assumed the worse. "It's them," the quiet guard said finally.
"We have counter measures," the guard in the passenger seat said, but that didn't make the driver Brad's sweat stop pouring off his chin.
A screen on the dashboard lifted and the guard tapped a few buttons. The chopper above descended closer. From the bottom, a wire dropped with a hook attached to the end. "How's he plan on hooking us? We're going too fast." Brad mumbled with a tone of confidence finally.
The guard in the passengers continued to tap a button marked EXECUTE. Nothing happened. Unsure what the limousine was supposed to do, maybe fire missiles or guns, Marcel assumed the button did nothing. "It's not responding," the guard stated the obvious.
Then it occurred to Marcel. He asked, "Who designed this vehicle?"
Without answering, the guards glanced at each other. "Shit," Brad gasped.
Suddenly, the trunk door popped open outside. Marcel watched out the window behind him as Gerard climbs out of the trunk. Before they could even react, Gerard grabs the hook from the helicopter and clamps it to the back of the limousine.
The vehicle flipped forward. Bottles, ice, weapons, crashed to the floor. Marcel couldn't grab anything to hold onto. His face smacked the back of the driver's seat. The guard next to him kicked open the door and began firing his weapon, bullets not even close to hitting Gerard grasping onto the cord. Outside, Marcel could see them rising high off the ground. Still attempting to compose himself, the two guards in the front seat struggled even more. As they rose, the wind became harsher. Marcel couldn't even concentrate enough to control it all.