by Riley Flynn
She was still kind of mad at him, sort of, about the other night, but she also knew that staying mad wasn’t going to get her what she wanted, so she frowned and tilted her head.
“I think there’s one more thing left to do, don’t you?”
He thought about it for a moment, then grinned and knelt down in front of her.
“How could I forget?” he asked as she wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed. “Be good for Ms. Sidley, sweetie.”
“I always am,” she said. “She’s one of the E Girls, remember?”
He slapped his palm against his forehead. “How could I forget?”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
“I know, hon.” He stood up. “Okay, then. If you’re sure you don’t need anything, I’m going to take off.”
She made a shooing motion with her hands.
“Radio me if you need anything,” he said.
“Just go!” she said with a giggle.
He gave her one last wave and then headed down the hall that led to the lobby and the front door of the resort. As soon as he disappeared around the corner, Hayley trotted over to her friends and gave them the thumbs-up.
“Super easy,” she said.
Brooke smiled and gave her a high-five. “Nice! Now we just need to convince you-know-who.”
Her twin’s mood was something else entirely. Brandon’s face betrayed his nerves with a grimace that made him look like he was constipated.
“I don’t know,” he said. “We could get in big trouble.”
“Don’t be a wuss,” said Hayley. “It’s an adventure! Right, Lucas?”
He shrugged, which was pretty much what she expected.
Ms. Sidley emerged from her office and approached them with her usual kind smile. All the other students had gone home for the day.
“So?” she asked. “Did Jax say yes?”
Hayley glanced quickly at Brooke before answering. “Yup,” she said brightly. “We can all stay under the mountain tonight. Jax is going to send someone to pick us up and then bring us back in the morning.”
Ms. Sidley knelt down and clasped her hands together. The smile on her face was infectious.
“I’m jealous,” she said. “I always loved sleepovers when I was your age. So much fun. When will your ride be here?”
“I’m not sure,” said Hayley.
“Well, let me know,” she said, rising and heading back to her office. “In the meantime, I’ve got some work to do.”
Once Ms. Sidley was safely back in her office, Hayley leaned in close to her friends.
“Now comes the hard part,” she whispered. “You stay here while I go look around.”
They nodded and she slipped into the hallway outside the classroom, then into the lobby beyond. It was almost 1600 hours, and the resort was bustling with busy people in fatigues, as usual. Hayley scanned the area, hoping to find a familiar face, and she wasn’t disappointed. Her heart soared as she caught sight of Cpl. Stratch, whom she had first met when she was kidnapped and taken to Schriever Air Force base shortly after she’d arrived in Colorado Springs. It was impossible to imagine worse circumstances to meet under, and it had formed a bond between them.
As if on cue, Cpl. Stratch glanced in her direction and his eyes widened as he recognized her.
“Hayley!” he called. “How the heck are you?”
He strode quickly over to where she stood and she wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed.
“How’s my little princess?” he beamed.
“I’m really good! How’s my knight in shining armor?”
“Oh, go on,” he said, his cheeks flushing red. “What are you doing here?”
“I just finished school. Want to see my classroom?”
“Sure I do.”
She took him by the hand and led him through the hallway to the classroom. Inside, her friends looked on with interest as Hayley chatted with her friend.
“My teacher is Ms. Sidley,” she said. “She’s in her office.”
“Oh sure, I know her,” he said.
Hayley turned and saw Ms. Sidley glance out the window of her office door at them, so she waved. Cpl. Stratch smiled and waved, too, and Ms. Sidley waved back, which was exactly what Hayley had wanted. She motioned for the others to join them in the hall. She introduced them all to Cpl. Stratch.
After a minute or so, he glanced at his wrist. “Sorry, kiddo, I’ve gotta run.”
“We’ll walk you out,” she said quickly. Her friends followed and escorted him to the lobby, where she gave him another hug and a wave as he left. When he was out of sight, she turned to her friends with a mischievous grin.
“Jax thinks I’m staying at your place,” she said.
“And Ms. Sidley thinks we’re staying at your place,” said Brooke. “No one is looking for us.”
“Exactly,” said Hayley. “Now, let’s go have some fun.”
22
It was 1700 hours and Archer was dying for a drink. If that meant he had to pour for his unwanted guest, too, well, that’s what he was going to do.
He handed the glass of bourbon to Jax Booth, raised his own in salute and sat down behind his desk.
“Why do I get the feeling this is déjà vu all over again?” he asked. “Didn’t we just go through this?”
“I’ve got some intel you need to hear, sir.” Jax sipped his whiskey. “It’s about the murder, and possibly a lot more.”
“Did you find Farries?”
“No, sir. This isn’t about him.”
Archer felt his hopes drop. He just wanted this whole goddamn thing over with, and here was yet another thing to ignite the acid in his gut.
“Then what is it about?” he said, barely keeping his annoyance in check.
“I think I know who killed Lisa Blume, and If I’m right, it’s someone associated with Stuart Adler’s people.”
Archer was glad he hadn’t been taking a sip of his drink at that moment; he might have choked on it.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Sir, it’s come to my attention that one of the newcomers may not be who he says he is. Worse, I think he could be one of the people Adler and Duke had been communicating with from the mountains.”
“And you think he killed the girl?”
“I think it’s a very good possibility, yes.”
Archer listened as Jax brought him up to speed on his theory. He had to admit, the man made a good case; at least enough to warrant its own investigation. Which made what he had to say next that much harder on him.
“I’d like to believe you’re on to something there, son, but I just don’t buy it.”
Jax’s eyes were steel. “Sir, it’s just as valid as the theory about Farries.”
Yes, it is, Archer didn’t say. But there’s no way to pin two other disappearances on a newcomer, because he wasn’t around when they occurred. And as much as I want to wring his neck, Smith is right about the future of the republic hinging on those details.
“You already know my feelings on the subject, Captain. I appreciate your work, and I hope you turn out to be right about Hutchinson. I’d love nothing more than to have one of those bastards in our hands. But I’m not going to get my hopes up, and it will take more than your theory to convince me that Farries is innocent and this Hutchinson is guilty.”
Jax stared at him for a long time before finally gulping down the rest of his bourbon. In all his years as the man’s commanding officer, he’d never seen a look on the captain’s face like the one he saw now.
He hates me at this moment. And goddamnit, I can’t blame him.
“Look, son—”
“Permission to speak freely, sir.”
Archer sighed. Here it comes.
“Always,” he said.
“What does Smith have on you?”
He countered Jax’s cold glare with a steady gaze of his own.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re sta
rting to sound paranoid, Captain, and it doesn’t become you.”
“Paranoid?” Jax scoffed. “You’re the one who seems to think that the republic can’t handle the truth. And the fact that Smith still has access to this building proves to me that he has something on you, and I think it has to do with the secret of Marcus Chase. The Henry Archer I knew would never have put up with that kind of shit—Smith would have been drummed out months ago.”
The general closed his eyes and felt a hot rasp in his belly, only this time it wasn’t acid; it was a deep throb of shame. If the accusation—no, it wasn’t an accusation, it was the fucking truth, face it—had come from anyone else, he would’ve punched the man in the jaw. But coming from Jax Booth, a man who had gone into battle countless time under his orders, a man who had been as much a surrogate son as the two of them would allow, the words hit home like a poison arrow in his heart.
He was struck by the sudden urge to just tell Jax everything, every last sordid detail he’d learned since taking over his position. Everything he knew about the collapse: the fact that Marcus Chase was just the tip of the iceberg. Eastern Sunset, Eko, Smith himself. What had really happened in North Korea. Tell him the new republic wasn’t everything it seemed, and that the future of America was built on pillars of sand, secrets and lies.
Instead, he said, “Are you finished?”
“I guess I am,” Jax said coldly. “Sir.”
With that, Jax rose and left the room.
It would be the last time they ever saw each other.
Archer had made up his mind before he heard the knock at his office door two hours later. It was past sunset, and the general had put away six more ounces of whiskey in that time, even though it played absolute hell with his stomach.
“Enter.”
As Smith entered, Archer mused that his face was almost entirely without memorable features. He supposed that was an asset in the man’s chosen line of work, but he still hated looking at it. Bland and wide, with small eyes and pale skin. Not like the ruddy pallor of his troops in the desert sun. They were real men, courageous soldiers who faced the enemy head-on, not sneaking around in the shadows. And he admitted to himself that he was no longer one of the former. He’d become one of the latter.
He’d become like the man in front of him, except for one key difference: Smith wallowed in it like a pig in shit, while Archer despised it.
“What now?” he sighed.
“There’s a complication in our plan,” said Smith. “Maggie Stubbs told me Booth has a new suspect in Lisa Blume’s murder.”
“I know. Believe it or not, I do know a thing or two that you don’t.”
“Yes, sir.” The patronizing tone of his voice made the hackles rise on Archer’s neck. “In any case, we need to do something about it.”
“Like what?”
“Figure out a way to quash Booth’s theory about this Hutchinson.”
“How do you propose we do that?”
“I was thinking I could track him down and let him know that he’s a suspect. Feed him some information to counter any of Booth’s questions before he asks them, so that Booth ends up looking like a fool running down a rabbit hole. I can also exert influence over Maggie—she’ll listen to me.”
Jax’s words came back to Archer: What does Smith have on you? He felt his upper lip curl into a sneer. He’d made up his mind to do it, and it was going to start right here, right now.
“Influence,” he said. “People like you really love that word, don’t you? It’s so much nicer than the word blackmail. I assume that helps you sleep at night.”
Smith’s expression was blank. “Sir, we’ve been over this. My plan is the only viable option.”
Archer gave him a cold grin. “Is it? And what if Booth is right about this Hutchinson? What if he really is an agent of the people in the mountains, or whoever the hell is behind them?”
“That’s ridiculous. We haven’t heard anything from them since the night they were beaten, and if they were trying to infiltrate us, I highly doubt they’d do it with drunken, small-time philosophy professors in their fifties.”
Shit, Archer thought. The little bastard is right. But it doesn’t matter anymore.
“Here’s the plan, you black-hearted son of a bitch,” he said. “We’re going to let the sheriff follow her investigation wherever it leads. And we’re not going to pin murders on Brad Farries that he didn’t commit.”
“Sir,” said Smith, his eyes narrowing. “We had an agreement. Now is not the time to change it. Besides, Stubbs isn’t a real—”
“Shut your hole, Smith.” Archer was grinning now, letting the buzz of the whiskey wrap around his brain like a warm blanket. “I’m not interested in anything you have to say. You, on the other hand, I think will be very interested in what I’m about to say.”
Smith was silent, but Archer could see the wheels turning behind those beady little eyes.
“It’s over,” said the general. “All the secrets, all the schemes, all the lies. Over. I’m going to the president and I’m telling him that we’re going public with the truth about Marcus Chase. And I’m going to tell him everything I know about your involvement in the cover-up around Nguyen and Purcell and Peterson’s widow. Eric Peterson’s children are going to know the truth: that their father wasn’t a traitor.”
That got Smith. For possibly the first time ever, Archer could see real emotion on the man’s face. And, of course, that emotion was anger.
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, sir,” he growled. “You think you know what was going on behind the scenes? Think again.”
“Is that right?” Archer poured himself another drink from the bottle on his desk. “Enlighten me, please.”
“Well, let’s start with Eric Peterson, since you brought him up. He wasn’t an innocent bystander: he let himself be shot during that altercation between Chase and Booth on that first day under the mountain. He willingly agreed to it, knowing that he already had the Eko virus. In return, I promised to have his family inoculated against the disease, which was against standing orders at the time.”
Archer almost dropped his glass. Smith must have seen shock on his face, because a smug grin spread across his own.
“Didn’t know that, did you, sir?”
“You’re—you’re lying,” said the old man. “What reason would he possibly have to do that?”
Smith shrugged. “He was desperate to save his family, and he was going to die anyway. Chase convinced him it was the right thing to do.”
“What are you talking about? Chase was out of his mind at the time. Booth said he was acting crazy before he was shot, talking gibberish.”
“The dying performance of a masterful actor. Here’s something else you didn’t know: the tumor had no effect whatsoever on Chase’s mental capacity. It’s why Terry Fletcher allowed him to continue in his role as SecDef. He wasn’t crazy, he was calculating. The most brilliant person I’ve ever known.”
The floor seemed to shift under Archer’s feet and he sat down hard in his chair. He ran a hand across his bare scalp and tried to steady his breathing.
“No,” he said, but his voice sounded weak in his own ears. “No, you’re wrong.”
“I’m afraid you’re the one who’s wrong, General,” said Smith. “Half of what you think you know is a lie, and the other half is damning enough that you can never let it come to light.”
Archer took several deep breaths, trying to process what was happening. He should have known that this snake was leading him on. Jesus, he’d allowed himself to be duped by an intel man! He didn’t deserve to be at this desk, doing this job. He should have died with everyone else in the collapse.
No. There was still a chance to redeem himself. His plan was still sound: tell Raines everything he knew and let the chips fall where they may. Work together with the civilians to deal with the sins of the past and chart the course of the future.
“None of that matters,” he croaked.
“I’m not going to let what we’ve built here become any more infested with worms than it already is. It’s all going to come out, Smith. I’d advise you to be prepared for it.”
He expected Smith to keep arguing, but instead the man’s eyes went cold.
“Is that your final word on the matter, sir?”
“It is.”
“Just a warning: that line of thinking is what that led to the downing of Air Force One. Chase realized Terry Fletcher would be a hindrance to the new republic.”
Archer felt a cool breeze run through his heart. Finally, this was his wheelhouse.
“Are you threatening me, Mr. Smith?”
“Take it whichever way you need to if it helps you see the light. Sir.”
Archer’s right hand snaked out unerringly and snatched the empty whiskey bottle from his desk. He raised it a couple of feet, then brought it down, lightning quick, on the edge of the big old bureau, twisting his wrist at the last instant. The body shattered, leaving him with the neck intact in his fist and a series of jagged edges around the rest of it.
“I would welcome further discussion,” he said coldly. “In fact, I’m begging you for it.”
The flash in Smith’s eyes was obscenely satisfying.
“Nothing more to say?” Archer taunted.
Smith made for the door. “This is the wrong decision, sir,” he said as he opened it.
“No,” said the general. “I made the wrong decision six months ago when I bought into this conspiracy. I’m finally making up for that. Now get the fuck out of here before I kill you.”
The door snicked shut behind the man who called himself John Smith. A few moments later, there was a knock. The door opened to reveal the face of Tony Lewis, the Special Forces sergeant who acted as Archer’s personal assistant.
“Sir,” the man said. “I heard a noise. Is everything all right?”
“It’s fine,” said Archer, and was surprised to discover he actually meant it. “While I’ve got you, give Baker a call and have her get me in to see the president first thing. It’s important. Then I’d appreciate it if you could give me a ride back to HQ. I’ve been drinking.”