by J D Lasica
That was all he was ready to share with Kasparian tonight about his vision of the new order. A white-tux butler appeared and poured Champagne for the two billionaires. The DJ amped up the beats per minute on the pulsating Apocalypse Mix and the younger women and men began dancing around the edges of the pool.
Volkov was feeling effusive. He couldn’t remember the last time he socialized. But he felt full of himself today so he tried an anecdote as they drank Cristal’s stellar 2009 vintage.
“Do you know about Cristal’s genesis?” he asked. In addition to being an expert in apocalyptic literature, he considered himself something of a wine connoisseur.
“Do tell.”
“Cristal was first created for Tsar Alexander II in 1876. As Russia became less stable and Alexander feared death, he commanded that his Champagne be bottled clear and with a flat bottom, to ensure no bombs were placed beneath the bottles.”
“Smart man.”
“He made the mistake of selling Alaska to the United States in 1867. But he was a visionary who brought Russia into the modern world. Just as we now have a chance to remake the world.”
Kasparian lifted his Champagne flute. “I’m ready to toast the Transition and the Reset—on one condition.”
Volkov steeled himself. “And what is that?”
“I get New York.”
Volkov leaned back into the Jacuzzi’s pulsing jets to consider this. In the plan he began to outline at the Summit, he had split up New York among members of the Compact like so many crime bosses bickering over turf. But was that the best approach?
“In return, I’ll put the entire weight of my organization behind Project Ezekiel.” Kasparian’s toast hung precariously in the air.
He remembered the business adage that had served him well over the years. Take the deal in front of you, not the one over the next horizon, for it may not be there when you arrive.
“Done!” Volkov nodded. This is good news. The Compact is solidifying. “So now you are all in?”
“Yes. And ready for my first Fantasy Live experience.”
Beneath his mask, Volkov smiled. To the Compact, Fantasy Live was a staging ground for the bio-attack on the West. To Volkov, it was much more. It was a proving ground.
“Why don’t we go in and select our entertainment for the evening?” Volkov suggested. “One of the girls turned eighteen today. She’s quite lovely. When I’m done, I can share her with you.”
They clinked glasses.
44
Samana Cay
Kaden followed the young woman back through the woods. She was relieved the stranger bore little resemblance to Bailey, so she could rule out that possibility. Still, her heart went out to this girl. A mix of feelings swirled in Kaden’s head.
Can’t get sidetracked in looking for Bo, Alex, and the others. But this young woman needs help—and she could lead me to the perpetrators. By the looks of it, she could be one of the Disappeared.
“Are we close?” Kaden asked.
“Not sure. I think so.”
The girl wasn’t blinded, just dazed. Kaden knew they had few options. If they retraced the long hike she’d made through War Games Valley, there was no way this girl would make it to the roadway.
At last the trail ended, spilling into a clearing with an encampment of a dozen tan pop-up tents. The tents were arranged around a fire pit framed by rocks in the shape of a keyhole. The scent of burning wood lingered in the air from the smoldering campfire.
“I need to lie down,” the girl said. She sank onto a log, then crumpled to her side.
“You need a doctor.” Kaden covered her with a blanket. “I’ll try to find help.”
She approached the nearest tent and peered through the mesh entryway. “Hello?” She spotted someone lying down inside. She unzipped it and entered. Another girl, maybe seventeen. A pool of blood soaked the sleeping bag she was lying on. Kaden checked her neck for a pulse.
She’s dead. And she’s wearing some kind of choker.
She moved from tent to tent. Some were empty while others had victims’ bodies inside. But victims of what? Food poisoning? An experiment gone wrong? All the other girls were wearing chokers, too.
She paused outside the seventh tent. These tents were on the large side, and it was apparent they served as the living quarters for these women, with areas for bedding, clothing, toiletries, books, keepsakes. This tent had the entryway flap zipped shut, but she thought she heard someone moaning inside.
“Hello, anyone there?” Kaden called.
No response.
She unzipped the flap and entered. Huddled in the far corner was a girl with a pixie haircut and scared expression. She wielded a long steel barbecue skewer as a weapon. “Don’t come closer!”
“I just want to talk.” Kaden lowered herself to the ground at the tent’s entrance, but she realized she still had her P226 Scorpion drawn.
The girl stared at Kaden’s weapon. “You’re one of them.”
“I’m not.” Kaden raised her hands then slowly pocketed her Scorpion to show she was no threat. “They’re after me, too. But we have to get help. What happened here?”
The girl lowered her skewer a few inches. She reminded Kaden of a younger version of herself, with her short hair and wiry, athletic build. “I don’t know what happened.”
“Tell me what you know. What’s your name? I’m Kaden.”
“Piper.” She was sitting up and now brought her knees together.
“Piper Matthews?”
A light sparked in the girl’s eyes. “How’d you know?”
“I came with your mom, Judy.” She didn’t add, Your mom’s also a prisoner.
“Oh my God!” She dropped her skewer and Kaden thought the girl might cry.
“We don’t have much time,” Kaden said. “What is this place?”
“We call it Camp Defiance. You’re sent here if your scores drop too low.”
“Scores?”
“Points.” Piper traced a finger around her choker. In the shadow Kaden could see it gave off a light reddish glow.
“So this isn’t the main place where the captives are held?”
“No. That’s much bigger, a few miles east of here at Immersion Bay. We call it Camp Resist.”
“Do they have medical staff there?”
“One doctor, one nurse, for something like 600 girls.”
Kaden had one final question. “It looks like you’re not sick. Why?”
“Not sure. I skipped dinner tonight, went to bed with a cold. I woke up when I heard the other girls …” Her voice trembled before it trailed off.
Kaden nodded. “Let’s get you out of here. You need to see a doctor.”
Piper’s eyes clasped shut. She tugged at her choker. “I can’t. They won’t let us move beyond our restricted area.”
That changes things. I’ll have to double-time it to Immersion Bay and return with medical help. Maybe some of the other girls here are still alive.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she told Piper. “Probably safest for you to stay sealed inside here.”
“Thank you. Tell my mom I’m okay.”
Kaden smiled, lifted the canvas flap, and stepped outside into the gathering darkness.
“Hands up!” A gruff voice came from her six o’clock.
She turned and confronted five men with semi-automatic weapons trained on her.
“Now drop the gun.” Same voice. The squad leader.
She lowered the Scorpion and dropped it. She recognized the semi-automatic smartguns his men were carrying as combat assault smart rifles—the kind that can be fired only by its owner. Even if she managed to overpower one of the guards, she wouldn’t be able to fire the weapon. A guard snatched her handgun from the ground.
“You have to help these women,” Kaden said.
“I don’t have to do anything. Move. Now!” The squad leader’s voice signaled he would brook no delays.
They headed out of the encampment with Kaden n
ear the rear. She reached beneath her shirt to find her necklace. She double-clicked the back of the pendant. But she knew she was out of range in this part of War Games Valley.
Ahead of her, the squad leader spoke into his comms. “Sir, we have a prisoner. Female.”
“Bring her to me.” The reply came loud enough to send a chill through Kaden. That voice. Savić.
She followed the throng of guards through the woods for only a minute when she felt it. At first, a slight tingling sensation in her nose. She reached out her hand and saw it land on her palm.
A drop of blood.
45
Samana Cay
Volkov and Kasparian peered up at the large digital screen in the Bliss Lounge, ready to inspect the digital catalog of Opt-Ins.
“How many did you say?” the Armenian asked.
“Six hundred eighteen at Immersion Bay,” Volkov said. “Another thirty-two Opt-Ins on the payroll.”
“Can you sort by age?” Kasparian asked, wielding his remote.
“A popular request.”
“Youngest to oldest.”
Volkov nodded and gave the voice command to set up the age filter. He watched as Kasparian cycled through the catalog and saved several girls to his Favorites. It took a long time but Kasparian finally settled on his top two picks. Volkov sent the order to dispatch the sixteen- and seventeen-year-old girls to the Fantasy Theater along with Bailey Finnerty.
“Next step is to select a simulation.” Volkov had always left it up to Lucid to give guests a run-through of the full Fantasy Live immersive experience. But he had a pretty good handle on how this worked.
“We can’t personalize your fantasy experience without a longer lead time,” he explained. “So this will be off the shelf.”
“Quite understandable.”
“Here’s a look at our default presets.” He sorted through the options on screen, calling up short video snippets of each archetype. “Most men zero in on a fairly narrow set of fantasies. You can dress up your fantasy girl as a cheerleader. A schoolgirl. A sexy secretary. Girl Scout. Favorite action hero. A girl strapped to a dental chair. A mannequin.” A mannequin, imagine. Nothing surprises me anymore. “A tart. A stripper. The ponytailed girl next door. A girl under hypnosis. A naughty girl who needs spanking. A girl surprised in the shower.”
Kasparian watched each vignette with lurid fascination. “So hard to choose.”
“You might as well see the stable of go-to fantasies we provide our women guests.” He panned through a different category. “Having her way with a favorite actor or movie star. Dominating her male partner. Enjoying a threesome. Having sex with a stranger. Many tamer options as well.”
“Here’s to fantasies.”
They’d switched from Champagne to the harder stuff, and Kasparian lifted a glass of Remy Martin Louis XIII Cognac. They clinked Cognac glasses when an alert popped up on screen. Lucid was trying to contact him.
“Excuse me while I take this.” Volkov stepped into the foyer out of Kasparian’s earshot. He pressed the code on his phone to dial Lucid. “I’m entertaining a guest.”
“You’ll want to hear this,” Lucid said. He sounded distant, no doubt coming from a remote part of the island.
“What is it?”
“I have two updates. First, we’ve apprehended Kaden Baker.”
“I thought you said she was eliminated! How did this happen?”
“It appears she managed to escape in Zug. We’re interrogating her now.”
Unacceptable. Lucid and his team had failed again. There would be consequences. “Put your man Savić on this. I want to find out what she knows. What else?”
“We’ve identified the intruders. Two distinct groups of interlopers on the yacht we commandeered.”
“Two groups?”
“The first is the Axom group—Paul Redman and two of his staff members. Redman owns the yacht.”
Redman! The billionaire owner of Axom was in their custody?
“Why was Redman coming to Samana Cay?” Volkov asked.
“Because we detained his reporter. I told you yesterday about Alex Wyatt finding out about Bailey Finnerty, one of the Disappeared.”
“Yes, yes. We haven’t decided how to handle that.”
“Correct, Chairman.”
“You mentioned a second group,” Volkov said.
“The covert operatives. They wouldn’t cooperate, but we’ve identified the lead as Bo Finnerty, along with three team members.”
“Finnerty.” He spat out the name. He was surprised Finnerty had tracked him to Samana Cay. But perhaps he shouldn’t have been. Months ago he and Lucid had targeted the daughters of a handful of intelligence officers who’d meddled in Volkov’s affairs over the years. He’d also singled out Bailey Finnerty’s mother for special treatment.
Lucid continued. “You instructed me to oversee all security measures. So I’ve sent Redman and his two employees to our holding facility to join Alex Wyatt. I took the liberty of having Finnerty and his operatives outfitted as enemy combatants out at War Games Valley.”
“You did what?”
“I’m in the valley now, watching the war games simulation. They’re under surveillance. No chance of losing them.”
This would not do. Bo Finnerty could still prove valuable. “Call it off. Take them all into custody. I’ll send further instructions.”
Once the Fantasy Strain proved to be effective, he planned to give the go-ahead to launch Phase Two of the Project Ezekiel on a global scale.
The fate of a handful of interlopers won’t cause a ripple, given the storm that will soon consume the West.
Volkov and Kasparian donned their Eyewear. Volkov led the Armenian onto a long swaying footbridge past a waterfall on their right that tumbled into a raging river. Across the way, he could see a large arched doorway that led to their Fantasy Live simulation. As intended, the daunting bridge and rushing waters quickened his heartrate and sharpened his senses.
“Tell me, Incognito,” Kasparian raised his voice from just behind as he balanced himself on the wobbly footbridge. “How did you decide on which girls to target as part of your … program?”
No harm in sharing the details. “Initially, we were working with Randolph Blackburn.”
“Oh?” The Armenian seemed surprised.
“He was the major shareholder in Birthrights Unlimited, the Dallas fertility center. I was intrigued by the operation they carried out to recruit young runaways and street trash.”
“Recruit?” A gust of wind and spray of mist prompted Kasparian to reach for the hand ropes to steady himself. “I heard it was more than recruit.”
Volkov ignored the interruption and continued across the footbridge. “Those girls were selected for surrogacy. Still, the operation served as proof that runaways and street girls were unqualified to perform the immersive stories required for Fantasy Live.”
He decided not to mention his secondary motivation. The sport of breaking their will. Of using their love for family members as a weapon against them. And above all, the need to test out his theories about women’s roles in Civilization 2.0.
Volkov raised his voice above the sounds of the rushing waters below. “We created a prototype agricultural community at Immersion Bay that brings us back to our pre-industrial ancestral roots. And we stocked it with a wide variety of girls who we believed would be grateful to be spared from the harsher elements of the Transition.”
Volkov left out the operational details. The months of preparation that had gone into the mass operation, the use of third-party underground operatives, the safe houses used until the dome was completed and the young women could be transported without incident to Samana Cay.
“We have arrived,” he announced as they reached the far side of the gorge. Volkov plunged a hand into his right pocket and pulled out two small inhalers. “You’ll want to try this. To enhance the senses.” He took two puffs from one container and handed Kasparian the other. His guest took two hi
ts asking no questions about it.
A small gesture of trust.
They pitched forward through the dark arched doorway into the chamber. They were inside the mountain now, alone in the silent shadows. The sounds of the waterfall and raging river were gone. He’d given only one directive to Lucid: Unlike all the other simulations, he wanted no staff to witness their Fantasy Live simulations.
“Where are we?” Kasparian asked.
“The real question is, where are we going?” Volkov answered, though he was as much in the dark as the Armenian.
In front of them were two pathways pulsing with colored lights along the edges, like tiny airplane landing strips. The paths led to two glowing doors, red and blue, across a dark open space. The edges of Kasparian’s Eyewear gleamed red and Volkov’s glowed blue.
They started down the paths and paused outside each door. Kasparian pressed his fingers against his red door but hesitated in opening it, perhaps nervous about plunging into his first simulated reality. Volkov stepped over and pushed it open for him. They both peered through the doorway.
Kasparian had sent Lucid some preferences for his Fantasy Live simulation. He’d told Lucid to give the man whatever he asked for, and now he saw that Kasparian’s tastes were a bit tawdry. The spacious bedroom was a kaleidoscope of pink and mauve. The wallpaper brimmed with drawings of ponies, unicorns, bunnies, and butterflies. To the left, a large king-size bed beckoned with pink pillows and brown and white teddy bears. A small writing desk sat next to a rocking horse and a bookcase filled with storybooks and photos of young girls.
Directly across from them, below a Girl Power wall hanging, the two girls from Immersion Bay sat demurely side by side on a pink sofa, dressed in plaid schoolgirl uniforms. Next to the sofa were two sparkly princess outfits and silver slippers laid out on matching pink ottomans covered with hearts.
Humbert Humbert would approve.
Volkov backed off a step as Kasparian entered and looked around. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Incognito. You’ve outdone yourself.”