“Greg!” the woman called, waving her hand. “Greg!”
“Isabel,” he said, relaxing a little.
Greg’s former partner.
As the dark-haired woman reached them, Greg released Carrie’s hand to receive Isabel’s enthusiastic hug.
“You came,” Isabel said. “I knew you couldn’t stay away from the fun.”
“Honestly,” he said, “I hadn’t planned to, but there have been some changes. Here, let me introduce you first.” Greg turned back to Carrie. “This is Lieutenant Isabel Ryan—or former lieutenant, I should say. Isabel, this is Braden, a friend who volunteered to help us today. And this…” He wrapped a hand around Carrie’s waist, smiling for the first time since everything happened. “This is Carrie.”
Dark eyes dancing, Isabel extended a hand to Carrie. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Carrie. I’m glad to see you safe and alive. This guy has been pretty worried about you.”
“I’m glad to have him back,” Carrie said. “And it’s so nice to meet you, too, Isabel. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Probably all bad,” Isabel quipped. “How do you keep this guy in check? He’s a loose cannon.”
“I don’t,” Carrie admitted.
Isabel laughed.
Greg huffed. “Alrighty. We’ve got things to discuss–that’s why we came.” Without preamble, he added, “Rigsby moved up the demonstration to tonight.”
In an instant, Isabel sobered. “We just heard a few minutes ago. Kearney’s talking with the other leaders right now, but it’s not good, Greg. We’re not ready—not at all.”
“You have to be. You’ve gotta go in tonight. Where’s McCormick? What does he say?” Greg asked.
Unexpectedly, her eyes filled with tears. Isabel looked from person to person, including the rebels who had gathered in around to hear. She swallowed. “McCormick was taken this morning.”
“What?” Carrie and Greg said together.
“They took Uncle Charlie. They arrested him. He…” Her eyes closed briefly. “He’s scheduled to join the execution.”
“No,” Greg said.
“How?” Braden asked.
In a rush, Isabel explained how Commander McCormick had been meeting with people on the inside that morning, those on security detail that McCormick had known for years. Those people planned to get the rebels inside, but then one of them turned and exposed the whole group.
“As soon as President Rigsby found out,” Isabel said, “he said he wanted McCormick front and center for the demonstration. The security guy barely escaped in time to tell us. And now…” She shook her head. “It’s bad, Greg. I don’t know how to get to McCormick, and we don’t know how to get inside other than to just send everyone in for a major blow-them-out-of-the-water attack. That’s what Kearney wants to do.”
Greg shook his head adamantly. “Too many innocent people will be killed.”
“What else can we do?” Isabel said. “The guy who was supposed to open the underground gate for us was taken with McCormick. If I could even get in there, I could get Kearney and the others inside, but I don’t exactly have security clearance anymore. That place is hopping with guards, and we’re out of time.”
Carrie waited for Greg to say something, to tell Isabel of their plan to get inside. Isabel could go with them. He just folded his arms, staring down at the dirt.
“Um…” Carrie said, deciding to go for it. “Maybe we can get you in.”
“How?” Isabel said.
Again, Carrie looked at Greg. He wouldn’t meet her gaze. Technically, this whole plan was Carrie’s, but he hated it. He wanted to go in alone. No handcuffs. No using her, Ashlee, and Braden as “prisoners.” Just Greg, breaking in to free Oliver, alone. But now more than ever, Carrie saw the logic of her plan.
“It’s hard to explain it all,” Carrie said, “but Greg is going inside, pretending to be a patrol chief from our area who’s scheduled to bring in three prisoners for the demonstration. Us. Maybe you can be one of the prisoners. I think…” She shrugged. “I think we can get you inside.”
Isabel’s dark eyes lit up. She looked from Greg to Carrie to Braden.
“It should work,” Greg said with a reluctant nod. “I don’t like it, but it’ll work. We can get you in.”
Suddenly Isabel whirled around and shouted, “Bring me Kearney! I think we’ve got something.”
fifty-seven
RICHARD DROVE ASHLEE RIGHT UP to the east gate. Ashlee Lyon wore her own, nice clothes again, which helped. She didn’t look so homeless anymore. And Richard wore Jamansky’s stolen uniform—a disturbing sight all things considered. But it fit him well enough, so Ashlee ignored that it used to belong to her ex-boyfriend. Especially since it—and Jamansky’s Chief of Patrols car—got them through the first gate with a simple wave.
Ashlee had never actually been to Naperville’s training facilities. Now it was a flurry of activity. Officers, guards, federal patrolmen, and simple soldiers. They milled about the training grounds, getting everything in order.
“Just drop me off here,” she said to Richard.
“But the people,” he said, nervously scanning the groups lining the outside of the massive compound.
“It’s fine. This is east, right? The message told David to go to the east gate. Meet me back here in five minutes.”
Ashlee sounded braver than she felt, but she opened the door and got out. With a tall, confident stride, she approached the east entrance.
The guard at the gate took her green citizenship card and scanned it. She pretended to examine her nails while she secretly held her breath.
The IDV machine beeped one beep and then a light turned green. She smiled. David Jamansky had done a lot of things, but he hadn’t revoked her citizenship. Her picture lit up on the guy’s computer screen along with her current job title, township clerk—something else David should have changed but hadn’t.
“How can I help you, Miss Lyon?” the guard said, handing her green card back. “You’re not on my list of attendees.” Though he didn’t add anything else, his eyes grazed over her civilian clothing with another question. Why wasn’t she dressed in uniform?
“I’m here to get the special uniform for my boss, Chief Jamansky from the Kane County Unit. He’s on the list for the demonstration today, but he’s running late.”
“Sorry, but your boss will have to pick up the uniform himself.”
“I understand. Only he’s super late.” She shrugged helplessly. “He asked me to get his uniform for him so he can go directly to the facility and change there.”
“We have changing rooms here.”
She looked to where the guard pointed. Other patrolmen were coming out of a room, dressed in matching all-black uniforms. The special uniforms for the firing squad weren’t like typical federal patrol uniforms, though. They were much fancier, with a red stripe on one leg, and a blue stripe running down the other. Over the right breast was a single, white star—the new symbol of Rigsby’s message. Below the star read, “United We Stand.” An ironic statement considering the massacre that was about to happen.
How could those people walk, laugh, and ignore the Medieval-type slaughter about to happen? How could they be okay with this in any form? What happened to America being the land of the free and the home of the brave? All she saw were a bunch of cowards, cowards in fancy black uniforms.
Working to keep her face even, she acknowledged the changing rooms with a nod. “I see. It’s just that he’s checking in some last-minute prisoners, and he’s worried that he won’t make it back in time. Does your file there say anything about him bringing in extra traitors?”
She had no clue if there was such a file, but it seemed like something the government would require.
Sure enough, the guard pulled up another screen. “Yes. He’s slotted to bring in three others—two females and one male—besides the original prisoner.”
A name flashed up on the screen beside David’s.
Oliver Gerard Simmons.
She stared at Oliver’s name a moment before she caught herself.
“Right,” she said, voice tighter than before. “And he’s delivering the three of them to Cliff Watson. Do you know where Cliff is? My boss is looking for him on the north side but hasn’t found him yet.”
“Cliff’s at the next entrance down.”
“Great. Then is it alright if I meet him there with the uniform? I’d hate for him to be late. My boss doesn’t want to miss the celebration.” She finished up with a flutter of her eyelashes, something that sometimes worked.
When Ashlee walked back out to the car two minutes later, carrying the black, fancy uniform, she wanted to feel victorious. She had done it. But time was moving too swiftly. Oliver was in that building somewhere, and the firing squad was gathering, nearly ready.
Richard gaped at her as she opened the back door of the patrol car and set the clothing bag safely inside.
“You did it,” Richard said. “How?”
“Just go,” she said urgently. “I’ll explain as you drive. Go!”
As he pulled out of the parking area, she stared back at the massive training compound. What if they weren’t fast enough? What if Greg couldn’t pass himself off as Jamansky? Even if he could, what if it was already too late?
“Any other instructions?” Richard said. “Did they tell you where Greg should go?”
“They’ll give Greg a weapon on the platform. It’s a standard-issue gun, so I hope he knows how to use it. Can you drive any faster?”
The rebels were waiting for them when they returned to the wooded spot a few miles away. Braden met Richard and Ashlee at the car.
“You did it!” Braden said, looking in the back seat. “Wow, I can’t believe you got it.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Ashlee said. She scanned the growing crowd of rebels milling about. There seemed to be hundreds of them, but she couldn’t see the most important ones.
“Where are the others?” she asked. “Where’s Greg?”
“Right here,” Greg said, striding toward them. A small entourage of rebels followed him, including Carrie. He made quick introductions, introducing the key people, but Ashlee barely paid attention. She shoved the black uniform into his arms.
“Hurry,” she said in a rush. “You need to go. People are already changed and ready, so go fast. Shoes are in the bag.”
Taking the clothing bag, Greg ducked down inside of the first tent.
Ashlee stood against the patrol car. Her stomach kept doing flips. If she didn’t calm down, it was going to empty itself. She needed to be doing something, not thinking.
“Hey, Richard,” she said. “Let me adjust your uniform before we head out.” Grabbing his arm, she ripped off two gold bands from Jamansky’s green uniform sleeve. A few loose threads remained, which she quickly tore away. “There. You just went from patrol chief to lowly patrolman’s helper. They shouldn’t question you helping Greg.”
Richard nodded. “Thank you, Ashlee. We are all indebted to you. So is Oliver.”
Oliver.
Her gaze dropped to her hands which felt suddenly jittery. She balled them against her stomach. “What if we don’t get there in time?”
And what she didn’t add but she worried about just as much was what if one of them chickened out once they were inside and gave them all away.
“Don’t worry,” Carrie said. “We’ll make it happen. But actually…” She glanced back at the group before adding, “There’s been a change of plans. We don’t need you to go with us anymore. You can stay here until we’re back.”
Ashlee’s head whipped up. “What? Why not?”
“Because I’m going in your place,” a woman said, joining them. She held out a hand to Ashlee, which Ashlee refused to shake. “I’m Lieutenant Isabel Ryan. Thanks for letting me take your spot. It’s just the thing we need to break the rest of this sorry lot inside, so thank you.” To Carrie, Isabel added, “Is Greg ready yet?”
“He’s changing now,” Carrie said.
“Wait!” Ashlee said, panicked. “I need to be there. I need to help Oliver.”
“We can’t risk you being seen again,” the lieutenant said. “Besides, we’ve been talking strategy, and it’s all worked out. Braden and Richard will help me clear the corridors while Greg and Carrie work on freeing your boyfriend and the commander.”
Ashlee’s eyes widened. Heat crept up her neck. “Oh, Oliver’s not my boyfriend. He’s just someone I know—a coworker.”
“My apologies,” Isabel said. “I just assumed.”
Before Ashlee could explain, a rough-looking guy strode up to them. “Isabel,” he said. “One last thing.”
Isabel gave Ashlee an apologetic look. “Sorry. I need to speak with Kearney. Thanks again for letting me take your spot.”
As Isabel and the rebel leader started going over last-minute plans, Carrie, Richard, and Braden huddled close, also reviewing what needed to be done once they were inside the compound.
Ashlee stood alone.
They really were going to leave her behind.
Frantic, she broke into Carrie’s small huddle. “Please don’t forget Oliver with everything else. I mean, of course you guys won’t, but if you see him, will you tell him that I’m here? Even if it’s too late, just let him know that I came.”
Even if it’s too late?
What was she saying? Why would Oliver care that she’d come to Naperville? But after the two letters he’d written via Reef, she wanted him to know that she had changed. For the first time in her life, she was proud of who she was. And, for whatever reason, she wanted Oliver to be proud of her, too—which was stupid. The guy was marching to his execution.
“It’s going to be okay,” Carrie said again. “We’ll find Oliver, and then we’ll all go home. Just wait here for us to…” She trailed off, gaze lifting over Ashlee’s head.
Ashlee turned to see what Carrie had.
Greg was climbing out of the tent, wearing the all-black uniform meant for David Jamansky. It fit him well. A little long in the pants, but otherwise a good fit. He’d combed his hair and somehow managed a shave, too.
“Wow,” Isabel Ryan said, breaking away from her conversation with Kearney. “You clean up pretty well, Pierce. You look very official. This might actually work.”
Ashlee nodded, regarding him again. “You look like the other officers I saw, Greg. It’s perfect.”
Seemingly nervous, Greg walked straight up to Carrie, brushing down the front of his uniform. “You look spooked. Sorry. It’s not like I want to be wearin’ a fed’s uniform.”
Carrie did look a little spooked, but she shook her head. “No. You look great. Very official. It’s just…uh…” Her cheeks colored, making Ashlee smile. It was cute seeing her flustered around Greg in his fancy uniform. In a boring t-shirt and ratty jeans, the guy had been nice eye candy. Now, with his slicked-back hair and broad shoulders, he looked regal. Yet he only had eyes for the sweet, warm-loving Carrie Ashworth.
A twinge of jealousy shot through Ashlee.
Not that Greg was looking at someone else. She didn’t care about that. But that Carrie had someone who could look at her so thoroughly, so completely, as if her opinion—and her opinion alone—was the only thing in the world that mattered to him.
“Sorry. You look great,” Carrie said, finally composing herself. “Very convincing. Is your arm okay?”
He lifted it, but his wound was covered in the black, long sleeve. “I wrapped it real tight. As long as it doesn’t start bleeding down my hand, it should be fine.”
“Ah, Pierce,” Isabel Ryan said, “you would have made a good soldier. It’s a shame.”
“No,” Kearney countered. “He’s got rebel blood in him, through and through.”
Greg rolled his eyes but turned his attention back to Ashlee. “Has Jamansky ever met this Cliff Watson guy before? Will Cliff know what he looks like—what I’m supposed to look like?”
�
�I’ve never heard David talk about him before,” Ashlee said. “I think he’s a friend of Mayor Phillip’s, so let’s hope not. He’ll be at the second entrance. He’s expecting you and the three prisoners, so you really need to go now.”
“Alrighty. Now for the worst part.” Greg pulled out three sets of handcuffs. He clicked the first around Braden’s wrists easily enough. Isabel’s, too. But when he faced Carrie, he stared down at her outstretched wrists, wrists that hadn’t even fully healed yet. His Adam’s apple bobbed once. Slowly, he shook his head and whispered, “I can’t…”
“It’ll be fine,” Carrie said. “Once we’re inside, you can release us. It’s a good plan.”
“It’s a horrible plan,” he countered angrily.
Carrie looked up at him, and for the second time it seemed like the two of them stood alone in the world. “My siblings are safe, Greg. That means more to me than anything. This is our only way inside. Even if the worst happens, and you and I don’t make it out…” She tried to smile, but her lips trembled. “It will still be worth it.”
“Live free or die,” a rebel said behind her.
The second he said it, the motto caught on like wildfire. The whole group of rebels started chanting it. “Live free or die. Live free or die.”
Greg scowled at them. “You’re not makin’ this any easier.” Turning back to Carrie, he sighed a deep, weary sigh. “Think the early American patriots felt prepared for what they had to do?”
“Probably not any more than we do,” Carrie said. “They were just regular people who hoped for a better future. They were willing to try, and we have to as well. It’s time to live free.”
“Or die trying,” he finished softly.
He clicked the handcuffs around her wrists, and then lifted her bound hands and kissed the back of them. Then he straightened, standing tall in his black uniform, and surveyed the group of mismatched people, from trained army officers, to simple everyday-citizens-turned-rebels. All of them waited for him to make the first move. Get Isabel on the inside. Help the others follow. And then take down the president of the United States—hopefully not forgetting a semi-awkward, semi-balding patrolman named Oliver Simmons in the process.
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 129