Finding Sage (The Rogue Book 1) (22 page)

40.

“Why does this happen every morning?”

The young blonde woman shook the front door of the hotel and jiggled the key in an attempt to unlock the stubborn entrance.  While the key had stuck every day for the past two years that she had worked there, she still found it frustrating every morning.

“I need to tell Mac about this,” she said quietly under her breath. 

That, also, she said every morning, although she knew she would soon forget about it when her irritable middle-aged manager came in three hours later.  Being at work at 4 a.m. was hard enough without giving the morning shift manager another reason to grumpily watch over your shoulder. 

She set her keys on the front desk and turned the lights on.  The days of 24-hour hotels had passed long ago, and with it complimentary breakfast.  The hazelnut coffee she started was for her, not their guests, although she would find it difficult to refuse if they were to ask her.  Her older sister Madilyn called her a pushover, but Jesse preferred to think of herself as compassionate, a trait that she believed was becoming all too rare in the modern age. 

She unlocked the door that divided the guest rooms from the front desk area and patiently waited for the typical early morning calls.  She would need to eventually begin her cleaning duties, but she had found through experience that most guests were not fond of cleaning at 4 a.m. 

The first hour crawled by, like it always did, and she began to wonder about the curious group that came in two weeks ago.  She hadn’t seen any sign of them since she allowed them into the suite, and she began to wonder if she had done the right thing.  She hadn’t questioned it at the time; but she hadn’t a clue who they were.  She was intelligent enough to gather that they weren’t telling her the truth, but she had no way of finding out who they really were without getting them into more trouble.  She soon dismissed the thought, along with her fond memories of “Tré’s” smile.  Or tried, rather.  The thought of him made her smile herself.  She didn’t see cute strangers very often, and certainly not ones that were also kind. 

Her peace of mind didn’t last long, however.  When the soldiers in their royal blue uniforms arrived for daily security duty at 5, they weren’t alone.  To her great surprise, an officer was with them and they brought Mac in.  She had seen officers before – although she wasn’t sure what rank he was – but seeing Mac in handcuffs was definitely new.

Dozens of questions flew through her mind, but she dared not speak to the soldiers out of turn.  As they walked past her, she saw a mysterious hooded figure behind the officer.  This piqued her curiosity, but it was soon replaced by worry.  They forced Mac into a chair in the tiny lobby and beckoned Jesse to come join their conversation. 

Anxiousness flooded through her as she took a seat across from Mac.  She looked up at the officer, who looked to be about the same age as Mac; mid-fifties or so.  He had a full mustache and a crew cut so perfect it made him look like he came off of an assembly line.  The thing she noticed most was his eyes – they were flaming with fury.  Something here was personal. 

The officer didn’t speak to Jesse, but instead looked at Mac with a soldier standing at either side, with AKs held firm against their chests.

“I thought you and I had an understanding, Mr. McGinnis.”

Jesse suddenly understood.  He was an E.O., short for Economic Officer.  They oversaw the management of businesses and made sure they met U.N. standards and obeyed the law.  Jesse knew they were cruel, but had never had any dealings with one.  Until now, that is.  As she watched the officer question Mac with an unwavering tone, the man’s calmness scared her.  It scared her like a psychopath’s steady hand with a knife.  Not too much of a stretch, considering the extensive weaponry all officers were endowed with.

“I turn a blind eye to your failing hotel and you tell me who is staying here and when.”

“Yes sir, that is our arrangement,” Mac said shakily.

The officer gave Mac a backhanded slap across the face.

“If I want your confirmation, Mr. McGinnis, I’ll ask for it.”

His voice was calm, steady.  He showed no hint of anger in his voice, which made his presence all the more terrifying.

“You see, something has changed recently in New York,” the officer said.  “A new piece of technology, you might say.”

The officer pulled a long knife from his belt and started sliding the flat sides of the blade delicately over his fingers.  His psychopathic calmness as he teased at the idea of slicing Mac up was enough to make the boldest man burst into tears.  Mac tried not to show fear, but the morning sun shone on his sweaty brow, and his eyes, filled with terror, betrayed him.

“Tell me Mr. McGinnis,” the officer continued, “how often in your life have you come across a rogue?”

Jesse swallowed. 

“Never, sir.”

“Really?  Because you have no less than six in this hotel at this very moment.”

Her horror was growing with every second.  She had no idea what she had done.  A rogue?  In this hotel?  No—six rogues!  That’s how many she had secretly admitted.  How could she have been so foolish?  So careless? Such a pushover…

It didn’t take any time at all for Mac to deduce what had happened.  Jesse hoped, prayed that he would let it slide, that he would protect her.  She knew it was selfish, but she feared for her life, and knew Mac had dealt with the soldiers before.  A tear began to drop from her eye when Mac slowly turned his head and looked at her.

“What did you do?”

Jesse started sobbing, shaking her head.  She had no time to begin her explanation before the officer put his blade to her throat.

“Where are they?”

She closed her eyes and swallowed, and knew she had no choice.

“463.  It’s a suite on the fourth floor.”

“Why are you so stubborn?” Tariq asked Salah, frustrated.

“You mean why am I refusing to steal?”

“It’s not stealing if they give it to you!”

“It’s manipulation!” Salah insisted.

“Look, I hate to interject in your little kitty fight,” Eli said, “but Tariq has a point.  We’ll be out of the food from the homeless pantry in a few days, and we can’t keep showing up in different disguises multiple times a day.  It’s exhausting, and they’ll eventually catch on.  We’re going to have to do something for food.”

“I’ve been offering a solution to that for the past week, but neither of you will listen to me!”

Tariq rolled his eyes.

“Look Salah, getting a job sounds all nice and romantic,” Tariq said, “But even you know that everything, and I mean everything, has to go through the U.N. database.  We’d get whacked at the first job we applied for.”

“Isn’t there something off the record we could do?” Salah asked.

“Not that that’s any more moral than stealing,” Tariq said.

“Have you even tr—”

“Quiet!” Eli snapped.

Tariq and Salah said nothing, watching Eli.  He put his ear to the wall and listened quietly. 

“We have to move.”

“What?” Tariq asked.

“No arguing, we have to get out of here.  They’re getting off of the elevator right now!”

Eli frantically pushed every piece of furniture he could find up to the door: couches, chairs, bedroom dressers, even the television and entertainment center.  Tariq looked frantically for a way out, but could only find one.

“The window!” Tariq said.

Eli nodded.  Tariq opened the window and looked outside. 

“There’s nothing out here,” Tariq said.

“I know,” said Eli.

Eli grabbed both of the brothers – one in each arm – and prepared to jump.

“When we jump, tuck your knees,” he said.  “Both of my legs will instantly break, but I’ll hit the ground first, which might break your fall a little bit.  I’ll need to get my legs in the proper position to heal, so as soon as we hit the ground, I need you to push my legs into straight positions.  Understand?”

Tariq nodded, but Salah said nothing.  They could hear footsteps behind them now, and Eli prepared for the fall.  The window was barely big enough for the width of the three, but they made it out and slid into free fall.  Tariq heard the wind whistling in his ears and pulled his knees up to his chest. 

He heard the crackling of Eli’s legs a split second before he struck the ground.  Despite his best efforts, Tariq’s right leg had landed first and he immediately knew it has hurt, though he didn’t know how badly.  Eli kept his mouth closed to stifle a scream.  He was hurt badly.  Tariq turned to him and began to straighten his legs when he noticed something.  Salah was nowhere around them. 

He looked up at the fourth story window and saw Salah hanging from the windowsill.  He pulled himself up and crawled back into the room.

“SALAH!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!”

Salah closed the window behind him and looked out.  He could not see where his brother was, but he placed his hand on the window, perhaps a futile attempt to reach his brother, then he turned to face his fate.

Salah closed his eyes and concentrated.  He heard the noise of their boots marching down the hall.  At least three, from the sound of it.  He tried to reach their emotions, but he couldn’t.  He found himself hopeless, in a sort of paralysis.  For some reason, his ability wasn’t working. 

He began to panic.  His plan had been to distract and manipulate the soldiers, hoping that he could also make it out alive, while allowing Tariq and Eli to escape, giving all of them better chances at survival.  He hadn’t expected this.  He was now flying blind.

The door came crashing to the floor and three soldiers, along with an officer, came into the room.  Why they didn’t just get a keycard from the hotel staff, Salah wasn’t sure, but he didn’t really care about that in the moment.

“Well, well, well,” the officer said.  Salah remained silent.  “It appears that we have caught up with the great and mighty Salah.  Manipulator of emotion.  Quite an emotional wreck yourself, I’d say.  A brother in prison for repeated murder and a brother dead because of your run from the law.  It seems to have finally caught up to you.”

“None of that was my fault,” Salah said calmly.

“Oh, but you lie,” the officer responded, equally calm. 

Salah ran through several different scenarios in his mind.  He knew his chances of survival were slim, so he imagined several horrifying types of death: his neck being snapped, being shot in the chest, hung, beheaded, torn limb from limb.  He knew what his sacrifice would entail and he knew it would cost him his life.  He quaked in fear, but determined to stand his ground.

“Where are your friends?” the voice asked.

Salah said nothing.  One of the soldiers kicked him in the chest and sent him flying into the wall.

“I’ll ask you again.  Where are they?”

              Salah knew what was coming.  They would kill him.  He was too much of an idealist to be of any use to the U.N.; it was common sense.  If he asked the man to kill him, however, it would be slow and painful.  Instead, Salah tried another approach.

              “You’ll never get them.”

              “How so?”

              “Silas Knight.”

              The man didn’t even try to deny the significance of the name.

              “The guy that took out all of those soldiers at the subway station?” one of the soldiers asked.

              “Yes,” Salah said.  “He’s gone to meet Sage; and there’s nothing you can do to stop him.”

              “Sage is dead,” the officer rumbled.

              “Is he?”

              The officer waved to one of the soldiers, who jabbed a syringe in his arm, and Salah felt a strange urge to burst out laughing before slumping forward in his chair, unconscious.

“No, no, no, no, no…”

Tariq turned to Eli.

“We have to save him.”

“We can’t.”

“WE HAVE TO!!!”

              “WE’RE DEAD IF WE DO!!!”

              “AND HE’S DEAD IF WE DON’T!!!”

              Eli tried to think of something, anything, to say in response to this.  He wanted to say that Salah would be fine, that he knew where they were taking him and they could get him out, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie.  His lips moved, but no words came out.  Tariq knew what that meant, and a sense of desperation and hopelessness overwhelmed him.  He knew that they couldn’t save him.  They had failed. 

              He had failed.

              Tariq pushed past Eli and ran into the street.  Eli tried to run after him but only one of his legs had healed; the other was still not in the needed position.  Tariq was also injured and ran with a limp.  Tariq managed to dodge the cars in the street, but Eli was forced to wait for cars to pass between them.  He went as fast as he could, but he ran slowly. 

              After about twenty minutes, Eli caught up to Tariq.  He had gotten tired and stopped under a tree in a small park roughly a mile from the hotel.  As Eli approached him, he could tell that Tariq had been crying.  It had started to rain, so Eli could see no tears on his face, but his jaw was trembling.