Nation of Enemies (21 page)

 

September, 2032

 

Chapter 43

J
ONATHAN
HAS
BEEN PATIENT
. He's waited for the right time to talk to Hannah alone, away from Reverend Mitchell. Even now her driver sits outside the Hudson's gate, probably reporting on every step she takes. Since Huan Chao made it clear to him that he
will
carry out his new assignment—­or face consequences—­Jonathan can't help but wonder what Hannah knows.

They lie on Jonathan's carpeted floor listening to a DJ spin in a club halfway around the world, the video feed lighting up an adjacent wall so it feels like they're part of the crowd. His hands drum to the beat but he barely hears the song. Being with her demands all of his senses.

Without warning, Hannah explodes into giggles. He props himself up on his elbows.

“What's so funny?”

“I gave it a try, but this is so not me. Look how serious they all are!” She points to the clubbers.

Hundreds of bodies move in unison, arms akimbo, hair tossed wildly. True enough, there's not one smile on the faces that fill the wall.

“It's dancing. Dancing! Shouldn't they look happy?”

“So what music do you like?” he asks. “What makes you dance?”

She grins, taps her temple with her finger. “I only dance mentally.”

It's his turn to laugh. They face each other, the smiles slipping away. Jonathan replaces the pounding music with a playlist of acoustic artists. The energy in the room mellows. And in the quiet, he decides to ask the one question that's been plaguing him.

“Did you know?”

“Know what?”

“Did the Reverend send you that day? To the funeral?”

Her lips part then pinch. He watches her neck as she swallows.

“You weren't friends with someone at that funeral, were you? He sent you to find me. To bring me back.”

“Yes.” She avoids his gaze.

“Did he tell you why?”

She shakes her head. “I run his errands. Send messages. Meet ­people. He never tells me why, never involves me in BASIA's mission. It's probably better that way.”

“Guess it helps you sleep at night.” The edge in his voice is stronger than he intended.

“I don't sleep.” She turns away. “I'm sorry, Jonathan.”

“You don't even know what you're sorry for.”

“So much.”

“Do you know what he's capable of?”

“Of course I know.” She jerks around to face him. “It's why I'm here! I'm proof of what he's capable of. Collateral damage in the war of Armageddon.”

“And his future bride.”

She stands, ties her rope of hair into a bun as she goes to the window and stares out.

“You okay?” he asks.

“No.” It's a whisper. “I miss my parents. I miss the farmhouse I grew up in. How simple everything was. I miss my sister and brother.”

Her back shakes as though she's hiccupping. He realizes she's crying.

“Hey.” Shit. He doesn't have a tissue and he has no idea what to say. Slowly, he ambles over to her.

“Sorry.” With the back of her hand, she wipes her cheeks.

“Where are your brother and sister?”

“I don't know. Charles is trying to find them for me.”

Bullshit. A man that powerful could find anyone. “Want me to try?”

“How?”

He waggles his fingers at her. “Magic.”

This seems to calm her, and she eagerly sits back down with him on the carpet. He changes the smartwall, gesturing, turning it into his own private search engine. Hannah shares all the details she can remember. Joe, Jr. and Mary, how old they must be now, hair and eye colors, though with ten years since she's seen them, she doubts her memory.

As the minutes tick by, he considers telling her about his plan to steal the MedIDs for Project Swap. They could all get out of here and start a new life. He steals glances at her. There's a tiny white scar on her cheek and her earlobes are double-­pierced with no earrings. He has a constant urge to touch her.

An hour later he still has no solid leads on her siblings. He rubs his eyes. “I'll find them. Everyone has an e-­trail. Tomorrow I'll check the national education database. It'll just take a few more hours.”

“Thank you.” Hannah moves closer and kisses his cheek.

Without thinking, he turns and presses his lips against hers. She leans into him, slides a hand down his arm. He takes her hand in his. The feeling is electric. Suddenly she pulls away.

“I'm sorry,” he says.

“No.” Hannah looks at her lap. “Don't be. You make me feel normal.”

“You are normal.”

“I'm many things, but normal isn't one of them.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Well. My parents martyred themselves. I've lost my brother and sister. I was given—­like a cow or something—­to Charles. I live in that big mansion like I'm privileged, but none of it's mine. I don't know who I am anymore. If I was set free in the world tomorrow, I wouldn't know where to start. I don't know the first thing about normal, Jonathan.”

“If you had a way out of the Reverend's world, would you take it?”

“I can't even imagine that.”

“There's always a way out.”

She stands abruptly. “It's late. I should go.”

Maybe it's better this way. He'll tell her after he figures out how to steal the chips. It's after midnight when he sneaks her out of the house. Thankfully, Steven's asleep. It would be disastrous for their paths to cross now that Steven knows her connection to BASIA. Down the lamplit driveway they walk to the gate and the waiting car. He grabs her hand and squeezes it.

“There's always a way,” he says.

Hannah slips into the backseat and the car pulls away. He watches until the taillights disappear. It's a tangled mess he's in, but he'll work it out. He'll do everything he can to hang onto her.

 

Chapter 44

F
LOODLIGHT
S
ILLUMINATE
THE
training field behind BASIA HQ. Standing amid his regiment, Sebastian's breath vaporizes in the unseasonably brisk air. Recently, night drills have become routine. There's a new urgency in the tasks they're given, reiteration of significant psalms, a push to hone skills, whether it's hand-­to-­hand combat or—­Sebastian's specific talent—­sharpshooting. They're watching each and every soldier, and he needs to be among the best.

Summoning his fury over Kate and his frustration over the web of politics he has yet to untangle, he pushes his body harder. Running through tires, climbing ropes, hurdling obstacles. After three months he still hasn't penetrated Mitchell's inner sanctum or attained clarity on their mission. Only one thing is obvious: that the attack will include thousands of soldiers from different BASIA regiments throughout the country. Several days coming up—­Election Day, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years Eve/Day—­could provide a meaningful platform for Mitchell. Initially, Sebastian hoped Taylor would be his way in, but she's provided no insight into her father, much less Mitchell. The only thing she's given him is a boatload of guilt, for enjoying her company. Coffees have led to dinners and late night conversations. The relationship is platonic, but the pull is there. At times she reminds him of Kate. Her fierce independence and her hope that she can change the world. Maybe that's why he keeps going back, aside from his assignment.

Hours pass, the stars fade and the sky turns gray-­blue as the soldiers file into buses with blackened windows. Sebastian sits next to a man he's watched in the field. The guy's a talker. They begin the trip back to Boston. Sebastian's body sinks into the faded seat, his energy spent. He stares out the window at the orange leaves that glow in the morning light. Earlier in the week, Renner called him to download information on the encrypted emails that Mitchell's been having him send to anonymous I.P. addresses. Some appear to be directions, one reads like a cookie recipe, a few are psalms. The messages are with analysts, who are working to trace the addresses, crack the codes, and attempt to piece together a clear picture.

As the bus bounces over potholes, his body jostles against the man next to him. The talker is forty-­something, medium build, thinning hair, who looks like he was in finance in another life. They've met before, and though Sebastian's weary, this is no time for sleep.

“It's Joe, right?” He extends his hand.

“Yup. Joe Shonkoff.” The man's grip is firm. “Will Anderson?”

“Good memory. You working tomorrow?”

“You mean today? Yeah.”

“Right. It'll be a long one.”

Joe sighs. “They're all long.”

“Amen.” Joe gives him a long look, so long in fact Sebastian has a hard time not looking away. “What's up?”

“You got a family?”

“No. You?”

“I do.” Joe gazes out the window. “They know what it's all about. They know what we have to do.”

“Right.” Sebastian nods. “I just figure, why bother when I have one foot out the door?”

“That's one way to look at it.”

“You been with BASIA long?”

“Long enough.” Joe glances at the soldiers sitting across the aisle from them, in the seat behind and in front of them. Most of the men and women are sleeping or staring off.

“Things are getting intense the past few weeks.”

Glancing at him sideways, Joe says, “Life and death are intense. Gotta be ready.”

“I've been ready. Before BASIA, I worked alone. Tried to change things. But I realized a team has greater impact. One man can't change the system.”

Joe snorts, smirks.

“You disagree?”

“Depends on the man.” Joe lowers his voice. “One man can change the course of history.”

A familiar twist in his gut. There's something here. He has to prod gently. “I guess if he has the right plan, sure.”

“A Plan. Determination. And action.”

“You got a plan?”

The man chews on the inside of his cheek. “Look, I don't know you.”

“Hey.” Sebastian raises his hands, palms out, revealing his cross tattoo. He looks around them and whispers. “We're all in it for the cause. And in the end, we all act alone.”

“That's the truth.”

He looks straight ahead, acts disinterested and waits.

“That State House attack was awesome,” Joe says. “You see that son of a bitch Hensley use that agent as a shield? Shit. Now they want him to lead this country. I can't see it. I just can't see it happening.”

“You going to vote against him?”

Joe cracks his knuckles as he scans the bus, checking to see if he has an audience. His lips curl and he leans closer. “I just have a feeling, that's all.”

“Hensley's going to lose. That's your gut feeling?”

“Hensley won't be alive long enough to lose.”

There it is. Lead him to it. “You know he lives a few miles from Boston?”

“You seen his mansion?”

“Driven by it.”

“Yeah, me, too.” A full-­blown smile erupts onto Joe's face, revealing a large space between his front teeth. “He thinks he's safe behind those iron gates, all those Secret Ser­vice agents. Fact is, he's just a man. He'll die like any other.”

“Not soon enough,” Sebastian says. “When he's in office, he'll be untouchable.”

Joe's face grows serious. “Have faith, Anderson. It only takes seconds to kill a man.”

“You looking to get in the history books?”

“I don't need fame. Just some justice.”

It's not an admission, but it's enough for Sebastian.

A
S
A
BASIA soldier, Will Anderson should have no idea where Reverend Mitchell lives. Of course, Sebastian has known for the better part of ten years where his sprawling estate lies in the hills west of Boston. It's daybreak when he reaches the gates that secure the property. He rings the buzzer and stares into a camera. A woman asks for his name.

“Private Will Anderson. I have urgent information for Reverend Mitchell.”

The gate opens and he cruises down the driveway that leads to the behemoth, angular mansion. Not the home of a humble servant of God. Outside the entrance, Henry greets him with a gun aimed at Sebastian's chest. In Henry's other hand is a scanner.

“Turn around slowly,” Henry says.

Sebastian does as he's told. Holding his arms away from his body, he's swept for audio or video sensors, or explosives, though his surveillance lenses won't be detected. After a rotation, Henry regards the machine then slips it into his jacket pocket. “Follow me.”

The soles of their shoes echo down the marble-­tiled hall. When they reach a set of double doors, Henry knocks. Voices seep from under the door. Sebastian strains to hear. The conversation is a continuous murmur with different tones, no discernible words. Then suddenly it's quiet.

“Come in,” Mitchell calls.

Henry opens the door to reveal Mitchell standing in front of a glass desk, dressed and not a hair out of place. There's no one else in the room. It must have been a video conference.

“Sir, Private Will Anderson,” Sebastian says, clasping his hands behind his back.

“I know who you are.”

“I apologize about the time.”

The Reverend cocks his head. “Tell me, Private, how is it you know where I live?”

“I—­” Sebastian blushes, caught. But he's ready. “Before I joined up, I was sort of a Reverend Mitchell, Patriot's Church hobbyist, if you will. I was dedicated to the cause but I wasn't involved yet. I learned all I could before I came forward. And, I'm sorry, sir. One night I followed you from the church to your home.”

“You were spying on me?”

“I'm sorry, sir.”

Mitchell grins. “It's impressive, actually. My men are sharp, they have keen eyes. They always catch on if someone's tailing us.”

“Not always, sir.”

Silence. And then Mitchell laughs. Relief washes over him; he was just starting to sweat. Henry stands silently at the door as Mitchell invites Sebastian to join him in a seat by the window. Sunlight warms the room and causes Sebastian to squint at Mitchell, illuminated in bright yellow across from him.

“I don't like surprise guests, Private. What's so urgent?”

“I have information that may impact BASIA's impending mission.”

“Go on.”

“This morning on the ride back into the city, I sat next to a man.” He tells the story, omitting the name of the potential rogue soldier. It's hard to say what Mitchell will do with this information, or with Sebastian, for that matter. Though it's a risk, he had to use this, needed to get closer. Best case, this will prove his allegiance to Mitchell, make him more valuable. Worst case, he'll be killed. He studies the Reverend's face as he sits with the news.

Finally, Mitchell says, “And you brought this to me because . . . ?”

“As I said, I was concerned that it might jeopardize BASIA's mission.”

“Which you have insight into?”

“No sir. But this man may attempt a presidential assassination. If he does, it could come out that he has ties to BASIA. A rogue soldier could be dangerous.”

Mitchell stands, moving closer to the window. He stares out at his grounds.

“Maybe I shouldn't have come.” Sebastian rises.

“Are you a believer, Will?”

“Excuse me, sir?”

Mitchell lifts his hands in the air, palms skyward. “ ‘Put on the full armor of God, so that you will be able to stand firm against the schemes of the devil.' ” In the tone of his weekly sermons, his voice reverberates off the walls.

“ ‘For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers,' ” Sebastian continues the Ephesians psalm. “ ‘Against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places.' ”

Mitchell turns back around, a broad smile lifting his face. “You belong here, Private Anderson. You came here this morning because you feel in your soul that BASIA is threatened by one of our own.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me the name of this soldier.”

“Joe Shonkoff.”

“Joe Shonkoff.” Mitchell closes his eyes. They snap open a few seconds later. “Henry, give him the file.”

Henry goes to an old-­fashioned file cabinet and rifles through it, eventually pulling out a manila folder. He hands it to Sebastian.

“Your intuition brought you here, Anderson,” Mitchell says. “I wonder where it will take you now.”

It's a test. He won't say it, won't direct him to make the hit. Mitchell walks over and shakes his hand. His grip is firm. Almost painful.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Thank
you
, private.”

Henry escorts him out. As the heavy doors shut behind him, Sebastian sucks in the crisp air as though he's being resuscitated. He's got Mitchell's attention, perhaps the first inklings of trust. Finally, some traction. Back in his car, he flips through Joe Shonkoff's file. He needs to speak to Renner, who was watching the meeting live via his lenses. This task needs to be executed perfectly, no room for error. For Will Anderson to be accepted fully by the Reverend, Joe Shonkoff must die.