Nation of Enemies (28 page)

“Too late.”

She sprints toward the street. He follows as tires screech somewhere up ahead. At the sidewalk, she stops abruptly. He's there now, beside her, as Benson emerges from a Cadillac. There's one more thing Sebastian can try. From behind, he wraps his arm around Taylor's chest and aims the gun at her head. Her body tenses, she gasps. This is not what he wanted.

“That doesn't look much like protection,” Benson says.

“Leave now,” Sebastian says.

“In the end, we want the same thing.” Benson rubs the palm of his right hand with this left thumb and looks pointedly at Sebastian. “The very same, Sergeant Anderson.”

That's Mitchell's move, rubbing his tattoo. And how does Benson know his BASIA rank?

In a swift move, Benson pulls a gun from inside his jacket. He aims it at Taylor. “Ever met an orphan, Taylor? It's heartbreaking, really.”

“Fuck you.”

“See, Will?” Benson says. “We want the same thing.”

When Sebastian makes strategic decisions on assignment, they're usually clear, obvious. This is anything but.

“Sienna's waiting,” Benson says.

“Let me go,” Taylor whispers. Her shoulders move, her body wriggling from his grasp. Reluctantly, he releases her, lets her go to him. His aim shifts to Benson.

“And what is it ‘we' want?” Sebastian asks.

“One nation,” Benson says, opening the driver door. “Under God.”

Holy shit. Renner was right. Benson is Dash. And he's with Mitchell. And Richard Hensley? As Taylor slides into the passenger side of Benson's car, Sebastian wants to say something to her, but there's no time. The Cadillac speeds off. Taylor doesn't look back as they drive away.

R
ENNER
PREDICTABLY
WALKS
his Labradoodle between 11
P
.
M
. and midnight. Sebastian waits in the shadows at the dog park. It's a gamble. But this has to be done in person, outside, where it's unlikely anyone is listening. For a decade he and Renner have had the same training, the same beliefs. So despite the fact that Renner's new assignment is to kill him, he also knows Renner must be plagued by the evidence that their own government is corrupt. And that he's—­they've—­been working for the wrong side.

The door on the chain-­link fence creaks as Renner and his dog enter. Sebastian knows he'll have his weapons on him. But so does he.

“Like clockwork,” he says, emerging from behind a large oak tree.

Renner drops the leash and has the gun in his hand, expertly aimed, in two seconds. “Sebastian. Jesus Christ you scared the shit out of me.”

“We need to talk.” The big fluffy dog lopes over and nudges him in the crotch. Sebastian scratches his ears.

“You shouldn't be here.” Renner lowers his gun. He gestures to Sebastian's ankle. “I noticed you removed the locator chip. Why serve yourself up on a platter?”

“What reason did Satterwhite give you for my termination?”

“The evidence against you is classified. But he claims that BASIA turned you. Says you're an enemy of the state now.”

“Did you tell him that's ridiculous?” He pushes the dog away and sits on a bench.

Renner holsters his gun and strolls over. “He wasn't hearing any of it. Gave me the kill order and sent me on my way.”

“Can we have a brief moratorium on your assignment?”

“If I'd wanted you dead, you'd be dead.”

“Well that's one piece of good news.” He organizes his thoughts from the evening. “I have new information on Carter Benson.”

“A.k.a. Dash.” Renner sits on the other end of the bench.

“Tonight he forced Taylor into a car with him. Richard Hensley kidnapped his granddaughter and they threatened Taylor with Sienna's safety. So, Taylor left with Benson.”

Renner digests the news. “Okay. Hensley doesn't want his daughter to interfere with his presidential race. Benson helps to distance Hensley from Mitchell and severs any potential terrorist ties.”

“At first glance, yes.”

“What more is there?”

“Two weeks ago Mitchell asked me to protect Taylor. Said her father was a danger to her and Sienna. He also told me that Hensley would be making a sizable donation to BASIA. Which of course is impossible.”

“And?”

“And tonight Benson—­Dash, whatever—­told Taylor that Mitchell is extorting money from her father.”

“That adds up.” Renner shakes his head. “What am I missing?”

“When Taylor was out of earshot, Benson said some things to me. First off, he knew my name—­my alias. I never introduced myself. He said that he and I are on the same side, that we want the same thing. He said Mitchell was ordering me to stand down and let Taylor go with him. He even knew my BASIA rank. And he pointedly said that we all want ‘One nation, under God.' ”

Renner kicks at a patch of dirt. “You're saying Carter Benson is with Mitchell?”

“I think he's Mitchell's key to the kingdom.” It's tangled, he knows.

“If that's true, Mitchell's been inside the White House via Benson for about ten years now.”

“After Benson's mother martyred herself, maybe Mitchell stepped in as his benefactor. Maybe even as a parent figure. He does have that habit of collecting orphans.”

“All right.” Renner closes his eyes. “That would mean it was Benson who told Mitchell the White House was behind the State House attack and Gardiner's assassination.”

“Exactly. So what's Richard Hensley's role in all this?”

“Hensley could have orchestrated all of it. Maybe he was behind the State House attack. Killing James Gardiner automatically positioned him as the next President.”

“Risky.” Sebastian nods. “But plausible.”

“Or maybe he's a pawn.”

Nervous energy courses through Sebastian. He stands and walks aimlessly. “President Clark and the Liberty Party want Hensley in office to prop up the MedID law. After years of working with Clark, Benson's now keeping company with Hensley. Maybe Benson's playing both sides. Helping Clark get what he wants. Helping Mitchell.”

“This shit is making me dizzy.”

“And if the FBI is behind our dead State House suspect, Michael O'Brien, there's another goddamned tie-­in.”

“That order would've had to come from President Clark,” Renner mumbles.

“Quite a theory.”

“For fuck's sake.” Renner turns to him. “That's only half of it!”

“There's more?”

“Mitchell and BASIA.” Renner's usual calm demeanor deteriorates. “According to you, he's preparing to attack all fifty states! It makes the most sense for him to execute that plan on Election Day. And is it possible we can't even trust our own ­people with this?”

“You've got to work that end, the Bureau, the administration.” Sebastian remembers that he'll have to tell Mitchell he lost Taylor tonight. “I'm close. Mitchell's starting to trust me. But it's late. We're ten days out from the election.”

“Can we stop it?”

“I don't know.”

They sit in silence watching the dog wander around the bushes. Proving any of this seems insurmountable. But Sebastian remembers Mitchell's cache of MedIDs from his militia. He explains it to Renner, tells him it could be the only physical proof to tie the Reverend to both the Planes and this future attack.

“If anything happens to me, get your CI to find those MedIDs,” Sebastian says.

“If anything happens to me, take care of Harry.”

Hearing his name, the dog trots over and leans into Renner for a scratch. Their theories and words float like mist between them. There's nothing left to say.

 

Chapter 58

S
TEVEN
H
UDSON
BURSTS
through Cole's front door. He's mumbling, his face is pinched. In the living room, he paces.

“I went to see Mitchell,” Steven says. His hair is a wild mass of tangles as though he's slept on it for days. He grabs Cole's arm. “He knows about us. One of our Project Swap patients was sent by Mitchell. They know about Cushing and our method. They saw our headquarters. He showed me video footage.”

Cole can't speak. His heart races, he mentally goes through the steps of their emergency exit plan. Clean MedIDs for the project founders and their families are in place. It shouldn't take more than twenty-­four hours to arrange transport for Lily, Ian, and Talia out of the country. And then they run. He loosens his collar and sits down heavily on the couch. “So Mitchell is blackmailing us?”

“He doesn't care about Project Swap, but he knows we do.” Steven runs his hands through his hair. “He's got his own agenda. All he wants is money. Money I don't have.”

“You should have told me you were going to see him.”

“What difference would that have made?”

“Maybe no difference. But my contact who's at Patriot's Church—­the one I told you is looking for Jonathan—­I wonder if he could have helped.”

“Still could. I need all the help I can get. Who is this, your contact?”

Sebastian's face flashes into Cole's mind. “I can't tell you that. But he's someone we can trust.”

“I don't trust anyone anymore.”

If someone took Ian or Talia, Cole would lose it, too. There's got to be a way to help Steven. Should he share what Sebastian told him? The only one he's told is Lily, after he'd promised her no more secrets. But maybe this information could help get Jonathan back.

“There's an attack coming,” he says, swallowing.

Steven shrugs. “There are always attacks.”

“No. It's something monumental.”

“Mitchell and BASIA are behind this attack?”

“My contact believes so.”

“What is it?” Steven sinks into a chair.

“The little I know is that all fifty states are involved. It's got to revolve around a major event. Maybe the election.”

“Christ. Does anyone else know? The FBI?”

Cole shakes his head. “Look, I didn't learn much. But it sounds like the current administration is focused on getting Richard Hensley into the White House, at all costs. I don't think they're paying enough attention to Mitchell's militia.”

“They'll goddamn care if it has anything to do with the election.” Steven springs up and begins pacing again. “What if it went public?”

“What do you mean?”

“Viral. Got word out that an attack is coming. That President Clark and his administration don't give a shit. They'd be forced to check into it.”

“I like the idea of warning ­people. But we have families, Steven. We light a fire under this and they'll arrest us immediately. Secondly, they'll think, or at least claim, that we're somehow accessories involved with the purported attack. They could charge us with conspiracy. Detain our families. And, it would put Jonathan in even greater danger.”

“No one has to know it's us. Thousands could die, Cole.”

“There have to be ­people other than us who care, and who have actual power to stop Mitchell. Plus, we have a good thing going with Project Swap. If we stay the course, we could actually make a difference.”

“If there's anything left, that is.”

There are only a few options left, as far as Cole can tell. “I'm in this as far as I can go. Our MedID movement is risky but calculated. ­People want what we're offering. I can't endanger my family further by outing a terrorist and pissing off the government. But what I can do is help you get Jonathan back.”

“How do you propose we do that?”

“Our network has grown substantially. I'd bet those we've helped would be willing to contribute, if they're able.”

“What are you getting at?”

“We've saved these ­people's lives, haven't we? Up to this point we've only asked for a donation to keep the project going. So let's reach out. Tell them we need their help. Maybe we can raise the rest of your ransom.”

“Half these ­people will be out of the country by now.”

“Money can be transferred from anywhere, to anywhere. Privately. And every one of them is thankful to us for whatever problem we helped them resolve by cleaning their MedIDs.”

“There's not enough time, Cole.”

“I haven't slept in weeks. You'd be amazed at what can happen in twenty-­four hours.” He beckons for Steven to follow him to his office. “Let's send out an S.O.S. to our database.”

Lily delivers a pot of coffee and sandwiches as they connect with Karen and Sean. Hours later, as dawn spreads over Boston, they finally shut down the encrypted communications. Thousands of families have been contacted, a network now reaching across the globe.

A grateful Steven thanks Cole and heads home. Buoyed by his mission to secure Jonathan's safe return, Cole can't imagine going into work. Instead he calls in sick and stares at a newly established savings account, refreshing the page every half hour. By noon the balance has climbed to more than half of what they need to get Jonathan out.

 

Chapter 59

B
EL
OW
,
THE
MAZE
of the Grand Canyon cuts deep into the earth, its beauty now guarded by an electronic fence to prevent suicides. Richard and his campaign entourage rest in cushy seats aboard a private plane, flanked by U.S. Army fighter jets. It's a justifiable expense paid by the Liberty Party, to protect the future leader of the United States.

He glances toward the rear of the plane, where Taylor and Sienna sit. For two days, since Carter delivered Taylor from the grasp of that lunatic Mitchell, she hasn't spoken a word to him. She should be thanking him. But the politics of family are more complex than any election, or the labor of pleasing constituents. He knows with every thread of his being that he's saved his daughter's life, done it for all the right reasons. So many times, children just don't understand parents' motivations.

A tablet is placed in his hands. “What's this?”

Kendra takes a seat across the aisle from him. Despite her makeup and impeccable hair, dark circles underscore her eyes. “We're in L.A. for the night.” She gestures to the screen, displaying points on a map of the United States. “Tomorrow is Utah, Illinois, Wisconsin, and we end in Florida.”

“Ten more days,” Carter chimes in from an adjacent seat. “Hard to believe.”

Richard's phone rings. An image of the White House appears on-­screen and he answers right away. A woman tells him to hold for the President. There's a click on the line.

“Richard.” President Clark's tone sounds stern.

“Good afternoon, Mr. President.”

“I hear you've gotten yourself involved with BASIA.”

“Just the opposite, actually. I'm distancing myself entirely.”

“We discussed this. I thought I was clear. If you were distancing yourself, your daughter wouldn't be in that plane with you.”

“All due respect sir, she was in danger.”

“This was a power play. And you went against my direct order.”

Richard's face grows warm. He unbuckles his seat belt and heads toward the front of the plane for the most privacy he can hope for. “I didn't negotiate with Mitchell. I don't negotiate with known terrorists. Or has our policy changed?”

“You kidnapped a terrorist. You want brownie points for not paying Mitchell's price?”

“Taylor isn't a terrorist.”

“The entire country knows she's a member of a terrorist group, Richard.”

“She's my daughter.”

“Get her out. I don't care how you do it, but get her out of the country before you lose the election on one bad decision.”

“Fine. That's fine, I'll get her out.” He'd thought getting her out of Mitchell's cult would solve things, keep her and Sienna safe. Now he has to talk her into leaving the country. Will she go? She's hasn't done a thing he's asked in years. Wait a minute. “Sir, how did you know about the extortion? How do you even know we have her?”

“With the state of the country, it's imperative that I know everything going on inside your campaign.”

Richard glances back toward the cabin at his campaign staff, including Carter and Kendra. There's a mole in his team. He focuses on each one of them, willing the truth to come. But only one person has been in on his Taylor plan.
Son of a bitch
.

“Carter Benson.”

President Clark sighs. “Dash was with me long before you, Senator.”

“Dash?”

“Carter's nickname he's had since Exeter. Kid almost went to the Olympics.”

Leaning against the wall just outside the pilot's cabin, his head rests on the hard surface. A wave of nausea surges. His one confidant has betrayed him.

“Get it done, Richard. Dash is at your ser­vice. He's quite resourceful.”

Click.
Richard finds an empty restroom and slides the lock closed behind him. A dim light colors him in a greenish hue, his reflection more ghostly than presidential. Has Carter lied to him about everything? What about the Cadillac that chased Taylor? Carter had admitted to taking a Liberty Party car. Was President Clark behind the attack on her? Random thoughts cycle through him. A flash of the State House attack, of hearing Carter tell him to “Duck.” President Clark had ordered him to attend the State House event. My God, did they have something to do with the chemical attack? Clark wanted Gardiner out, that much was clear. Richard presses his hands against the tight walls for balance. Good Lord. Did they set him up to play the heroic presidential candidate?

Sweat beads his forehead and seeps through his undershirt. He splashes water on his face, pats it off with a towel. When he steps out, Carter is waiting for him.

“Sir, your daughter wants a word.”

He leans in close. “Tell me, who do you work for?”

“Excuse me?”

“At whose pleasure do you serve, Carter? Or do you prefer Dash?”

Carter's black eyebrows knit together. After a moment his face relaxes. “I serve at the pleasure of the President.”

“And all this time I'd thought you were working for me.”

“We all have the same goal, sir.”

“Do we?”

Carter's eyes flicker to the back of the plane. “Your daughter's waiting.”

Though he'd love to fire him, he obviously doesn't have that power. President Clark strategically placed Carter, who will see this election through. Richard's legs are weak and shaky as he follows his deputy campaign manager. He concentrates on remaining calm, breathing deeply. Though his impulse is to thrash this lying bastard who has made him the fool. Why didn't he see it? All of it, laid out plainly in front of him. If he'd paid more attention, he would have understood that he was a pawn. Nothing more.

N
EXT
TO
T
AYLOR
, Sienna wears cushy headphones and escapes into a movie on her seat back. Taylor unbuckles her safety belt as her father and Carter approach down the aisle. What now? She stands to meet them, trying to shield Sienna from their conversation.

“We'll be landing in L.A. in a half hour,” her father says.

“That's when we'll be leaving,” she says.

“Charles Mitchell will find you.”

“He won't. I'm done with all of you. Your agendas. This war of yours.”

“You need to leave the country.” He grips her arm and his voice is almost a

whisper. “They'll kill you.”

Something in his tone is different. She pulls away. How desperately she'd wanted to

believe in the Reverend and Patriot's Church. She'd gone in hoping to be convinced. Instead, she'd enjoyed sticking it to her father and the Liberty Party. And she unexpectedly found herself caring about the first man she'd been with since Mason. After all that, she's back where she started.

“Your father's right,” Carter chimes in. “You'll be killed. And if Charles Mitchell gets his hands on Sienna, she'll be indoctrinated into his child militia.”

“What are you talking about?” She and her father stare at him.

“Mitchell has a group of children he raises in his residential compound,” Carter says, his demeanor nonchalant. “Supposedly they're orphans. Probably the result of suicide missions or other attacks. God knows what he does with them.”

The air is suffocating. Taylor grasps the empty chair beside her. Truth or more bullshit? She can't tell anymore. Maybe she never could.

Her father's face is flushed and his eyes are intense. He leans closer to her. “We'll arrange to have your MedIDs cleaned—­yours and Sienna's—­and you can disappear. We'll change your names. You can go anywhere. Be anyone you want to be.”

“Am I here because you actually care?” she asks. “Or because you didn't have it in the budget to pay the ransom?”

“Despite our history, I love you and Sienna,” he says. “But that aside, the U.S. government doesn't negotiate with terrorists.”

“Why would Reverend Mitchell risk blackmailing the future President and possibly indicting himself when he already has so many supporters?”

“Because he can.” Her father sounds tired, his energy waning. “Men like that, organizations like his, always need money. And he knows the right way to ask.”

“The man you were with in the alley,” Carter interjects. “What do you know about him?”

“He's a friend. Was a friend.” Her chest aches.

“The man with the beard?” her father says, more to Carter than her.

“How do you know about him?” she asks.

“It's safe to say,” Carter says, “all parties involved know how you take your cereal and coffee in the morning. And who you dine with.”

“All I've ever asked for is privacy!”

“It was the only way to protect you,” her father says. “The Reverend's watching you to protect his interests. We're ensuring that you're safe.”

Tears sting her eyes. “I lead a normal life. I take care of my daughter. Go to work.”

“But you're my daughter. And there's nothing normal about that.”

She stares at the geometrical pattern on the seat. “Can't we forget about the MedID and just go back to letting ­people live their lives? It's all anyone wants.”

“It's not that simple.”

“Isn't it?” she asks. “I just want to raise my daughter.”

“That's what I wanted.”

For so long, she's fought to keep her home, her life, under her control. To what end? She won't change the government, or her father. It's all gone too far. She looks at him and he nods, perhaps for the first time in years understanding what she's thinking. For once he's right. She and Sienna could disappear to some faraway, secluded place, and start over again.