Nation of Enemies (30 page)

 

Chapter 63

R
ICHARD
STANDS
CE
NTER
stage, grinning effusively at the last audience he will address before Election Day. The roar of the crowd is deafening. He soaks it in, their loyalty and support. Five days and it will all be over. The world will call him President Hensley. He'll be his own man, not President Clark's pawn. Richard raises his hands in thanks and as a signal to quiet the voices.

The words pour easily from him, as always. He is warm but firm, inspirational and on point. As the teleprompter guides him, he thinks of Carter, listening backstage, ready to report back to President Clark. If Clark had his way, Taylor would have disappeared by now. But Richard has different plans, a final act of defiance. It wasn't easy to convince Taylor, but in the end she acquiesced. Not in support of him, but in exchange for a new life with her daughter.

It's time. He pauses mid-­speech, pressing a thumb on the button of the podium to halt the teleprompters. He affects a more solemn tone and loses the infectious smile.

“My friends and fellow citizens. I know that the most important thing to each and every one of you is family.” Cheers. “As you know, I've had a very public struggle in my own family after losing my beautiful wife, Norah. But instead of being a devoted father, I've been a devoted public servant. I wasn't as available to my daughter, Taylor, as I should have been, in her own hour of need. Our damaged relationship is no secret. My friends in the press see to that. You've also probably heard that as she struggled to keep her own family whole, Taylor fell into the grasp of suspected terrorists. I won't name names—­why give them what they want most? Instead I want to tell you that finally, my own family is whole again. I'd like to ask you tonight to accept my daughter, Taylor, despite her past choices. We've all made mistakes. She'll be by my side in these last few days before the election. So, any issues or differences you may have had with her based on rumor or fact, she and I would like to ask for your forgiveness.”

On cue, Taylor emerges from the side of the stage, wearing a conservative dress with her cropped hair brushed neatly back. Seeing her, sharing this moment with her, is heartening. Somewhere, President Clark is cringing, along with other party leaders. And Reverend Mitchell is no doubt fuming wherever he is. He won't have his money or his daughter. There's a rumbling through the crowd as Taylor arrives at his side. He puts his arm around her. Her body stiffens.

“What matters is, she's here now. She supports us. She supports our causes. And she knows that family—­and country—­comes first.”

Slowly, applause builds until they are all cheering. He looks down at her and they nod at one another. He takes a step away and she leans into the microphone, her face open and earnest.

“Thank you, Dad. Thank you, everyone, for being here in support of my father. In my grief after the death of my husband, I made mistakes. Several of them. I drifted from the beliefs I'd held true my whole life. For years I've sought to live a life in opposition to my father. I'm eternally sorry, and thankfully, he's forgiven me. But I've returned to the Liberty Party stronger and infused with renewed passion for the principles that are our foundation. From this day forward, I will devote my efforts in support of our party and my father, your future President, Richard Hensley.”

Richard steps forward and grasps her hand, raising it in the air as though grasping victory itself. This is a proud moment for him, even if she is forcing herself to say the words. The noise from the crowd is thunderous. He must savor this. Having Taylor this close is fleeting. Because once Election Day has passed, with their cleaned MedIDs, she and Sienna will disappear to God knows where.

 

Chapter 64

J
UST
AFTER
MIDNI
GHT
, District 149 Security calls Cole and announces that a man named Sebastian Diaz is at the gate. Next to him in bed, Lily moans softly as he gets up, finds his pants on the floor and pulls them on. Padding in bare feet down the hall, he opens the door, inviting a blast of chilly air. It's a relief to see Sebastian alive.

They shake hands. “Sebastian. Come in.”

“I'm sorry to show up so late.”

“I'm just glad you showed up.”

In the living room, they sit in adjacent chairs. Light from a single lamp illuminates Sebastian's disheveled hair and circles under his eyes. Cole says, “You don't look so good.”

“Least of my worries.” Sebastian leans in, elbows on his knees. “Listen, I don't have much time here. Your friends, the Hudsons, are in trouble.”

Sebastian tells him that Steven's been shot in the leg by Jonathan, who's being forced to work for Mitchell. Cole searches the floor, trying to make sense of it. The Reverend has the money now, so why not release them? He should have made Steven take the gun.

“Why does Mitchell need Jonathan?” he asks.

“You were right about his hacking. Kid's a master at cyber warfare.”

“And Mitchell's letting Steven live?”

“If he kills Steven, he'll lose his hold over Jonathan. So while Jonathan cooperates, Steven's being cared for by one of Mitchell's private physicians. But as of tonight, I can't watch them anymore. I've been moved into another role.”

“What can I do?”

“The attack will happen on Election Day. Mitchell should give the order today. He'll ship all of the soldiers out to key locations.”

“Can't you just shoot Mitchell?”

“It occurred to me. But it's not that easy. He doesn't work alone. I don't have the identities, but he's got a board of advisors. Probably very powerful ­people strategically positioned. I'm sure he's made arrangements in case of his assassination. Capable hands will pick up where he left off.”

Four days. He's got to make a plan for his family.

“Then what?” Cole asks. “Mitchell takes over Washington?”

“This is their Armageddon. For all I know, they think the world will end after the attack and they'll all be saved.”

“Saved.” It's ludicrous. An idea occurs to Cole. “You need a MedID, Sebastian.”

“What good will that do?”

“I'll give you a clean one. When this is over, you can get out. Escape all this.”

“I can't have a MedID because I'm in BASIA. And if I have a MedID, the government can find me and they already want me dead. Anyway, where the hell would I go?”

“Wear long sleeves. The government won't know to look for your new identity. Mitchell won't look for a chip he thinks he already extracted. And go anywhere but here.”

“How can you get me a clean MedID?” Sebastian's eyes narrow. “It was you. You were behind Jonathan's attempt to steal Mitchell's MedIDs.”

“He did that all on his own. Steven tried to stop him but he didn't get to him in time.”

Without holding back anything, he explains Project Swap. There's nothing to lose now, with the world on the edge of chaos. He tells Sebastian about Renner's warning, and that their MedID clients are now met one-­on-­one, in preplanned, wire-­swept locations.

“Where's Renner?” Sebastian asks.

“He's still at the Bureau. Appearing to be doing what they want him to do.”

“Shutting you down, killing me.”

“Sounds like he's planning to try and change things from the inside.”

“Always on the side of right.”

“Sebastian?”

They both turn at the sound of Lily's voice. It must be a shock—­she hasn't seen him since Kate's funeral. She goes to him and they embrace. Cole doesn't need to see her face to know Lily's weeping. At last she pulls away. “I'd like to say you look well.”

Cole watches as they catch up, savoring each other as though they're seeing Kate again, or a piece of her, at least. Eventually, Lily asks why he's come.

“I'm helping a friend of Cole's.”

Her face falls as she looks to Cole. “Is someone in trouble with the FBI?”

“No, no,” they say simultaneously.

She looks back to Sebastian. “Are you okay?”

“Of course. But I should go.” He hugs her one last time, kisses her on the cheek.

“Take care of yourself.” She heads back to the bedroom.

As Cole walks him out, Sebastian says, “I'll be in touch about the Hudsons.”

“Is there a chance you can get them out before the election?”

“I'll do what I can.”

“If you decide you want one . . .” Cole taps his own forearm.

“Thanks, Cole. Stay safe.”

“You, too.”

They shake hands. There's a finality to it that doesn't sit well in Cole's stomach.

A
BUZZER
SOUNDS
at the door of Jonathan's cell. It's probably Hannah. He hopes she feels guilty. When the door slides open, he doesn't acknowledge her, just stays on the floor, doing sit-­ups.

“Hi,” she says.

Though he's tempted, he won't look at her. So much shit has gone on, he can almost forget the way he felt for her before. Almost. He doesn't want to be drawn to her, or to forgive her. The night of the shooting plays on a constant loop in his mind. He wonders what she knew, if she had any idea what the Reverend had planned. She was quiet that night. Guilty conscience.

“Steven's doing better,” she says. “Getting stronger.”

This soothes his stomach, gnawed at by regret and anxiety. He flips onto his palms and the balls of his feet and pushes up, fighting gravity. Fueled by Mitchell. He's probably planning to kill both him and Steven when all this is finished.

“You called, right?” Hannah asks. “Pressed the button?”

“You've moved up to bathroom monitor now?” No need to hide his anger.

“Go on.” She gestures to the door.

He jumps to his feet and passes by her. As he does, a black device in her hand draws his eyes. A stun gun. Nice touch. He sniffs, shakes his head. Cameras watch him as he crosses the hall, into the bathroom. As far as he knows, this is the one place he has privacy. Then again, that sick fucker Mitchell might even be watching him take a piss. But before he flushes, he stands on the toilet seat and reaches his hands to the ceiling, fingertips feeling around the edge of a vent. For seven days he's been working on the screws, using a broken edge of a plastic fork from one of his meals. It's nearly impossible, but he was able to get one screw out. Three to go.

Sweat beads on his brow as he works. Finally, the second one begins to twist. He gets it halfway out and stops. No need to remove the whole thing, wait until the other two are loose and then take them all out at once. Progress. But it's time to go before they get suspicious.

Back in his cell, Hannah stands in the middle of the room, holding the Bible she gave him. It would be easier to hate her if she wasn't so beautiful. He crosses his arms and glares at her. She blinks and he notices her eyes are red.

“You can go now,” he says.

“I'm sorry,” she whispers. Then she talks normally again. “I hope you'll forgive me one day. You should read Psalm 32. If you forgive, it might open some doors in your life.”

She hands him the Bible and he hesitates, but takes it. When she leaves, she takes with her a flowery scent that he imagines is just her, not a perfume or soap she uses. He lies down on the hard mattress and stares at the ceiling. The Bible rests heavily on his stomach and he drums his fingers on the cover.
It might open some doors in your life.
Brainwashed Biblespeak bullshit. Out of sheer boredom, he sits up and thumbs through the pages until he finds Psalm 32.

There, between the pages, are two pieces of paper. As discreetly as possible, with the Bible as a shield to the cameras, he unfolds them to reveal two hand-­drawn maps, clearly marked. His heart races. One shows an escape route from the residence grounds. The other an escape route from BASIA HQ.

 

Chapter 65

“A
T
LAST
,
THE
hour is upon us.” Charles's voice echoes in the cavernous training space. Dressed in his black BASIA uniform, he peers out into the crowd, acknowledges the soldiers on the monitors, lets his gaze drift over the room. “God is watching. And we are ready. Today, each of you will receive your assignment. Tomorrow you'll relocate for the next seventy-­two hours. At your temporary base, you'll find what you need to carry out your mission. You'll work in teams, with a designated leader. Each team has specific targets. We're not interested in mass casualties. Protect each other, do your duty to God, and we will prevail. We'll unshackle our fellow Americans, throw open the gates of possibility. Anyone who doesn't see the truth of our way may leave our country, for it was never theirs to begin with.”

Wild applause erupts, the energy so palpable that it alights on his skin, prickling the hair on his arms. Praise God. Over the noise, he raises his voice. “When you rise up on that fourth and most glorious day, you will walk on christened soil. The soil of the United States of Chris­tian Patriots.”

They can't hold back any longer. The soldiers rise from their seats and in unison hold their hands over their chests, then raise them, palms open, to Charles. He returns the gesture. “Thy will be done!”

O
N
THE
WAY
out of the final BASIA meeting, each soldier is handed a bone-­conduction headphone with a personalized message. Sitting in his car, Sebastian places the band around his head and activates the file. The sound waves penetrate immediately. He closes his eyes. With each word uttered by an automated female voice, his chest tightens.

“Sergeant Will Anderson you are team leader of Operation POTUS. You will lead nine men and women in your mission. Your identities will not be revealed to one another until election night. As team leader and prime target terminator, if for any reason you are unable to complete your assignment, there is a designated replacement soldier who will take command. Sergeant Anderson, you will eliminate the newly elected President of the United States during his acceptance speech. Arrangements have been made to grant you unlimited access to the event. There will be other teams in the vicinity with other targets, but you will not interact. Focus on your task. Once it is complete, return home.”

Sebastian takes off the headset, stares unseeing out the windshield. Confirmation, finally. Years he's spent protecting this country. But this administration was behind Gardiner's assassination. They murdered Kate. And all for what—­their MedID agenda? They're no better than Mitchell. Still, killing a president? Taylor's father. God help me
,
he thinks, out of habit. A cough rumbles up through him and it feels as though he's choking.

Time to move. He shifts into gear and peels out of the lot. He has twelve hours to get his things together and get on the plane. Within minutes he connects with Cole and arranges to get a new MedID before he leaves. His thoughts are scattered as he drives to his apartment. In D.C., maybe he can get Taylor and Sienna out. A part of him—­a stale part of who he used to be—­considers calling the Bureau. The director? Or maybe Homeland Security? They can't all be corrupt. And Renner's still there. But if Mitchell's hand reaches all the way inside the White House, can anything be done to stop this?

At last he reaches his apartment building and sprints inside, up the stairs. Instantly his eyes are drawn to the dingy beige carpet in the hallway. Scarlet drops, smears of blood. He slows, draws his gun, quiets his breath. At the end of the hall there's one final turn. He presses his back against the wall. With his gun held firm, he jerks his head around the corner to see his apartment door. His knees go weak.

Renner is sprawled in front of Sebastian's door, blood pooling around him. He pauses, listens. The blood trail indicates the shooter is gone. He rushes over to Renner. His face is almost unrecognizable.

“Jesus.” He kneels, his grip still tight on his gun. He feels Renner's neck for a pulse. Nothing. Tears sting his eyes. Someone at the Bureau was here to clean up loose ends. Maybe they left Renner as a warning, or maybe they came for him and found Renner here instead.

A creak comes from inside his apartment. He raises the gun, dives over Renner's body just as a shot shatters the bottom half of the door. Firing two shots blindly back through the hole, he turns to face a dead-­end hall. Heavy footsteps are approaching. There's a window and a rusted fire escape. Shielding his face with one arm, he smashes his gun against the glass, leaving a jagged hole. He kicks out the rest of the window as his apartment door opens. A shot is fired. He ducks as the shooter fires again. It grazes his arm. Glancing back, he aims and shoots, just missing a masked figure dressed in black.

Sebastian leaps through the window onto the landing. He skips stairs down to the next level when another bullet slices the air above his head. Footsteps thud above him on the first landing. He stops, plants his feet, and points his gun skyward, aiming precisely as the shooter glances down at him. Direct hit. The shooter's body arches backward and crumples. Something wet drips onto Sebastian's face and he wipes it away. His hand is smeared with blood.

With his gun trained on the body, he climbs the stairs to the first landing. There's no movement. It was a clean shot through the head. He holsters his gun and leans down, rifles through the man's pants and jacket pockets. There's only a phone, locked, no identification. But there's one more place to look. He pulls up the right pant leg and pushes down a black sock to reveal the pale skin of his ankle. There, as he knew it would be, is the Bureau locator chip.

Climbing back through the broken window, his breath catches when he sees Renner again. He goes over, kneels next to him.

“I'll finish this.” He forces himself to look at his partner. In this fraught moment, he realizes Renner may be carrying useful intel. Sebastian leans over him and runs his hands over his body, through his pockets. Nothing, except his phone.

He stares at the locked screen that prompts for fingerprint recognition. Taking Renner's right hand, he touches his thumb to unlock the phone. He pores furiously through the email, the apps, the contacts. He finds several notes. Dates and codes going back eight years. Some notes include Mitchell's initials, CM. It has to be correspondence with Renner's informant. Sebastian's best guess is the bodyguard, Henry.

Swiping through the list of contacts, only one stands out. Instead of a name, there's a number—­a date—­061515. The day of the Planes. Below it is a phone number. He checks the call list. There are numerous incoming calls in the past week from this number. Renner has—­had—­no life outside the Bureau. Never dated, no family. The one person he was faithful to was his informant. Not knowing what he's going to say, he presses the call button.

Three rings and then, “Where have you been?” It's a female voice, and for a moment Sebastian is so surprised he can't speak. She asks, “Renner?”

“This is his partner,” Sebastian says. “Renner's down.”

“What do you mean he's down?” There's an edge of panic to her voice.

“He's dead.”

Silence. He can hear breathing.

“You meant a lot to him.” Sebastian has only seconds to make her trust him. He remembers one of the conversations he overheard with Renner on the phone to his informant. “I know he was determined to help you find your siblings.”

Still, nothing.

“Please, this is important—­”

Finally, she says, “I only talk to Renner. I can't do this anymore.”

“I can help you,” he says.

“What happened? What happened to him?”

“Someone shot him.”

“I don't know you.”

“I don't know you either.”

“Maybe you killed him.”

“Listen.” He stares down, his friend at his feet. “Renner was like family to me. He had a dry wit that always left you wondering if he was serious. The scar on his chin came from when we were in basic training together in 'fourteen from a bar fight when a guy didn't get his humor. He was devoted to his dog, Harry. His job. And from what I heard on the other end of the conversations, he was also devoted to you.” He waits.

“What's your name?”

“Diaz. What's yours?”

There's a brief hesitation. “Hannah.”

Hannah. He pictures her. Red hair. Always near Mitchell. “I'm sorry I'm calling under these circumstances, Hannah. But we can still help each other.”

“How?”

“Where are you? And where's Mitchell now?”

“I'm at the house. He just left for church.”

“Do you know the man being held there?” he asks. “Steven Hudson?”

“Yes. I take him meals.”

“Good, that's good. On the night of the election, Mitchell will be at BASIA headquarters. I need you to let someone into the house and take him to Steven Hudson. Together you'll get him out of there.”

“What if Charles wants me with him?”

“If he does, can you act sick?” She doesn't answer. “You know, he's about to change the world again. ­People are going to die.”

“I know.” A brief pause. “I can act sick.”

“I'll get you the details.”

“Why aren't you getting him out yourself?”

“I'm on a tight leash right now.”

“Renner was making plans for me after this.” It's a whisper.

“Do you want to leave with Hudson?” he asks. “Can you?”

“I don't know.”

“We can arrange a new identity. Get you out of the country.”

“I'll think about it.”

“I'll text you my number. Hang in there.”

“Be careful, Diaz.”

“You, too, Hannah.”

He hangs up and stares at the peeling paint on the hallway wall. Cole asked for his help to get Steven Hudson out, but this is the most he can offer, now that he's heading to D.C. Hannah's face surfaces in his mind. He wonders what her angle is in all this.

Digging his own phone out of his jacket, he dials Cole. Whatever else may happen, at the very least he can help save Cole's family, along with Steven and Jonathan.