Rebels & Lies (Rebels & Lies Trilogy Book 1) (15 page)

The day took forever, that’s all Kaspar could think about. He lost
track of the number of hours he sat on the old cot, the one that dipped
straight down at the slightest introduction of weight. The thought of how nice
his old mattress was helped Kaspar to get his mind off of the mission to come.
The color of the sky outside revealed that the long day was nearly over. The
inevitable was about to come.

Another thought struck his mind. He walked towards the closet and
searched for the pants he had worn when he first arrived. He found them and dug
into the right pocket. Nothing. Where in the hell was it? His hand entered the
left pocket. He found what he sought at the bottom. He pulled it out and looked
at the torn yellow fabric…

A knock on the door forced Kaspar’s mind back to the present. He
opened the door to find Paxton standing there. He held a pair of hangers with
black clothing. He looked at the old man. The two had not spoken since last
night. Kaspar wanted to keep it that way as he grabbed at the hangers without
saying a word.

Paxton broke the silence. “This is one of Zach’s. Might be a bit
snug, but it should do until we get you fitted for one.”

“Thank you…”

“About our little disagreement last night…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kaspar said. “I stepped out of line.”

“Did you really mean what you said, though?”

“It just seems trivial to me, but you are the boss, so I’ll do as
you say.”

“Nothing is trivial when it comes to innocent lives.”

“Yes, sir. Trust me, I know that all too well.”

“You have my word, as soon as things settle down, I will help you
find them.”

“I appreciate that,” Kaspar said. He turned his body towards the
bed with the hangers in hand. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

The door shut behind while Kaspar walked the hangers over to the
bed. He laid the black suit on top then took off his clothes. He stood in his
boxers, stared down at the suit, his heart picking up the pace in the process.
He worked on the long sleeved black shirt first. He tried to get comfortable
inside of it, but Paxton was correct in the assumption that it would fit snug.
It would just be something that had to be dealt with for now. After he zipped
the top up he worked on the pants, which too fit snug.

After he tucked the top into the pants, Kaspar moved around the
room and tried to get used to the tight fit of the suit. Zach’s street clothes
fit just fine. Just how skin tight did they need to make these outfits? Kaspar’s
thoughts returned to that yellow fabric.

This is for you, Mother.

Kaspar found a safety pin on top of the dresser. He used the pin
to attach the fabric over the right side of his chest. He played around with it
a little bit which brought a smile to his face. Mother, she loved to knit, this
was the last remaining evidence of that. Kaspar thanked the stars that he was
able to find this little keepsake. To remind him of the real reason he joined
up with these people.

Now or never time. Kaspar walked out of the bedroom and walked
downstairs to join the others. They were gathered around the living room all
decked out in black as well. The only difference being that they were outfitted
with Kevlar vests. He sure hoped that he would get one, too. Maybe it was part
of rookie hazing to make the newest team member go on the first mission without
it. A ridiculous thought, but with everything that Kaspar had seen so far, it
didn’t seem outside the realm of possibility. He glanced over and saw Kilbourne
and Li inspecting their submachine guns. Kaspar desperately wanted one of those, too.

“You scared?” Krys asked from behind.

Kaspar turned and made eye contact. “No, not of them.”

“Who are you scared of, then?”

“Myself. I’m scared that I’ll go in there and not know what to
do.”

“Just listen to your gut…and hope that your shooting has
improved.”

Kaspar chuckled. On top of sitting on that old cot all day, he
managed to spend the entire morning at the range. There was at least some
improvement…during the three round bursts he hit the target every time. Maybe
not in the most strategic spots, but to Kaspar, it didn’t matter. He even got
to shoot a little bit with the UMP submachine gun and found that he enjoyed
firing an automatic more than a pistol.

“We’ll see.” Kaspar said.

“What’s that?” Krys asked. She used her index finger to point at
the yellow fabric on Kaspar’s chest.

“It’s a reminder.” Kaspar replied as his eyes moved down to it.

“Of what? What is it?”

“It’s from my mother, she used to knit these blankets, all day, and
it’s all she did. This is from the one she worked on when…”

Krys cut him off. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“But, still…”

“I just need to remember why I’m doing this.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” Kaspar asked.

“Just remember,” Kilbourne’s deep voice from behind him said. “Stay
calm and don’t let that patty ass of yours get the best of you.”

Kaspar started to say something back, but the room grew silent.
Paxton walked in with Clarke close behind. The old veteran carried a flak jacket
in one hand and an LWRC PSD in the other. Kaspar took this as a cue to move in.

“Flak jacket,” Paxton said as he extended it to Kaspar. “Could
save your life.”

“Sounds good.” Kaspar replied. He fit both arms into the jacket
and fastened the buckles around his chest.

“PSD, one of the finest weapons you’ll ever fire. Take good care
of it and it’ll take good care of your enemies.”

Kaspar took the gun from Paxton. He slung the strap over his neck
then adjusted the strap so the weapon didn’t hang too loose.

“I filled spare magazines for it in your jacket. Remember, the
safety is on, so if we get into a tussle, make quite sure you flip it off.”

The comment got a laugh from everyone in the room, but Kaspar did
not find it funny. Did they all just think he was some kind of jackass? Paxton
extended his own PSD in front of Kaspar and showed where the safety was
located. He also showed how to switch the gun from semiauto, to three round
burst, and to full auto.

Kaspar looked to Clarke who had even more items for him. Clarke
handed over one of Kaspar’s Beretta pistols in a thigh holster, which he fitted
around his right thigh. The nerd had something else: an American flag patch
with Velcro on the back. Kaspar was instructed to attach the flag to his right
arm and he did so. Clarke also had a pair of black gloves, which fit a little
loose around the fingers, but would do just fine. One final item on display
surprised Kaspar the most.

“To conceal our identities.” Paxton explained.

It was a black Balaclava with solid black lenses attached over the
eye holes. The jet black lenses perfectly reflected the light from above.
Kaspar tried it on and, like the outfit, the hood fit snug over his head. He
rubbed his hands along all sides of it to try and smooth it out. He looked over
to Paxton through the tinted lenses.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Paxton asked.

“Let’s find out,” Kaspar replied.

***

Like so much else throughout the day, the ride into town seemed to
take ages. Unsure if the cause was nervous anticipation or just adrenaline,
Kaspar’s stomach began to crawl with pests. He rubbed his gloved hands together
and his bent legs moved up and down. Mask off, he glanced around the back of
the van at Krys and Li. They seemed so calm, so in control, self-assured. He wondered
if there would come a time when he could ride into a mission like that. His
thoughts of the inevitable unknown reminded him of the old pre-fight jitters he
would get. But, something inside of him said that this would be a little
different…

“Hey, man,” Krys said. “Calm down.”

“What?” Kaspar asked, his mind crashed back down to reality.

“I said calm down. You’re giving me the creeps.”

“It’s just nerves, I’ll be fine.”

“Just get a hold of yourself.”

Krys slung the PSD from over her shoulder and began to inspect it.
Li sat at the end silent as always. His eyes were closed, his breathing slow
and deliberate. Kaspar looked down and noticed that the flak jacket covered
Mother’s fabric. He played around with it until it rested on the side, in full
view so the USR would know she was being avenged.

He reached down and pulled his 9MM Beretta out of the thigh
holster. He pressed the magazine release next to the trigger. He stared down at
the gold casing of the top bullet. Kaspar wondered which Agent would get the
first one. With the magazine replaced, he chambered a round, something that
Krys taught him at the range, and then replaced the gun to his thigh.

All that remained now was the wait. The long and seemingly
unattainable time when…

The van’s brakes slammed down hard. The force of the stop caused
Kaspar to slide down the bench a few inches. The engine cut off, nothing but
silence for a few brief moments. The double doors in the back flew open with
Paxton and Kilbourne waiting outside.

“We’re here,” Paxton said. “Remember, in and out fast, this is a
simple job so let’s not get ourselves killed. Game faces.”

Everyone reached down and slid their masks on. Kaspar was the last
one out of the van. Paxton parked it in the large backyard, with its tall weeds
and brown grass. The large tire marks from the vehicle added to the wonderful
scenery.

“How many inside?” Kaspar asked.

“We don’t know. Can’t be too many, not many cars parked in front.”
Paxton replied.

“They all going to fit in there?”

“We’ll make them fit. Let’s move out.”

The team moved to the front. All of the homes in this abandoned
neighborhood were run down. Kaspar wondered what this place must have looked
like before. He imagined kids playing in the streets, everybody with a smiling
face, not a care in the world. The target house seemed to take the worst of it.
The once yellow paint long since rotted away, along with the wood underneath.
The front porch had seen better days, evidenced by the gray wood and deep
holes.

“Li, you watch our asses out here,” Paxton said. “Everyone else
inside.”

Li stood watch out front, both hands attached to the PSD. Kaspar
kept up with the brisk pace of the others as they entered the deserted home.
Shards of glass from the broken windows were scattered all over the decayed
wooden floor, which caused a crunch with each step of the team’s military
boots. They moved to the basement door and the joyful sound of singing could be
heard from down below.

Paxton opened the door with caution. He gave a hand signal for the
others to move down. Kilbourne took the lead, followed by Krys and Kaspar, with
Paxton taking the rear. A sudden burst of screams interrupted the music. Shouts
of calm down were ignored and only intensified the cries.

“We’re not here to hurt you!” Kilbourne shouted. “The USR are on
their way right now.”

“Who are you people, then?” a middle aged man with thinning hair
asked.

“We are the real police.” Paxton said as he moved to the front.
“The real protectors of this city.”

The congregation looked to have spent a lot of time turning this
basement into a church. A large cross made of thick tree branches hung by the
back wall. The floors were remodeled, the glossy wood shined from the lights
above. There were ten people huddled down here, seven seniors, three middle
aged. No one under the age of thirty gathered in this makeshift church. They
were all dressed in their best clothing. Though, for some, their best wasn’t
all that attractive. Most of the elderly wore old suits with holes and stains.
Everyone grew silent upon Paxton’s approach. He moved his right arm over and
pointed to the American flag patch. There were gasps then, for most a sigh of
relief, but a few grew more fearful at the sight.

“They’ve found us? How?” an elderly man asked.

“Who is your leader?” Paxton asked.

“I am.” the man replied.

The aged man, with no hair left on his head, wore an all-black
suit with a white square over top his wrinkled throat. A cheap, weathered cane
helped keep the man upright. He walked towards Paxton, his aged legs shook with
each step. The shakes in his hands on the cane seemed to be in rhythm with his
legs.

“How did you find us, my son?”

“What’s your name?” Paxton replied.

“Father Mark Francis.”

Paxton grabbed Francis by the shoulder. “Look, Father, we’re here
to get you and your people to safety.”

“Take off the mask,” Francis said. “Let me see your face.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. You’re just going to have to trust
me. Gather your flock. Tell them to go to the van out back.”

“Don’t trust him, Father!” one of the women called out. “How can
you trust a man that won’t let you see his face?”

“Yeah,” a man chimed in. “We’ve heard about you people on
television, you’re nothing but thugs.”

“Listen!” Paxton cried. “If you don’t trust us, then that’s fine.
Let the USR deal with you. If you want to live, you’ll go outside into our
van.”

“He’s right,” an old woman said. “We have to leave now.”

“Let us preach the gospel to the USR!” a middle aged man cried
out. “That’s what God would want!”

“The USR,” Kilbourne said as he walked towards him, “doesn’t care
about your god. They will torture you—make you denounce your faith—before they
kill you.”

“If that’s God’s will then let it happen!”

Paxton sighed and shook his head. So much for a simple extraction,
he thought the mere mention of the USR coming would scare these folks into
escape. He should have known better, though. He remembered the churches at the
beginning of the USR, how defiant they were. He once saw with his own two eyes
a church burnt to the ground with the members still locked inside. Paxton had
never been a religious man, the horrors of war stripped that from him, and so
he couldn’t bring himself to understand it. Was it out of sheer stupidity, hard
headedness, or something even crazier like faith?

Paxton raised his hand. “Okay, we can try this the easy way, then.
Whoever wants to stay, stay. Whoever wants to escape, escape. But, we must
hurry, so if you are leaving with us, go up the stairs now.”

“You all should leave,” Francis said. “I’ll stay behind.”

“No, Father,” a elderly man pleaded. “I’ll stay with you.”

“You must go on, Fredrick, to spread the Word. I will stay and
spread the gospel to our captors.”

“I’m staying,” Fredrick said. “I’ll teach them with you.”

“We don’t have time for this.” Paxton stated. “We’re leaving now.”

“Father,” the elderly woman said, “you take care. I’ll go on. We
will build another church.”

“Everyone who’s leaving,” Kilbourne said. “Raise your right hand
and follow us up the stairs.”

Seven of the worshippers raised their hand and followed the rebels
up the stairs, Paxton in the lead. Kaspar stayed behind for a moment. Why
didn’t the three save themselves? What good would it do to rot in prison before
their execution? The three men stared back at him, Francis the only one without
fear in his eyes. The Father stood straight, stiff as a board, unafraid to
stand up for his faith. Francis motioned with his head for Kaspar to leave.

“You guys better hurry,” Clarke’s voice said through Kaspar’s ear
piece. “They are about a mile away.”

“Move it!” Paxton shouted from upstairs. His PSD held high, the
stock rested on his shoulder, he moved fast towards the back door. “Li, you see
anything, yet?”

“No,” Li said through the ear piece. “But, I hear sirens from
afar.”

“Okay, meet us in the back right now.”

They all burst through the back door. Paxton moved towards the
van, lowered his gun, and then opened the double doors. The worshippers all
took their seats on the benches, Krys and Li sat on the floor. It sure would be
a tight fit, Kaspar thought to himself, he wondered what would happen next.

“They’re pulling in,” Clarke shouted. “Get out of there now!”

The sound of high pitched sirens came from the front of the house.
Kaspar could hear the rumble of the tires over top the gravel driveway. He
reached behind and slung the PSD over his chest. Visions of Mother’s dead eyes
filled his mind. He looked down at the yellow piece. He knew what he had to do.
He switched the safety off on the PSD then moved the latch to full auto.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Paxton yelled from the front of
the van.

“Making things right,” Kaspar replied. “Maybe one of those men out
there was involved…”

“Snap out of it!”

“You guys can leave,” Kaspar yanked back the slide next to the
chamber. “I’m staying behind to preach a little gospel of my own.”

Kaspar moved towards the house, but Paxton’s strong hand formed a
death grip on his left shoulder. He looked back and swung his left shoulder
free. He moved forward once more and the death grip returned, this time with a
clicking sound. Kaspar turned and stared into the barrel of a handgun.

“You’re coming with us,” Paxton ordered. “Or, maybe I should just
kill you myself.”

The sirens ceased. The sound of the heavy vehicle doors slamming
shut echoed in the night air. Clarke said something through the ear piece, but
Kaspar paid no attention to it. Right now, Paxton and his gun had it, full and
undivided. The Agents kicked in the front door and shouted inside.

“Would you really?” Kaspar asked.

“Care to find out?” Paxton replied. “Get in the van, now.”

Reason finally set in. Kaspar ran towards the opened double doors.
He found himself a spot on the floor near the back before the doors slammed
behind him. The engine roared to life as Paxton floored it towards the old dirt
road near the back yard. Kaspar’s rear end jumped up and down from the bumps in
the road, nearly matching his heart rate.

“What is wrong with you?” Krys demanded before she slapped
Kaspar’s covered cheek.

“I was trying to save those people in the basement.” Kaspar
replied.

“Sell that to someone else, cause I’m not buying it.”

“Don’t worry about it, then.”

“We will worry about it,” the elderly woman said. “You could’ve
gotten us killed back there.”

“She’s right,” Li, the man who never spoke, said.

“Fine,” Kaspar said. “Then I apologize, whole heartedly.”

Kaspar could feel his body shift right along with the sharp turn.
Clarke filled the ear piece with instructions for Paxton on what was going on.
None of the Agents caught on to the fact that the resistance was just there.
Nobody followed.

“You guys were lucky,” Clarke said. “And, when you get back, I
need to give Ryan a piece of my mind.”

***

“Hello, gentlemen,” Father Francis greeted the uniformed Agents. “Have
you come to worship the Lord our God with us?”

There was laughter from the men. They wore digital urban
camouflage with thick Kevlar vests with the bold white letters “USR” across
their chests. They held their P90 submachine guns against their shoulders,
aimed at the three men who stayed behind. The leader of the assault team
stepped towards Francis. The Agent grew disappointed when the little man didn’t
waiver or bow to his knees and beg for forgiveness.

“I’m afraid not,” the leader said. “We’re here to bring you to
justice.”

“Under what crime?”

“Spreading your evil, tyrannous views on the good citizens of this
city.”

The third man spoke up. “We’re here under our own free will. What
tyranny do you speak of?”

“I can think of several acts, but we don’t have time for that.”
The leader replied.

“Have you found God in your life, Mr…” Francis started to ask.

“No, because there is no god. And, if there was, it would side
with us versus your…hate mongering.”

“Hate mongering?”

The leader smiled. “Yes, hate mongering and exclusion of those who
believe different from yourselves. Now, let’s go.”

The third man lost it and ran towards the stairs. The Agents let
loose automatic bursts from their weapons. The barrage of bullets tore through
the man’s back and he crashed to the floor. The blood from the bullet wounds
stained the once pristine floor. Fredrick gasped. He looked over in fear to
Francis. Francis shook his head no and held his finger to his lips.

“I’m not ready to die,” Fredrick said.

“You should’ve thought about that,” the leader replied. “I’m
afraid there is no way out for you…unless you denounce your god and this filthy
religion you practice.”

“Okay,” Fredrick pleaded. “I denounce it. What do you want me to
do?”

“You no longer believe? After all this time you’ve been
worshipping? I don’t believe you.”

“I swear it…” Fredrick cried. He fell to his knees, hands behind
his head.

“Fredrick!” Francis shouted. “Get up. Stop saying that nonsense.”

“I don’t believe, I swear it, I don’t believe any longer.”

“Then,” the leader persisted. “Why do you come here?”

“I was going to report them. I swear on the almighty USR I was.”

“Fredrick!” Francis shouted again.

The leader pointed his handgun in Francis’s face. The Father’s
lips shook and he went north, south, west, east with his right hand. He
expected to be gunned down at any second. The leader just laughed at the sight
in front of him.

“Stop with that and keep your mouth shut,” the leader ordered.
“I’m not going to kill you, yet.”

“What about me?” Fredrick asked as he picked himself up off the
ground.

“You have proven yourself.”

“Really?”

The sound of a gunshot echoed through the basement. Fredrick fell
face first to the ground; the bullet tore straight through the front of his
skull. Francis looked away. A stream of warm tears escaped his closed eye lids.
The leader laughed again as blood leaked through the bullet wound.

“To be a coward,” the leader said. “Let’s see if your god will
forgive you for your betrayal. As for you…”

“What is it?” Francis asked, his head still looked away.

“You are coming with us. We have some questions for you. Boys…”

Four Agents moved in. Their P90’s were now slung over their
shoulders. They had their night sticks out and ready. They hit Francis over and
over again until his frail body hit the floor. The frail man, tears flowing
from his eyes, felt two Agents pick him up from his armpits. They carried him
up the stairs and out to their truck. Francis said nothing, he only prayed.

Not just for himself…but for the men who captured him.

***

The bodies were dumped somewhere downtown. The worshippers would
have to figure their own way home. There was no chance for them to get their
vehicles back. Kaspar wondered what they would do now…and why the team took the
risk of rescue in the first place. Another thought crept in: what if Paxton had
let him go?

“Another successful mission,” Krys said. She took the Balaclava
off of her head and shook her hair loose.

“You call that a success?” Kaspar asked. He took his own mask off.

“Yeah, we got them all to safety.”

“Not all of them.”

“That was their decision, not ours. We can’t make that choice for
them.”

“What are they going to tell the USR people, then?”

“Nothing,” Krys replied. “They didn’t see anything.”

“They’ll be able to tell them how many of us were there.”

“The USR has no idea how many of us there are. Remember, we have
rebel forces everywhere.”

“But, you can’t see any of them or make contact, right?”

“Exactly. I thought John explained all of this to you, already.”