Sullivan Saga 2: Sullivan's Wrath (6 page)

“Yes.”

“Have they tested it yet?”

“No. But they will soon. You need to get to it before they know it definitely works.”

Allen laughed. “Are
you
sure it works?”

“Yes, Frank. Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course. I just like to be sure. Are you leaving it up to me to find a way in?”

“Yes. It’s well within your abilities. You know what to do now?”

“I do.” Allen fingered the card in his coat pocket. He hoped it would be enough. He’d emptied his account back on Silvanus. Kate had been giving him a generous monthly salary as her head of security. He felt guilty collecting the pay—for the past few months he’d done little in the way of work—but Kate had said nothing, and the company had kept depositing the money into his account.

“It’ll be enough,” said Liz.

Allen felt the chill pass through his body, but he still couldn’t see her. He couldn’t see Liz’s smile; there was nothing to warm him again.

In spite of the hot, humid air, Allen shivered. He kept walking past the warehouse, turned the corner and made his way back toward the city center and his hotel.

GENERAL JAMES MILLER stood as Rick Sullivan, Kate Alexander and Dale Hammond were shown into his office. He smiled and shook their hands. “Rick, Dale, wonderful to see you again. And you must be Kate.”

Kate smiled. “Yes. Rick has told me about you. You did a wonderful thing, standing up with the people during the war, General.”

“Call me James. And I only did what I had to for the protection of the people. Please, sit. Would any of you like a drink?”

Sullivan shook his head. “I really wish we had time for pleasantries, James, but we’re here on a rather serious matter.”

Miller leaned back in his chair. “Tell me everything.”

“Frank Allen is on Edaline. He would have arrived two days ago. We believe that he is under the influence of the hyperspace entities that I’ve told you about. We also believe that someone in Edaline’s military or government has taken the hyper-hyperspace technology from the ship that crashed during the war and put it into another ship. Frank is here for that ship.”

Miller nodded. “What does he want with the ship?”

“We don’t know yet. But if you know anything about it, I hope you would tell us.”

Miller sighed. “I know the ship went missing. Someone salvaged it after the war. I don’t know what happened to it after that.”

“So the military doesn’t have it?”

“If we do, no one’s told me. I’d look to the civilian leadership, if I were you.”

“Hall,” said Sullivan.

“It does sound like something he’d do.”

“How has he been working out?”

Miller bit his lip and threaded his hands behind his head. “Prime Minister Hall is a highly skilled politician. He’s been working very hard to reform the government. In fact, he’s been working very hard to reform the government with himself at its center.”

“I think we all knew that would happen. He’s not trying for a power grab, is he?”

“You mean is he trying to take full control? No. He’s playing by the rules so far. A constitution has been written up, political parties have been formed, elections have been scheduled. I think he wants a free society more than he wants power. Well, maybe as much as he wants power. But whatever happens, Rick, I’ll make sure things never go back to the way they were.”

Sullivan nodded. “Thank you, James. I’ve read about the situation here. Groups of loyalists still causing problems, gangs, high crime, homelessness, joblessness.”

Miller sighed. “I’m doing my best to keep the loyalists and the criminals in check. As to the other things—the things that are causing much of the crime—soldiers can’t fight that. Service in the military is no longer mandatory, but I’ve been working to bring back some older men and women who’ve been mustered out. I’m trying to create as many jobs as I can, even if they’re only temporary. I’m only authorizing one-year contracts right now. Of course, a lot of people have been employed in cleaning up from the war and getting the infrastructure back up, but private manufacturing not related to that effort has stagnated. Commercial activity is at a minimum. The farms are working overtime, trying to produce as much food as possible to help feed those who are out of jobs. But it’s rough, Rick.”

Sullivan sat in silence for a moment. “A war is only the beginning of the suffering. It continues on long after the fighting ends.”

Miller shifted position in his chair and crossed his legs. “I know the people could use someone to look up to. You’re still considered a hero. Any chance you’d stay and help keep morale up?”

Sullivan looked at Kate and smiled. “No, I’ve made a promise.”

She smiled back.

Miller nodded. “How about making a video for us, then? Urging people to support the government, to keep faith.”

“I could do that.”

“Thanks, Rick. That’d be a big help.”

“Of course. But the first thing I need to do is try to get a meeting with Hall.”

“Good luck with that. He even blows me off half the time, unless I tell him it’s urgent.”

“Well, we have an ace up our sleeve.” Sullivan turned to Kate.

She nodded. “That ship is property of my company. If Edaline’s government has it, they’ve stolen it.”

General Miller smiled. “And I’m sure Hall knows that. Still, you’ll have to prove that he has it before you can threaten him with legal action. If there’s anything I can do to help, don’t hesitate to ask.” He opened a drawer in his desk, reached in and withdrew a card. “Here’s my direct line.”

Sullivan took it as he stood then shook Miller’s hand again. “Thank you. We’ll be in touch.”

CORPORAL JENSEN WAS sure it was him. He studied the face of the man as the visitors stepped back out of General Miller’s office then, waiting a few minutes until they had gone, casually pulled his tablet from his pocket.

Richard Sullivan on planet
.
Just had meeting with Miller
, he typed.

A reply came a moment later.
How long ago?

Minutes
.

We’ll find him
.

Jensen glanced around the outer office to make sure no one was looking at him. There were other loyalists throughout Fort Hendricks. The word would be spread to them and, with luck, Sullivan could be tracked as he left the base.

Jensen looked up as General Miller stepped to his open office door. Jensen nodded at Miller. Miller nodded back, scanned the room then closed the door behind him as he went back in.

Jensen had been maneuvering for months to get a position on Miller’s personal staff. He was little more than a secretary, but he didn’t care. His position enabled him to keep the loyalists abreast of all of Miller’s movements. He had even been able to copy files and send them to his compatriots. So far none of those files had provided any intelligence that could be used against the new government, but eventually something valuable would come across Jensen’s desk. If and when that happened, he was prepared to sacrifice his life to get the information to the rightful leadership of Edaline.

But Jensen wouldn’t blow his cover just yet. What he had seen today, the return of Richard Sullivan, was the most important development in months. Was it possible Sullivan was here to coordinate with General Miller? Was he going to lend his expertise to help bring down the loyalists? Even if he wasn’t, killing him could be the key to striking if not a tactical then at least a moral blow to those who had overthrown Edaline’s rightful government. If Sullivan could be killed or captured, it could reignite the fuse that had been snuffed out by the military’s raid on the loyalist’s weapons stockpile a month ago. Up until that point, they had hoped those weapons would soon be put to use. Now, insufficiently armed, any chance that the loyalists would be able to initiate an effective armed attack was gone. All they could do now was what they had been doing ever since the end of the war: make their presence known through small acts of sabotage and attempted assassinations.

So far the sabotage had caused only minor problems for the government. The assassination attempts had been less successful. Not a single one of them had been carried out successfully, and three loyalists had been killed during the attempts. Another seven had been arrested.

Worse, the support the loyalists hoped to receive from the civilian population hadn’t materialized. But taking care of Sullivan could change all that. He was more important as a symbol than as a leader, especially since he had left Edaline just after the war, but it was a powerful symbol. If both Sullivan and General Miller, perhaps even Prime Minister Hall, could all be killed within a short period of time, Jensen had no doubt that some of the people would rally to the loyalists’ cause. Jensen himself, with his proximity to Miller, was willing to take down the general. His superiors had hinted to him that he might be given such an assignment when the time was right.

But it was out of his hands for now. All he could do was continue reporting on Miller and hope those higher up the chain of command would give him the opportunity to serve his planet.

SULLIVAN DIDN’T KNOW why he thought he would be able to find Allen by wandering the streets of Agrona, but he did it anyway. He felt helpless sitting in the hotel room, waiting for Prime Minister Hall’s office to return his calls.

He eventually found himself in the neighborhood where he had grown up—so different now, after two wars—and found his old street. None of the building from his childhood still stood. They had all been destroyed during the first rebellion. But there was a small neighborhood park on the next street that was almost unchanged from when he’d frequented it as a child. Sullivan stood looking out at the swings, the slide, the basketball court, and imagining all the times his mother had stood in the very same spot, watching him play. He walked over to a bench and put his hand on the armrest. She’d sat here, too, leaning on the armrest, occasionally looking up from her tablet to smile at him.

Sullivan eventually wandered away from his old neighborhood and made his way to Bingham Park, in the center of the city. He walked to the middle of the park where a rotunda stood and climbed the steps of the rotunda to look out across the grass.

The late afternoon light cast long shadows across the lawn. Before the war, a day like this would have seen dozens of people out enjoying the park. Now Sullivan could spot just a single figure making its way up the path toward him. As he watched, the figure came nearer. It did not take to any of the side paths but kept on coming straight toward him, toward the rotunda.

The man peered up at Sullivan from the base of the rotunda. Sullivan nodded, and the man returned the gesture before continuing on around the rotunda and making his way across the other side of the park.

Sullivan was about to leave the rotunda when he heard a clipped yell. He turned to see the man besieged by four others. Sullivan ran down the steps and toward the group. They had encircled the man, and by the time Sullivan reached them, they had him on the ground and were kicking him.

“Hey!” Sullivan yelled, drawing their attention. He stopped ten paces from them as they turned toward him.

“Leave that man alone.”

The man who appeared to be their leader stepped forward. “Fuck off.”

Sullivan smiled. “Do you recognize me?”

“Should I?”

“Yes. I’m Richard Sullivan.”

The gang leader’s sneer turned uncertain. “Fuck you are.”

“I want you to leave that man alone. Turn around and walk away, and I won’t have to hurt you.”

In a movement that would have been missed by most people, the thug pulled a knife from his pocket. He lunged at Sullivan, his cronies quick at his heels.

Sullivan sidestepped the attack and used his assailant’s momentum to throw him to the ground. His head hit the concrete with a loud crack, and with a quick jerk of his arm, Sullivan pulled the knife from the thug’s hand and arced it upward just as the next man rushed at Sullivan.

As the knife met the attacker’s stomach, a shrill scream escaped his lips. Sullivan pulled the knife out and threw the man to the ground. The other two had stopped cold. One held a knife, the other a nightstick.

“Come on, you bastards!” Sullivan said, turning toward them. “Give me a reason!”

The two standing thugs backed away then broke into a run as soon as they were clear.

Sullivan tossed the knife to the ground and jogged up to the man who had been attacked. “You all right?”

The man looked up into Sullivan’s face. “It is you. Richard Sullivan.”

“Yes. Let me get you to a hospital.”

The man stood up and rubbed his side where he had been kicked. “No. No, I’m okay. Thank you. What are you doing back here?”

“Just checking up on the place. It seems the war is still taking its toll.”

“It is. Predators like these are everywhere. The military tries to patrol the city, but they can’t be everywhere.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you going?”

“Home. I’ve been out looking for work all day.”

“How far is home?”

“Just on the other side of the park. I’ll be okay.”

Sullivan nodded. “Be safe.”

He watched the man continue on down the path, limping slightly. Once he made sure the other thugs weren’t lying in wait, he turned back to the two who had attacked him. The man he’d stabbed was dead. The other was still unconscious. Sullivan knelt down beside him with the knife in his hand. He brought the blade to the man’s throat and took several deep breaths before pulling it away. He dropped the knife from his shaking hand, stood, and walked away, still trying to concentrate on taking deep, calming breaths.

ALLEN SLID THE credit card across the park bench. The man who had identified himself as Brooks waved it across his tablet.

“It’s not much,” said Brooks.

“But is it enough?”

Brooks grunted. “Way things are, I need to take what I can get.”