The Collection (10 page)

Chapter 21

GRANT MARSDEN'S FORMER SUPERIOR IN THE SERVICE SAYS MARSDEN WAS BORN LEADER

—
American Gazette

Another day and another visit to the capital. Grant was becoming accustomed to driving in but was starting to find his visits on the boring side. It was a lot of common sense that Ian insisted on explaining in great detail. Grant had started to think the man was out of touch with the average American male.

Grant parked his car and walked up the steps to the Mission. He was shocked to see Ian standing outside with a group of men. It looked like they were waiting on Grant.

“Good morning, sir,” Grant said. “Am I late?”

“I thought today I would show you a special treat, something that will appeal to your interests,” Ian said.

“Oh?”

One of the men opened up the door to an SUV parked in front of the entrance and Ian climbed in the back. Grant thought the elderly man looked like he could use some assistance but dared not offer any in case it gave offense. Grant waited till Ian was seated and slid in next to him.

There was a divider between the two and the driver. The car started up and they drove off through the capital.

“Tell me something,” Ian said. “You are one of the very few private inventors. How did you fall into this trade?”

“A natural gift,” Grant said.

“I suppose it's good we all keep some secrets,” Ian said.

Grant gave the grand commander a smirk. His past was something Ian was not privy to.

“America is on the forefront of modern technology,” Ian said. “Did you know that?”

“Of course,” Grant said.

“Did you ever wonder how?” Ian asked. “You didn't create all the modern technological advances, did you?”

Grant laughed and shook his head. “I assume a branch of the military did,” he said.

“Filled with poorly educated minds?”

“Some people are gifted, regardless of their education,” Grant said.

“Wrong,” Ian said.

Grant tried his best to give the man a smile without looking too condescending. He had the urge to reach over and wrap his hands around the grand commander's neck.

“One of the ways to keep a country successful is to have money,” Ian said. “America is far and away the wealthiest country on the planet. We own almost all the major inventions outright, with the exception of yours and those of a few other private citizens over the years.”

“I am aware of that fact,” Grant said.

Ian raised his eyebrows and Grant regretted his choice of words.

“I mean, please, continue,” Grant said.

“When sons are turned over to the government, some are sent into the general orphanages and others into more specialized fields,” Ian said. “I'm showing you one of those fields today.”

The car stopped. They were in front of an average-looking building. Ian waited for the driver to open the door and then exited the car. Grant followed him. It looked like any old office space.

“Every year about a hundred boys are selected for this life,” Ian said. “People start to show certain talents as young as five years old. I'm sure you remember some of the general tests from your days as a boy?”

Grant nodded his head. He remembered thinking they were boring and unimportant, so he had just filled in bubbles at random. He was glad for his childhood laziness.

“The ones that score highest are brought here and trained. Their brains are honed and skills developed. These men are one of the backbones of our society.”

The driver opened the door to the building and Grant followed Ian inside. There was an open gray room with an empty front desk. Ian walked toward the back elevator. The doors opened and the two walked in. Ian didn't hit a floor; instead he punched in a sequence with the keys. Grant tried to follow, but Ian blocked his hands. The elevator started moving down.

“One hundred per year,” Ian said. “They don't all measure up and some are disposed of, but at any given time there are at least fifteen hundred men working here.”

The doors opened up. Ian walked ahead and Grant followed. They stood on a balcony overlooking a massive warehouse. Men in nondescript gray clothing worked at a number of stations. Grant thought the room was large enough to span the entire capital. His laboratory didn't compare in the slightest. His eyes scanned the room and he saw some men working on a tank, others using chemistry sets—some men were even at work on a firing range in a sectioned-off area.

“Where are the rest of them?” Grant asked.

“They're all here,” Ian said. “Walk with me.”

Nobody paid them any attention. Everyone who walked by wore a look of hard determination.

“These are the most brilliant minds in the world,” Ian said.

“Isn't that dangerous?” Grant asked. Ian had previously lectured him on the dangers of a highly educated population.

“They're controlled,” Ian said. “Their education is completed at about fifteen to sixteen years of age, they work on the floor for about fifteen to sixteen years, and then their time is finished.”

“Still,” Grant said. “What if one escaped? Aren't you scared they'd cause an uprising?”

“They're served a steady diet of the best pharmaceuticals, created by their predecessors,” Ian said.

“Human robots?” Grant asked.

He watched as one walked by. Grant debated poking him in the shoulder to see if he would stop moving.

“I suppose one could look at it that way,” Ian said.

The wheels in Grant's mind started to turn.

“Why not create a formula that could turn someone into the perfect soldier?”

“Now, that would be dangerous,” Ian said. “Create a killer, then try to release him into the population? That is an experiment designed to fail.”

“As a country we would be unstoppable,” Grant said.

“We already are,” Ian said. “I strongly advise against altering the status quo. Things run smoothly. Keep it that way.”

Grant nodded his head and made a mental note to keep any future plans he had for America to himself in front of Ian. The grand commander wasn't looking for a replacement. He was looking for a clone, and Grant was more than willing to fake that role till the position was his.

Chapter 22

GENHAN THREATENS TO INVADE NATROCK, FLEDGLING COUNTRIES ARGUE OVER RIGHTS TO THE BLACK SEA

—
Global Reporter

“Are you certain you're ready for this?” Riley asked.

“I could do it blindfolded,” Mia said. “I did already. Remember?”

“That was on a simulated course you memorized,” Riley said. “This is a real vehicle.”

“I wouldn't say that,” Mia said.

Riley frowned at Mia's joke.

“Pretend this is a fully functional vehicle,” Riley said. “Walk me through everything first.”

Mia was seated in the driver's seat of the torn-apart jeep. Riley was next to her, trying her hardest to find a reason to deny Mia the use of the vehicle.

“I make sure the car is already running,” Mia said. “Then I look at the auto-drive screen and pick ‘disengage.' ”

“And?”

“And then I wait till the screen gives me confirmation,” Mia said. “Then I rip it out.”

“Why?”

“Don't you trust me?” Mia said. “I know what I'm doing.”

“You're young and rash,” Riley said. “You'll only get one shot at this. Now, why rip it out?”

“Because that is the likely spot for the GPS chip,” Mia said. “And then they won't be able to follow me.”

“Very good.”

“Then I put the car in drive—” Mia said.

“Wrong,” Riley said.

“—after I check all the gauges to make sure there is enough backup fuel,” Mia said. “You need to relax.”

“What next?”

“I use the pedals and the wheel,” Mia said. “Drive back here. Pick you up and drop off Dalmy. Then the five of us make our way down to Guatemala.”

“How will you get to Guatemala?”

“You have the map,” Mia said.

Riley glared at Mia.

“I drive ten kilometers west across the desert till we hit the main road,” Mia said. “I drive straight down into Guatemala without stopping. Then once I enter the country I take my first left and drive up into the mountains. From there I make the fourth left, then the sixth right, then the next two lefts, all the while traveling along a steep cliff. I make sure to drive slow.”

“Always be prepared,” Riley said. “No plan will ever be foolproof. Someone may be with you to navigate, but you have to know the way yourself.”

“Can I drive now?” Mia asked.

She had spent more than half of the past week on the simulator and was more than eager to test out her skills on an actual vehicle. Riley reached over and buckled her safety belt. Mia grinned and put the car into drive. Riley didn't share Mia's excitement as she whipped the car out of the trees.

Chapter 23

No true American male would ever consider marriage to a foreigner.

—
American Gazette

“Mia's dead.” Andrew said the words. They rolled off his tongue so easily but bit at his core.

“I am very sorry for your loss,” the general said.

He handed Andrew a printout from an American website.

Grant Marsden continues to mourn the loss of his wife. She met her demise during a fatal car accident caused by her abductor. Marsden bravely tried to save her but was unable to stop the madman.

Before Andrew could finish reading, the newspaper was pulled away.

“That's not what happened,” Andrew said.

“Why don't you tell me what did happen then?”

“Grant Marsden is the madman,” Andrew said. “Nobody abducted Mia; she ran away. I helped her; so did Carter and Rod.”

“Was there a car accident?”

Andrew tried to remember. His head filled with intense pain.

“I don't know,” he said.

“What's the last thing you remember?”

“Preparing with Rod,” Andrew said. “He was teaching me to act like a soldier.”

“Where was Mia during this?”

“Learning self-defense skills with Carter,” Andrew said. “You said he's here? Can I see him? Maybe he remembers.”

“We found the two of you walking aimlessly around the desert,” the general said. “You were both very sick.”

Andrew closed his eyes. He tried to remember the last few days but was met with intense pain in his head, like a noise was trying to burst through his eardrums. He winced and held his hands to his ears. The general stood up from the table and knocked once on the door.

A man dressed as a doctor walked in with a tray.

“This is Dr. Kashuba,” the general said. “He's going to give you some medicine.”

Andrew grabbed his arm. He was grateful these men had saved him from the desert but wasn't comfortable with a stranger injecting him with anything.

“He's been treating you for days,” the general said.

“How long have I been here?” Andrew asked.

“A little over two weeks,” the general said.

Andrew was stunned. He'd lost two weeks of his life and found out Mia was dead. He wanted to mourn her, but it didn't feel right. All he could feel was anger. The doctor gave Andrew a few quick injections.

“What are these for?” Andrew asked.

“You were late on your booster,” the general said. “We don't want you to get sick again.”

“Thank you,” Andrew said to the doctor.

He gave Andrew a grin and walked out of the room.

“Do you have anywhere you can go?” the general asked.

“Are you going to deport me?” Andrew asked.

“I won't,” the general said. “If you stay here I can offer you protection too, but if you leave this place I cannot guarantee your safety.”

“What is this place?”

“The Mexico Militia,” the general said.

“Militia?”

“Army,” the general said.

Andrew couldn't process what was happening around him. He wanted to picture the last time he saw Mia's face, but every time he tried a sharp noise entered his mind. Andrew blinked his eyes a few times. The light in the room was making everything a little hazy.

“You've suffered from inflammation of the brain,” the general said. “Your government put you in this position; they stole your friends and your memories, forced you to escape, and now they want to call you a traitor.”

“It's America's fault Mia is dead?” Andrew asked. He blamed Grant.

“She felt the need to run from an unjust system,” the general said. “If you decide to join our cause you can avenge her.”

Andrew had run away from service. He didn't think he was ready to join another army. He thought of Saint Louis, lying in the same bed with Mia and turning her down. Now she was dead and Andrew had lost his chance to be with the one person who had ever really cared about him. His anger grew.

“You want to avenge her death,” the general said.

Almost as if a switch had been flipped, Andrew thought about the general's words with sincerity. He did want vengeance for Mia. She deserved the tribute.

“You want to fight for Mexico,” he said. “You hate America and are more than willing to take up arms with the militia.”

“I am,” Andrew said.

“Say it,” the general said.

“America killed Mia,” Andrew said. “I want to join your militia.”

The general nodded his head and Andrew's feeling of anger turned into pride. He would fight for Mia's memory, he would repay the debt he owed the general for taking care of him, and he would become part of something bigger than himself. Andrew felt a wave of exuberance flow through him. He was home.

Chapter 24

Grant Marsden is constantly surrounded by friends, even though he would rather be at home with a wife.

—
American Gazette

Grant spun the tiny black cell phone in his hands, willing it to ring. His plan should have come to fruition by this point. It had been almost three weeks since the fateful night. The night Amelia bested him. He was a patient man, but his patience was wearing thin. He had to put the phone down on his dresser or risk squeezing the thing to pieces.

Why was there no call? Had Grant overestimated the young man's love? Had they died in the helicopter? He'd been too busy with visits to the capital and press appearances to perform the necessary research. He remembered the last time he was so unprepared.

He had been in Miami, just out of the orphanage, all alone and not expecting to feel so . . . hungry. Sleeping on the streets didn't feel right to him, so he decided to learn a trade: picking locks. At first Grant would break into small empty apartments, a different one each night. Then he moved on to homes, waiting until the occupants were fast asleep and borrowing a couch. Except for some missing food, they wouldn't know he was ever there. As his skills grew, so did his tastes. He started sleeping in mansions, making a game out of eluding the staff members and the occupants. That of course required him to become familiar with security systems. He'd been living an easy life, until one fateful night he woke up on the wrong side of a shotgun.

Not wanting to relive his past, Grant decided to get proactive about his future. That involved settling the score with Amelia. He swallowed his pride and strode out of his room with one destination on his mind. Grant walked through his home and headed out back, toward the man who had made it clear he had some knowledge of the former Mrs. Marsden's whereabouts.

 

H
e's already shown me some of the facilities,” Grant said. “I think he's a bit outdated.”

“What do you mean?” Rex asked.

“Let's say I'd like to put the country's resources elsewhere,” Grant said. “If I were grand commander people wouldn't have it so easy.”

“You think people have it easy?” Rex asked.

“Unwed females are cared for, unserved men get to carry on as they please,” Grant said. “And some unmarried men are a drain on our economy. Not to mention the females who work for the government. There are better ways to use our money.”

“It's bordering on treason to talk like that,” Rex said. “There's only one grand commander, and he holds that office until he chooses to move on.”

“Well, let's say I have the inside track,” Grant said.

Rex looked at the ground. His jaw was clenched. Grant thought he must be uninterested in political goals.

“So did you discover anything?” Grant asked.

He was sitting at the table in Rex's house. The military man had never bothered to set it up like a home; instead it resembled a tactical center. Grant apologized for his behavior at Amelia's funeral and he was not surprised to hear that Rex had ignored his instructions.

“Well, I went on an international server—don't worry, I masked the address like you told me; nothing can be traced here,” Rex said.

“Speed it up,” Grant replied.

“Based on the fuel left in the helicopter and the direction they were headed, our best bet is they crashed within one hundred miles of this spot,” Rex said.

There was a map of Mexico with a blue dot on the southeast coast.

“This is undeveloped desert,” Rex said. “Odds are in your favor that they died, either in the crash or from dehydration in the desert.”

“So that's your news. She's dead?” Grant said.

“I looked for reports of a crash in the Mexican news and there weren't any,” Rex said. “I couldn't believe that nobody saw the helicopter fly by or go down. So there's some reason it wasn't reported.”

“Go on,” Grant said.

“Have you heard of the thieves' paradise?” Rex asked.

“I'm not a criminal,” Grant said.

“I called a contact who was stationed in Mexico during service,” Rex said. “I told him someone stole something from me and fled to Mexico. Couldn't give him a name or any information outside of it being tracked to this area. He laughed and said that section of the country has a lot of folklore about it, including this city of thieves. It's a story; criminals want to retire, so they go live out their days drinking in the sun.”

“If such a place existed—and I don't think it does—the authorities would shut it down,” Grant said.

“Not if it was controlled by the authorities,” Rex said. “I did some more digging. Most of that land is owned by a corporation, Puesta del Sol. The plan was to turn it into the next vacation spot for tourists, but it fell through. Now, the CEO of this organization is Joseph Ruiz.”

Rex clicked a button and the screen changed to a picture of a distinguished-looking man.

“He doesn't own any other business except Puesta del Sol, and their only holding is this land,” Rex said. “Even though all he owns is worthless real estate, he is a consistent donor.”

“Donor of what?” Grant asked.

“Money, to everything,” Rex said. “Politicians, hospitals, city parks, hundreds of charitable organizations.”

“So you think he's doing something in this area that is generating a profit and buying off government interference?” Grant asked. “How does the city of thieves tie in?”

“My contact made a joke,” Rex said. “ ‘Every thief thinks his sun will never set.' ”

“Interesting,” Grant said.

He crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair.

“If Amelia landed there what would happen to her?” Grant asked.

“Nothing good,” Rex said.

Grant smiled at the thought. He had made up his mind to send Rex to Mexico before he came to visit with his second in command.

“It's a long shot,” Grant said. “Be cautious and bring me some proof back.”

“I already have my forged travel documents and a commercial plane ticket to the nearest big city. I leave in an hour.”

“Have Brandon give you some cash,” Grant said. “Leave no paper trail. This cannot get back to me.”

Both men stood up and Grant shook Rex's hand. He headed toward the front door.

“About the incident,” Grant said.

While Grant was an intelligence officer in the army, Rex had worked on the front lines. They were helping the people of Sudan end a civil war. It was the end of a battle and Grant was surveying the remains. Rex was his escort. A wounded enemy combatant was on the ground. Grant saw the flicker of silver against the sun as he raised his weapon. Without thinking twice Grant pulled his pistol out. Rex thought Grant was going to shoot him and tried to knock the gun down. Grant squeezed the trigger and ended the attacker's life. It only took Rex a moment to realize what Grant had done. That was when his true loyalty was born.

“Let's not mention it again,” Rex said.

Grant did not appreciate being interrupted.

“I was going to say, I hope you remember your place from now on,” Grant said.

Rex kept his face stone and didn't make eye contact. Grant cracked a smile.

“One last thing,” Grant said. “If you find her and she's dead, bring back proof. If she's alive, don't alert her to your presence. Just trail her.”

“Why?”

“Bringing a girl who the entire country thinks is deceased kicking and screaming over the border might draw some attention,” Grant said.

“I can kill her there,” Rex said.

“Not until you have my permission,” Grant said.

Amelia deserved punishment from Grant's own hand, not a surrogate. Grant believed his initial strategy could still work. Rex was insurance. The large man nodded his head and they parted ways. Grant headed to his home and let out a yawn. Today was exhausting. Everything should have been perfect, but Amelia Morrissey continued to be a thorn in his side.