The Foundation: Jack Emery 1 (12 page)

Ernest sighed. “Where to from here, Ambassador?”

“We agree to disagree, and we part ways as friends, I’d suggest.”

“Alright.” Ernest wasn’t satisfied, but there was nothing to be gained by more pushing.

“But one last friendly observation.” Du spoke softly. “The world is changing and the great tectonic plates are shifting. The time has come for everyone to pick sides. As the plates grind against each other, only a stupid man would place himself or his company in between. Please, heed my words if you value the health and wellbeing of your dogs.”

***

Michelle kept her gaze locked on Anton as he continued to shout, his spittle washing over her like rain. He’d been at it for a good ten seconds. She didn’t break eye contact with him as she removed her glasses, wiped them clean on her cardigan and placed them back on.

“Are you done?” She stared at him from across the desk. “This is quite annoying.”

“You cut off my funds, corner me, kill my security detail. And all for nothing.” He pounded the table with his fist. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

“I’m probably going to need a shower, whenever you decide you’re done.”

He huffed and sat down, giving her a small victory. Anton had been holed up in his compound, running the Foundation remotely since his return from China. They’d had an uneasy peace while Michelle put things in place for her takeover, until this morning. She’d cut off his funds and sent an email to the organization informing everyone that she was stepping up to take charge, while Anton was indisposed. It was a total lie, but combined with her recent efforts to ensnare McDowell and meet with the President, he’d had no choice but to react. He’d agreed to meet at a neutral office building. Things had probably seemed like they were going well for him, until the Shadd brothers had killed his security detail and left the two of them alone in the small office.

She was certain that he could recognize the balance of power shifting. She had control of the Foundation in her hand.

“I’m going to need more than that from you, Michelle. I’m currently weighing up the merits of continuing to allow you to breathe.”

She laughed. “You don’t frighten me, Anton. Nor do you recognize that you’ve lost all control. It’s all slipping away.”

He apparently didn’t hear what she’d said. “This is the most shocking betrayal of me and our cause I could imagine.”

Michelle made no attempt to hide her anger. “Is that so? I’d consider you trying to kill me to be worse.”

He froze, unsure for the first time. “What’re you talking about?”

“China.”

“You’re being ridiculous, Michelle. If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”

She knew it was time to strike. She grabbed a metal paperweight off the desk and, before he could react, threw it at him as hard as she could. The paperweight hit his skull and gave a satisfying crack. She vaulted the desk in one bound as he screeched in agony, reaching up toward his head. She advanced on him with a bloody, single-minded focus as he staggered backward. He looked up and seemed to recognize her intent. As she closed in, she ducked under his hastily thrown roundhouse. She threw a quick jab at his stomach, which caused him to double over.

“I didn’t mind when you kept me in the dark, because we were both motivated to make America great again.”

She lifted her knee and connected with his nose, which caused his head to jerk back. He slumped to the floor.

“I didn’t mind when you changed the plan, took credit and denied me mine, even though I did most of the heavy lifting.”

She reached down to the floor and picked up a pen that had been knocked over in the scuffle, as he rose back to his full height with his hands over his nose.

“I didn’t even mind when you arranged the death of Chen and his family, despite your promises, because I managed to save them.”

She was surprised when he threw another punch. This one connected square with her jaw. Her vision exploded with color and she staggered to one knee. She winced as Anton followed up with a brutal kick to her midriff. She tasted blood in her mouth, but knew that if she didn’t get up quickly, he was a more than capable foe.

She pushed herself off the floor, rushed toward him and tackled him around the waist. They fell in a sprawling heap. She climbed on top of him and swung several punches at his head, which he defended as best he could. She growled in frustration and punched him one last time. He held his hands up in surrender.

“I did mind when you tried to have me killed, and didn’t have the good grace to do it properly or fuck off when you failed.”

His eyes widened in apparent fear, then horror, as she raised the pen. 
“What’re you doing?”

She brought the pen down, hard. The tip penetrated his eye socket and she pushed until the shaft would go no deeper. After a second or two he stopped flailing. She screamed as loudly as she could and felt the fury rush out of her. She leaned back on his stomach, and could smell the putrid scent of his bowels as they evacuated.

“What needs to be done.” She climbed up off the lifeless body.

She’d been prepared to achieve the Foundation’s goals together, but Anton had been too paranoid for that. That paranoia had cost him his life. She was now the nominal leader of the Foundation. She had people counting on her, plans that depended on her. She also knew that there were others, trusted lieutenants of Anton, who’d attempt to unseat her if they found out the method of his death. She’d need help tying up loose ends. The Shadd brothers would make his body disappear.

Once she had total control of the Foundation, America was next.

“Turn it off, Peter.” Ernest placed his head in his hands. “For heaven’s sake, turn it off.”

Peter reached over to the laptop and pressed a button to stop the audio recording of Jack Emery and Christian Malley being tortured. The screams of Ernest’s staff were visceral and spoke of a deep pain. He’d heard them curse their torturer and cry out for their mothers, for God and for anyone else to help them. To Ernest, it felt as if they called out to him.

They sat in silence, but the recordings he’d heard burned Ernest to his core. Worse still, he knew it was decisions that he’d made that had placed his people in danger. Usually Ernest liked to distance himself from the people under his direction, and he had made decisions before that had ended livelihoods and changed life trajectories. This was different.

He looked up at Peter, who appeared as stunned as Ernest felt. “We have to get them out of there. They’re not soldiers or spies. They’ll be dead in a couple of weeks under this sort of treatment.”

Peter looked down at the floor. “I put in a call to Dan Whelan at Princeton. In his opinion, under such stress, if the Chinese don’t relent a little they’ll be suffering immense psychological stress. They might not last that long.”

Ernest’s head was aching. How was he to navigate the release of his people while having to honor agreement he’d made to Dominique and the Foundation? He regretted not telling Peter about the deal, but it was too late to share now. The Chinese, via the ambassador, had made it clear that the way to ensure his people stayed alive was to alter the tone of EMCorp’s reporting of the war. He was trapped in a pincer. The only option he liked was the idea of making it somebody else’s problem.

“We need to take it to the authorities. Give them the files and whatever support they need. It’s the only way to get them out of there.”

Peter shrugged. “Who’s going to care, with everything else that’s going on?”

“We need to do something to help them! I’ll call the President.”

“You’re being irrational. The US Government has more on its mind at the moment.”

“We could try the Pentagon? Surely some of their people are being held at the same prison. Get them out, and our people. Two birds with one stone and all that.”

“Tried that. Yes, they have people there, but no, they’re not going in. With thousands of their own dead, wounded or captured, a few journos don’t top their list.”

Ernest exhaled loudly. “So we’re on our own.”

“Everyone is frightened. The hawks want the nukes to come out.”

Ernest had considered the chances of government intervention to be slim. His next consideration had been a private operation—mercenaries, who’d blast in, extract his people and get out. But he’d been told that nobody would run a private op in the PRC. He’d even privately asked Dominique to help, to no avail except her howling with laughter.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. He had to comply with the Chinese request if he wanted his people back. But maybe there was one other way. He knew that every second he delayed meant more pain for his people, so if he danced the right dance, he could secure their return to the United States. Once that was achieved, he could deal with the consequences of what he was about to do.

He looked at Peter. “Okay, thanks. You’ve given me a bit to think about.”

Peter took the cue to leave the room and started to gather his papers. As he departed, Ernest flicked through his business card holder, picked up his phone and dialed. When the phone was answered, he asked for the ambassador and waited for a couple of minutes with the sound of a local radio station his only company.

Eventually, the music stopped. “This is Ambassador Du.”

“It’s Ernest McDowell.”

“Ah.” Ernest could nearly feel Du’s grin. “I’ve been expecting your call, Mr McDowell.”

“I’ll bet. You sent me the files, after all. I need to speak with your premier.”

“I don’t know what files you’re talking about, but you may speak to me. In this matter, I speak with all the authority you’ll need.” Du paused. “Off the record, of course.”

“If necessary to free my reporters, absolutely.”

“I’ll keep it short, since time is of the essence. As I mentioned at lunch the other day, your company has become a strategic asset in this conflict. This is of grave concern, made worse by the sheer scale of anti-China coverage in recent days.”

Ernest was taken aback by the ambassador’s blunt accusation. While his agreement with Dominique had indeed made him pick a side, he hadn’t intended for it to manifest itself in quite this way. The coverage of the conflict by EMCorp’s stable of media assets had all slanted in a particular direction, in line with Dominique’s wishes, but she’d ordered it ramped up hugely. The Chinese had clearly noticed.

“I’ll simply say that there were matters beyond my control that amended my attitude on this conflict. I won’t apologize, but I’m willing to compromise.”

“It was Mao who said, as communists, we gain control with the power of the gun, and maintain control with the power of the pen.”

“How can I help with that?”

“We require immediate cessation of your pro-Taiwanese coverage, and a complete reversal of your editorial direction.”

“I’ve been told that a lot in the last few weeks.” Ernest laughed. “Do I have any choice?”

“No, not particularly.”

“Then your terms are acceptable. Release my people.”

“It will be done within twenty-four hours. I’ve been permitted to authorize travel of your private jet to China pick them up. I’ll be in touch.”

Du hung up and Ernest exhaled deeply. He’d promised the impossible. But he didn’t have a choice, he’d done what was necessary to get his people back, and kicked the problem further down the road. He’d bought time, but his only chance, long term, was to try rework the deal with Dominique. He’d placed the noose tighter around his own neck.

***

A single shaft of light from underneath the door penetrated the darkness of the cell.

For several days now, Jack had mentally clung to it as if it was the final lifeboat on the
Titanic
. The abuse of his body had been nothing compared with the desolation of his mind. He was just glad he could recognize what was happening. But he knew that with each passing second his old life slipped a little farther away. With each beating, each threat to his life, each breakdown, he became more desperate. More despondent.

The door screeched open, and he flinched involuntarily; while he loved the small sliver of light, he feared its growth into a bright inferno. When it did, more abuse was imminent. He pushed himself weakly along the floor of his cell, hoping he might be able to hide.

The guards spoke in Mandarin as they entered the cell. He was surprised when they didn’t immediately kick him or hurl insults. Instead, they picked him up off the floor. Each grabbed one of his arms and dragged him from the cell. They handled him firmly, but not too roughly. The possibilities assaulted his brain. More torture? Freedom? Or some other vile option he hadn’t considered? Whatever was in store, for at least a minute or two, he’d been spared. What replaced it really didn’t matter. While Jack might hope for his freedom, he’d be content with a little sunlight or a day free of pain.

He clearly wasn’t to be kept waiting. They reached a steel door and the guard on his left side opened it. Sunlight flared in, stinging his eyes but warming his spirit. He was marched outside and before his eyes could adjust he felt the sharp pain of gravel underneath his bare feet. It crunched under the boots of the guards as they walked, but cut into his skin. Jack kept silent, knowing that any dissent or complaint would be met with brutality. His concerns about small, loose stones were chased away a moment later by the booming sounds of gunshots followed by shouts in Mandarin.

Jack’s heart raced. As his eyes adjusted, he could see his fate. A rank of uniformed soldiers stood at attention and in a straight line across the gravel courtyard. Opposite them, a man was heaped, dead, in front of a stone wall. The wall was pockmarked with bullet holes and streaked with blood.

Another man was marched to the wall by a pair of guards. The doomed man didn’t fight back, despite being tall and stout enough to try. He stood against the wall. It looked like he’d been beaten half to death, and his face was bloodied and bruised purple. Jack watched in silent horror, determined to cry out in defense of the man but kept in check by his fear. Jack’s bladder released as the Chinese officer in charge of the firing squad ordered his men to the ready. His shame, fear and embarrassment trickled down his leg as the order was given. Shots barked out and the man slumped to the ground, a small spray of his blood adding to the grotesque mix on the wall behind.

Jack’s shoulders slumped and the guards took up the slack to support his weight. They carried him toward the wall, slowly but with purpose. He did his best to resist, but their grip was strong and his body was weak. The grim procession stopped briefly when a third guard stood in front of Jack and handcuffed his hands to an iron ring in the wall. The guards moved away, chatting to one another.

Despite his best efforts, there was no beating them. He closed his eyes and steeled himself. 
Many seconds passed, and Jack wondered if he’d passed into blackness already. He was pretty sure he hadn’t, however, when a radio crackled and a voice blared out. When the guards nearby laughed with each other, his hunch was confirmed. He heard the footsteps of a guard.

“Not for you today, my friend.”

Jack started to sob as they grabbed him again and marched him back inside, relieved that he had been spared, but fearing what was going to replace it. He walked for several minutes, toward whatever fresh abuse was in store for him. He turned or stopped whenever they demanded, and eventually he was facing a steel door. It was not his normal cell. He was kicked inside.

“Jack?” He heard her voice over the slam of the door. “What have they done to you?”

He said nothing as Celeste approached him. He didn’t resist as she took his head in her hands and inspected his face like a mother might a recalcitrant, dirty-faced child. He looked at her without word and as she completed her inspection, he did one of his own. She had bruises and injuries too, and looking down, he saw that her clothing was largely torn into useless rags. She was barely covered, and her body had other wounds.

“Eyes up here, mister.” She smiled sadly. “I’m glad you’re alive, Jack. Though it looks like you’ve seen better days.”

Jack returned his eyes to her, ashamed that his gaze had lingered a little too long on her body. “I thought they’d done the same to you.”

“Not quite.” She wrapped her arms around him gently, so his wounds wouldn’t scream. “They raped me, Jack.”

Jack was speechless. He should have expected that, but it didn’t make the news any easier to grasp. If they were single-minded in their efforts to break the reporters so that Ernest would agree to their terms, then physical brutality was just one of the available weapons. He pulled back from her embrace and saw she was crying.

He hugged her back. “I’m sorry, Celeste.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“What was all this for? What does it all mean? We’re reporters, for fuck’s sake!” She exhaled loudly. “What stopped them?”

“Orders. The torturer made it clear that this was all about getting to Ernest. I think it might have worked.”

“Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad to have the company.”

They said nothing for a while. He felt human for the first time in days, as safe in her arms as a newborn in its mother’s embrace. He felt a mix of relief at being spared Malley’s fate and fear of what was still to come, but whatever the next move was going to be, at least he wasn’t alone. He hugged her and laughed.

She drew back from him slightly. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m in here with you. I could just as easily be slumped outside with a bullet in me.”

She nodded and sat on the concrete floor, gesturing for him to sit too. He didn’t resist when she gently moved his head to her lap; it felt like a pillow after so many days without sleep. He enjoyed her strokes on his cheeks, and realized it was the first time he’d lay down in days without water, or light, or pain to break up his attempts to sleep.

She leaned in close and whispered in his ear. “Let’s just stay sane until we’re out.”

He closed his eyes. “We might never be out.”

***

Chen sighed as he looked through the night-vision binoculars. He’d spent several hours on his stomach and now the front of his clothing was cold and damp. It was a less than glamorous way to spend an evening, but it was vital to getting in and out with his head still on his shoulders and with the information he needed.

The men guarding Anton Clark’s house were in sight. The amount of security made Chen’s job harder. More warm bodies moving about always did. The guards were all part of a small security detail that kept Anton’s family and property free from threat, though it had done nothing to protect him from Michelle Dominique sticking a pen in his eye. He knew they could outgun anything he had access to at such short notice. He couldn’t worry too much about that, but he could stay hidden and hope his superior training would win out if he was seen. He was just glad that Dominique had managed to craft a story about Anton being overseas on business. The cover seemed to have held up.