The Suns of Liberty (Book 2): Revolution (11 page)

“Governor Adams, I have an
official proclamation from the Council to inform you that from this day forth,
all decisions made by your office, the legislature, or the judiciary will be
officially reviewed by Council officers.” 

Adams was dumbstruck. He had known
the deputy chief going on twenty years. It was not often a governor was simply barged
in on, let alone then told his authority was being taken away. Let alone from
someone he thought was his friend. Adams shook his head, tried to dislodge the
cobwebs that had crept into his thoughts. He rose from his chair.

“Now wait just a minute!  I
was a supporter of the Council since day one, but this is an outrage! If this
is about State Street, that decision did not come from this office. You
know
that!”

“We are only here to enforce the
law.”

“I enforce the laws in this
state.”

The chief smiled. “Not
anymore.” 

Adams thought he might have
detected a hint of regret in the deputy chief’s voice.

“Oh, this is ridiculous!”

“Massachusetts is coming under
federal control.”

“This isn't federal control, this
is Council control.” 

The deputy chief cocked his head
and raised his eyebrows. “That's precisely the attitude that got your authority
taken away. I would guess...sir.” 

He said
sir
with emphasis,
as if Adams was part of the Resistance. The governor just couldn't believe what
he was hearing. No one could have done a better job at containing the
insurgents. There was only so much a governor could do, after all. He felt his
temper rising, and as he spoke, the tightness in his throat was audible despite
his best efforts.

“I didn't ask for the insurgents
to come to Boston any more than you did!  It's not my fault that the
temporary control of the Council has lasted ten years. If they want to see the
Resistance end, then tell them to give back their authority.”

The deputy chief smiled slyly.
He'd gotten through, gotten what he needed. He paced over to the large office
window, peered out. Dropped the civility.

“You have a nice office here.” His
tone was lower, more serious. Giving it to the governor straight now. 
Adams could feel the blood rush to his face as he listened to the deputy
chief’s words. “It would be a real shame to lose it. I would imagine that
someone like me could report things like what you just said to...
certain
people,
shall we say?”

The deputy chief spun on his heel,
glared into Adams's eyes. “What you're going to do is sit down, shut up, and
collect your salary.” He paused for a second and then added, “Old friend.”

The deputy chief motioned his men
to leave, and as they slipped out the door, the he stopped and leaned back in.

“Either that, or you'll get to
know
us
a whole lot better.”

Chairman Sage received a call from the deputy chief
on his private line. The chief relayed details about his conversation with the
governor. He told Sage that he could stand witness to the governor’s resistance
to the order. A little extra insurance in case Adams was fool enough to fight
it. And with that, the bureaucratic independence of one of America's founding
states died away. Chairman Sage could do whatever he wanted in the great state
of Massachusetts.

CHAPTER
18

P
aul
Ward folded his newspaper. On the front page was a story he had read carefully.
DOD SHUTS DOWN RAIL STATION FOR SECURITY.  He tucked the paper into his
back pocket and opened the large wooden door.

Ward strolled into the third pew
and bowed to pray. The church was large, dark, and quiet. Candles burned on the
altar up front, providing more than half the light in the room. Ambient waves
of sunlight streamed through thick, dark stained glass high above. It was a
solemn place.

 Looking about, Ward slipped
his hand under the seat in front of him.

There it was. He pulled out a
single piece of folded paper. Palmed it and slipped it into his front pants
pocket. He waited for a few moments. Then, crossing his heart, he rose and exited
the row.

An
old-school
information
drop.

Outside the church, Ward scanned
the street. No one around. A quiet late morning. Bright sunlight beamed onto
the empty pavement. He sat on the stairs and unfolded the note.

“All right, partner, give me
something good.”   

Ward read the note quickly. After
months of requests, he finally read the line he'd waited so long for.

“You've agreed to meet?” He was
surprised, elated. He couldn't help but say it out loud. He was more than a
little surprised when he got an answer.

“Actually, we're meeting right
now.”

Ward spun. Behind him stood a
beautiful, statuesque blonde, early thirties. She was smiling at him. There was
a quiet confidence about her. Long, beautiful hair. A very athletic looking
figure wrapped in a high-powered business suit that was nonetheless fitted for
style.

And he was in just a sweater and
jeans. And then it really hit him.
This is The Source.
A woman. What a
chauvinist he had been! All this time he had assumed The Source was a man. He
couldn't even think of what next to say.  He heard himself splutter
something unintelligible.

“Relax,” she said with a
comforting smile “It’s just you and me. I'm Alison Mitchell.”  She offered
her hand and Ward shook it. “The Source.”

“How did you find out?”  he stammered
awkwardly, still shaken.

“Good at what I do. You probably
already figured I work for the Council?”

“That makes a lot of sense.” No,
he actually hadn't seriously considered the Freedom Council itself—figured it
was too hard to work from within it.
The heart of the beast.
She was
even better than Ward had imagined.

“If we're gonna be partners, only
makes sense to get to know each other. I just had to wait for the right time.
Had to be sure no one was watching me watch you. Hazard of the job.”

Alison handed him a one-page
report. She stiffened. Her face said
back to business.

“I’m guessing you’re planning to
stake out that missile shipment next week?” She pointed to the paper Ward was
holding with the headline about the Department of Defense planning to shut down
the rail station. “And yes, I do think Fiddler and Revolution may be there. It
fits the pattern.”

“So it
is
missiles. Good.”
Ward figured that upped the chances of Revolution showing up.

“No, not good. It's a trap for
both of them, and you could end up getting killed.” 

“A trap? Are you sure?”

“Have I ever been wrong?”

“No.” She hadn’t. Not once. She
clearly had good judgment.

“That's why you keep coming back
here, despite the risk.”

“True.”

“Look, if you care about him like
I know you do, I would try to warn Revolution to stay away. The Council doesn't
want to make him a martyr, but if he's in the wrong place at the wrong time...
Let's just say this is an arms shipment to India that they want more than they
want either him or Fiddler to stay alive. And there's a lot more heat on
Revolution right now for some reason.” She paused and seemed to anticipate his
next question. “I don't know why.”

“How do you know so much about
me
?”
That had sounded a bit more paranoid than he'd intended.

Alison's eyes lit up; her cheeks
flushed slightly. The reaction was immediate and involuntary. It made Ward’s
heart skip a beat and put the whole conversation in an entirely new light.
She’d slipped out of her business-woman-in-control mode
completely.

“I'm just...a fan. Have been ever
since word about you came across my desk and I figured out who you were and
what you were about. I believe in what you’re trying to do.” She leaned out and
touched his arm. “No one else knows, Paul. I kept it to myself. You can trust me.” 

There was no reason
not
to
trust her. She had never led him astray. In fact, she had put him on the map.
Put him face to face with Fiddler.

As she pulled her arm away, Ward noticed
just how beautiful she really was. Her hair was salon perfect. She was showing
just a bit too much cleavage for a business meeting. Why had it take him this
long to notice
that?
A nice skirt. High heels. A perfumed body oil
shined her skin and wafted its scent over to him on the late morning breeze.

Stay professional
.

Ward tried to think of anything
else. “It was the carjacking, wasn't it?  You caught my trail the day I
first met the Revolution.” 

“Very good.”

“I don't know why I never thought
of that before.”

“You can't think of everything.”

That was true. Still, figuring out
puzzles was what he did, and this one had been staring him in the face. He had
first run into the Revolution when he had intercepted a police call in South
Boston. Dumb luck. He had headed over and found the Dark Patriot himself
involved in a shootout. An early version of the paralysis darts had helped
Revolution subdue the assailants without bloodshed. As a test of the darts, it
was a total failure. The serum circulated fast, made them woozy, but it had
taken two hours to knock the targets out.

Made the Revolution happy, though.
It turned out the attackers were undercover Council Guard who were trying to
kidnap a member of the Resistance.  

Later, Revolution found Ward at the
steeple and thanked him. But not without a warning to stay out of his business.
The Revolution was a loner and clearly wanted it to stay that way. If Ward
could only get a second chance at talking to him.
Got my speech memorized.

Now, as he thought about it, the
whole mystery of how The Source had found him was falling into place. He could
have been upset that someone like Alison could know this much about him with so
little information to start from. But for some reason it was a huge relief.
Someone knew. A weight lifted. He hadn’t realized how hard it had been to keep
all of this a secret. He was a people person after all. Keeping secrets sucked.
It was liberating to finally have a partner to share it with! A partner he
could trust with his life. A partner who understood his mission rather than
telling him his obsession was unhealthy and unproductive. That he needed to
move on. And it didn’t hurt that his partner was a beautiful, intelligent
woman!

For the first time in a long time
he felt like a lucky guy.

“You wanna go get some coffee or
something?” Ward was smiling. Couldn't help it.

She smiled back.

CHAPTER
19

W
ard
looked at her. Really looked at her. He thought there must have been hearts breaking
all over Boston right then. Alison Mitchell was a smart, capable bombshell. The
kind of woman every man turned to look at when she entered a room.

Paul Ward was a rich, single,
reasonably handsome man. In other words, a
very eligible
bachelor. He
knew when a woman wanted him. He was well experienced with beautiful women
hitting on him. A benefit of being a rich bachelor. And he was pretty sure that
if he didn't come off as the mondo-geek he really was, she was his.

They walked a block and a half north
to a little coffee shop that Ward visited often. Good espresso and decent
muffins. He really wanted to take her to his favorite spot four blocks further,
but her heels did not look like they were made for that.

On the other hand, she was a champ
in them. Obviously she was used to dressing for success. And he kept noticing
how nice they made her legs look. He kept having to tell himself,
This is
The Source.
And to be a good boy. To stay professional.
 

When they found a table, Ward
pulled her chair out for her and fetched a couple of menus. But they both stuck
to coffee even though the hour was approaching lunchtime.

They meshed surprisingly well.
They shared the easy early flirtations of a couple that had just met but liked
what they saw. She liked his humor, and he liked hers. They clicked. This
wasn't a chess match. This was two people who
wanted
to get along. Ward
was always an easy guy to talk to, but they their banter was absolutely
effortless. How often do you find that in someone else? Not often in Ward’s
experience.

Before long they turned to more
serious matters. Ward found it remarkable that he could so easily discuss the
tragedies of the recent past with her. He had such a hard time thinking of them
himself. But he spilled them. Not in a sad, neurotic way, but very
matter-of-factly.

It turned out that Alison had a
good reason to seek out someone like Ward. She told him how her parents had
been murdered by street gangs loyal to local politicians who would later reveal
ties to the Council. Ward, in turn, talked about his own demons. The ghosts of
his past. The death of his wife and little boy. Ghosts he too often chased away
by dulling the pain. He told himself he was just testing new batches of his
serenity serum. But he knew better.

Okay, he didn't tell her that last
part.

Then he told her something she
already knew.

Fiddler had killed his son, David.

A drive-by shooting. His boy was
gunned down for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Alison Mitchell
knew this because she had already done her homework. Had already put two and
two together. She was good at what she did. And that was something that Ward
already knew. She explained that she dealt in information every day. With Media
Corp in charge of the Freedom Council, information had always been key.
Gathering information and manipulating it. They framed reality. She helped them
do it.
More to be impressed by
, he thought.