by Powers, AJ
Hagan looked at the man, as if to say, “Well, go on then.”
“We know a lot about you, Matthew.”
Hagan’s body tensed when Carrick uttered his name.
“Certainly, more than the regime knows… Well,” he chuckled, “at least more than they realize they know.”
“What exactly do you know?”
“We know your past… That you were part of a CIA team that never officially existed. We know that some of your colleagues were responsible for rescuing the President from Camp David back in the opening days of the war. We know that you and Solomon Kidd were the prime suspects for the nuclear power plant meltdown out in California. And we also know that neither of you lads were anywhere near the place when it happened.” Carrick checked the mirrors again, the act becoming habitual. “But more importantly, we know why you’re in Alexandria.”
Hagan’s mind reeled as he tried to process the extent of Carrick’s knowledge of his past. And not just Carrick, but his sister, too. How were they able to access such classified information? Better yet, how did they know he was framed for the dirty bomb that triggered a core meltdown at Diablo Canyon? Even Hagan didn’t know exactly who was responsible for that—though he had his hunches.
“How did you get all this information?”
Carrick shook his head. “I never asked. She never told.”
“Aileen?”
“Aye.”
“What does she want from me?”
“She thinks you have potential.”
“Potential for what?”
“To help us advance the cause.”
A look of confusion twisted onto Hagan’s face. “What cause?”
Carrick gave him a funny look, as if Hagan should have figured it out by now. “The insurrection, lad.”
Hagan shook his head, chiding himself for not seeing the forest through the trees. He was losing his edge. Whether from age or blind devotion to his own cause, he didn’t see who he was working for. He was getting sloppy since his arrival in Alexandria, and the blatant oversight that he was working with a group of insurgents hiding in plain view was the proof in the pudding. If he wanted to complete his task, if he wanted to deliver justice to Benjamin’s killers, there was no more room for such careless behavior. Such reckless mistakes.
Aileen being involved with the revolt against the despots of Alexandria wouldn’t have likely changed Hagan’s mind to work with her. After all, she still had the list of names he wanted, and Hagan never regretted offering help to those fighting for freedom—especially other Americans. But knowing she was part of a group that was actively being hunted down by the regime would have influenced change in some of Hagan’s recent decisions. Decisions that were made while he was under the impression that Aileen was more of mob boss instead of a freedom fighter.
Turning slightly in his seat, Hagan nodded to the back. “Okay, so, what’s the deal with Gorbachev back there? How does he fit into this ‘insurrection’ thing?”
Carrick looked in the rearview mirror at the unconscious prisoner. “That fella back there goes by the name of Pavel Kryuchkov. He’s a bioweapons scientist from Moscow.”
“Why the hell would Russia send Alexandria one of their bioweapon guys?” Hagan asked.
Carrick shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me, lad. None of us speak Russian. The closest we got was a Polish fella who spent time in Saint Petersburg a few times a year for business. Not a perfect translation, but we managed to find out that the boyo back there was forced to work at the Kremlin on one of those black-op type projects. Ya know, some real Area-51 shite.”
“How long?”
“He claims about 15 years. Shortly before things went to hell here in the States. They kept his house under guard twenty-four-seven. His wife wasn’t even allowed to leave without an escort. They told him if he didn’t cooperate, they’d make him watch his entire family get gassed before executing him and dragging his naked corpse around Red Square.”
“Just another gorgeous day in Moscow,” Hagan said dryly.
“Aye.”
“How did he end up here, then?”
Carrick took his hands off the wheel long enough to hold them out, palms up. “He claims a group of FSB officers snatched him on his way into the lab one day, no one sayin’ a word. Next thing he remembered was waking up on that ship you and your buddy hijacked.”
Hagan thought back to that night, imagining the countless ways it could have gone wrong for the Russian. “We could have easily mistaken him as one of the crew and popped him like the rest,” Hagan said, turning his head toward Carrick. “You guys didn’t know he was on that ship, did you?”
“No,” he said soberly. “There was no mention of him on the manifest, and our contacts inside the regime had no idea, either. It was sheer luck that you lads weren’t too itchy with the triggers that night.”
“What kind of weapons was the Kremlin having him work on?”
Again, Carrick shook his head. “The lad blathered on for hours about his wife and kids, or the dreadful conditions he was forced to work under. He even spent twenty minutes going on about the terrible body odor of one of the scientists in his lab. But when we asked him about the weapon, suddenly he forgot how to talk.”
“So, you’re handing him over to the Texas Alliance…” Hagan voiced his assumption based on their heading.
“Now you’re suckin’ diesel!” Carrick said excitedly. “Those fellas are quite eager to have a little chat with our friend back there.”
“I would imagine so,” Hagan said. “So, what’s Texas’s involvement with the insurrection in Alexandria?”
Carrick shot Hagan a quick glance and waited a beat before answering, as if he wasn’t sure how much more he should divulge. But the man kept going. “Officially, none. President Huffman wants a reunited America as much as we do, but he knows that if the regime finds out that the Texas Alliance is sponsoring the rebels, they might be willing to take drastic measures against the Texas Alliance, as well as her allies to the north.”
“Nukes?”
Carrick nodded glumly.
“How about unofficially?”
“They mostly supply us with weapons, food, medicine, and intelligence. Of course, they need to keep their distance from that, too. They make sure not to leave any fingerprints behind. They don’t give us anything with their flag on it, which means we typically only get surplus supplies from previous wars. But, as you demonstrated a few minutes ago, there’s still plenty of fun to be had with the antiques.”
Hagan cracked a smile. “Actually, I’m quite comfortable with the antiques.”
Carrick let out a chuckle. “That certainly would seem to be the case, brother.”
“So, why are you coming out and telling me all this, Carrick? Your sister, as well as her right-hand man, keep the cards pretty close to the chest. They only want me to know what they want me to know. And here you are—only having met me this morning—spilling the beans without me even having to try.”
Carrick sighed. “Like I said, Matthew, I know your past. A man must really love his country, and what it stands for, to suffer through what you have. People like you don’t risk their lives for a man in a blue suit sitting behind some fancy desk in an oval-shaped office. They don’t slay the enemy just to clear a path to the oil wells. No. You fought and bled for the sanctity of liberty. Not just for yourself, but for every man, woman and child an ocean away. You understand that without the sacrifices of the few, the many will not survive.
“So, why am I telling you these things?” Carrick asked rhetorically. “Well, for the same reason I told my sister not to use you as a mercenary, but rather, to combine arms with you. It’s because I believe that our fight is your fight, Matthew. Our struggle, your struggle. Men like you don’t just file away their oath along with their retirement papers, suddenly forgetting the sacrifices they made in the name of freedom.” Carrick paused for a moment, doing another scan of his mirrors. “You’re here for vengeance. I under
stand that, lad. Trust me, I understand that. But when you finally get your revenge, you’re going to find it’s a hollow victory at best. Whatever these men did that has you hunting them down like wild hogs… Well, I assure you, they do it hundreds of times a day to the people of Alexandria. And I can say with certainty that they will continue to rape, kill, steal, and oppress the people until enough men like you decide to put a stop to it.” Carrick’s face was solemn, but there was also a gleam in his eye. A look of pride and honor. “The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.”
“Thomas Jefferson,” Hagan replied.
“Aye. The founders of this nation knew this day would eventually come. And they did their best to equip us for it. But now that it’s here, the few must stand up for the many, so that liberty will thrive again.” A couple minutes passed before Carrick closed his appeals with, “We are not short on people devoted to the mission, but we sorely lack those with combat experience. We need men like you and your friend, Solomon. We need warriors who have stared down evil and not blinked. Men who know what it’s like to be an American. I mean, there aren’t very many people that would have even known what was in that case back there, much less how to operate the damn thing. But you… You opened it up, and sixty seconds later that bird was a smoldering heap of debris on the ground. We need people who have tasted freedom and know why it’s worth fighting for. So, the more people we get like you—people that have put themselves between liberty and the enemy—the better our chances that we might actually win this war when it finally comes.
The world around Hagan slowly fell silent. Even the loud drone of the 6.2-liter V8 waned as Hagan contended with the conflicting thoughts invading his mind. His oath to defend and uphold the Constitution of the United States did not just go away because the parchment itself was destroyed during the Battle of the Potomac. He was still, at any given moment, ready to storm the beaches on behalf of the Constitution, or, more importantly, what it represented.
There wasn’t a day that went by for Hagan when he didn’t long for America to be restored to its former glory, so that, when his time came, he might draw his final breath under the banner of the greatest nation in history. He’d envisioned watching the children of his former village, and someday, their children, enjoying the freedoms he got to experience as a child. Imagining their smiling faces and joyous laughter kept his spirits up even in his darker days, which had been more common as of late. Hagan knew that Alexandria stood in the way of those dreams ever coming to fruition. Just like the numerous dictatorships he’d fought against in his youth, Alexandria found its success—it’s victory—by oppressing its people and murdering those who refused to bend their knee. Knowing that millions of Americans lived under the same kind of authoritarianism made Hagan’s blood boil.
In the past, Hagan had even sought out people just like Carrick and his sister to help bring the regime down from within. Lord knows he had plenty of motivation to go after the Alexandrian government. But Hagan’s priorities shifted when he found that young boy in that dark, abandoned warehouse all those years ago. Cold, scared, hungry and alone, Hagan scooped Benjamin up from the filthy floor and carried him back to the village, nursing him back to health. From that day on, Hagan was no longer just a warrior, he was a father. And the fire that burned deep inside of him—the hatred that deluged his soul the moment he found Benjamin’s body lying in a pool of his own blood on the ICU floor—would not be quenched until he had put every last person involved into a shallow grave.
As much as he admired the war Carrick was fighting in, Hagan had his own war to fight, and he couldn’t allow himself to be persuaded to join another fight until after the conclusion of his own.
Chapter 18
The whirs of the blood pressure machine’s motor stirred Mason from his slumber. The cuff on his arm tightened, further rousing his consciousness. He slowly opened his eyes, the room around him out of focus. He tried to swallow, but it felt as if someone had tossed a handful of sand down his throat. As his vision slowly regained focus, Mason located the control on the side of his bed and pressed the red button with an outline of a nurse’s hat. Moments later, a woman with bright blond hair and a pair of dull, gray scrubs came through the door. Her makeup was heavy, and she wore a potent perfume that made him feel lightheaded. But that could have also been the cocktail of drugs still working through his body.
“It’s good to see you awake, Mr. Mason,” she said cheerfully and a little too loudly for Mason’s sensitive ears.
Mason tried to speak, but the pain in his throat was too significant to find much of a voice.
“It’s okay. Perfectly normal after such a procedure. Don’t worry, it’ll come back soon.”
Fighting through the pain, Mason asked, “What happened?” as loudly as he could, his words were barely audible to the nurse looking over his chart just mere feet away.
“You had a couple serious surgeries, Mr. Mason. The doctor will be able to fill you in on the details, but I will say, if it weren’t for that vest you were wearing, we probably wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”
After the nurse asked him a series of questions, her enthusiasm growing with every apparent correct answer Mason gave, she left the room and Mason’s head fell back into his pillow. He lay in silence as he contemplated the alternate universe where he forgot to strap on his Level V body armor before running into the apartment building yesterday. At least, he thought it was yesterday. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, actually. His stomach roiled as he envisioned his widow standing over his grave, trying to explain to Robyn why daddy was never coming back home from work. He would have thrown up had his stomach not been empty.
Mason didn’t regret the decision to move in before the TAC teams arrived—he knew it was still the right call—but he needed to play things more carefully moving forward. The risk of all of this was worth the reward. He wanted to give Kayla and Robyn a better life, but if he wasn’t there to watch them enjoy it, it would be a bitter-sweet victory. And, from the sounds of it, he was a few defibrillator shocks away from screwing the pooch on that plan. He would be smarter and more methodical in the future, but he had no intentions of letting off the gas.
Throughout the morning, Mason had numerous doctors, nurses, and other hospital staff stopping by to ask him questions. The surgeon that saved his life explained how five bullets hit his chest. Three were stopped entirely, one partially penetrated the flesh, the vest slowing it down enough not to fully break through, and the last—the one that almost killed him—fragmenting inside his chest cavity. The doctor credited lady luck for the placement of the last shot, as the bulk of the lead missed his heart by just a few millimeters, and the post-op imaging showed that all the bullet fragments had been successfully extracted with no visible damage to the vital organ or any of the nearby arteries. It was blood loss and the kinetic shock from the impacts that had nearly stolen his life. And now that he was past the worst of it, he was told that a full recovery was not only expected, but in a reasonably short amount of time. Which was a relief to the young hoplite, since there were wheels in motion that he refused to stop.
After eating a light lunch, Mason’s eyes grew heavy and he tried to sleep. The pain, however, prevented sleep from coming. Morphine and other similar pain medications were available to him should he request it—a luxury not always granted to some surgical patients—but he declined. Instead, he opted for intervals of ibuprofen and acetaminophen, which took just enough of the edge off to keep him from writhing.
A knock on the door preceded it slowly opening. Mason, expecting another pair of scrubs, lit up with elation when his wife entered the room. Her expression was tangled with joy and terror as she rushed across the room and over to him. With dozens of wires, IV tubes, and other medical devices connected to his body, she awkwardly and carefully hugged him before pressing her lips deep into his. The tears flooded down both of their faces as the kisses of affection
continued for quite some time.
Kayla gave him one last kiss before laying her head down on his shoulder. Mason tried to control the recoil from the pain as the weight of her head pulled his skin taught, tugging on the sutures in his chest. She hadn’t noticed his flinch.
“I thought we’d lost you forever,” she lamented.
“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” Mason joked.
She snorted through her sobs. “I’m not ready to get rid of you,” she shot back. “I never want to get rid of you.”
They lay in silence for several moments, Mason enjoying every second of the tight embrace from his wife. A simple pleasure that he would no longer take for granted. He scratched her head, occasionally twirling the tufts of her golden-blond hair around his finger as he treasured the moment despite the pain.
“The doctor said you almost died.”
“But I didn’t,” he immediately replied. “I’m here and that’s all that matters.”
Kayla slowly pulled away from him, embarrassed to see his shoulder soaked with her tears. She reached for a tissue on the sink next to his bed and dabbed at her eyes and cheeks. “Listen, Drew…” she trailed off, careful with her words. She leaned in closer and whispered, “This job… It’s just too dangerous.”
“I can’t quit, Kay,” Mason replied. “I won’t.”
“I know. I know. But maybe… Maybe you can get reassigned to another department or something. You know, something a little safer.”
Mason felt as if he was being shot all over again as he saw the desperation in his wife’s eyes as she pleaded with him. Seeing her in such agony was an ache that no drug could numb. He shut his eyes and sighed painfully as she continued to try to persuade him.
“Every morning you walk out our door the first thing I do is pray that you’ll come back through it that night. The second thing I do is wonder if today is the day that God doesn’t hear my prayer.” She laid her head back down on his shoulder and fought to hold back the sobs wanting to come out. “When they told me that you had been shot, and were in surgery, I thought for sure that the day had finally come.”
