by T. K. Toppin
THE MASTER KEY
The Lancaster Trilogy Vol. II
T.K. Toppin
The Master Key – The Lancaster Trilogy Vol. II
©2018 by T.K. Toppin
Cover Art © 2018 by Tomomi Ink
Edited by Kriegler Editing Services
Formatted by WriteIntoPrint.com
All rights reserved.
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material contained herein is prohibited without express written permission of the author.
This book was previously published by Champagne Books/Burst Books (2011) under the title The Master Key.
Unlocking the past…could unleash chaos.
Josie begins her new life in the future as wife to the world president, John Lancaster. But all is not idyllic. A dangerous man from her past returns to wreak more havoc and destruction. Along with him comes a hostage, Josie’s great-niece seven times removed. The trade off—a keycode for the life of her niece.
As revelations of Josie’s long-ago past begin to unfold, every question she has ever asked is answered. Together with John, she heads to the Scrap Yard, a cybernetics space station where a battle to regain control of the world’s droids begins.
Can Josie save the life of her new-found niece? Will learning the truth about her family and her past really be enough to put the ghosts to rest?
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
About the Author
Chapter 1
“She’ll never make it as an operative.” Simon had his arm propped over John’s shoulder as they watched me recover from a stumble.
“I heard that!” Pinwheeling my arms to regain my balance, I resumed my fight training. The two idiots were standing right at the edge of the training mat, scrutinizing my every move like know-it-alls.
“She’s my wife, not one of your lot,” John replied. “But you’re right. An operative she will never be. I’m just glad she’s honing her defense skills. Clumsy, but still…”
“Well at least now she won’t second-guess her own strength and abilities,” Simon continued. “A few months ago, she would’ve chosen to duck and run. Now she meets the threat head on. She’s finding her confidence.”
“I’m right here, guys.” I aimed a punch at the sparring droid’s belly, but it dodged, and I missed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“At least her cover will stand,” Simon muttered, a chuckle in his tone and still acting like I was invisible. “What was I even thinking when I suggested she be an operative.”
“Oh, come on. You know you like her. Why can’t you just admit it?” John said.
“My old friend, your wife is crass, rude, nosy, and naïve as a child. But she’s somehow managed to tame your brute heart and reawaken your fun side. And she has this uncanny ability to make you swoon like a girl. Something that was practically unheard of until she came to live at the Citadel. For that, she’s okay. Best pals? No.”
I twisted my torso and pivoted into a lunge to complete a difficult counter-attack kick on the sparring droid. Upturning it with success, I then gave it a final crotch kick, and another, not that it mattered much to the droid. With a huff, I strode toward the two men.
“Temper, temper,” Simon clicked his tongue, not quite masking the nod of approval at my performance.
John smiled at me. “You didn’t want to stick your tongue out at it?”
“Such restraint,” Simon smirked.
“Tell that to the stupid fucking droid,” I retorted, out of breath. “And I just bet it was you who programmed that last fancy bit of arm-work.” I mimicked a series of hand movements, like a cartoon martial arts fighter. “Hah! But I beat it, so there.” I flashed John a wide grin and stuck my tongue out at Simon.
Yanking a towel from a shelf, I scrubbed my sweaty face with enthusiasm. “What time is it?” I flung the towel over my neck and looked to John. “Isn’t it time to go yet?”
“Almost three.” John smiled at the floor, head bowed in his usual manner. It covered his embarrassment over staring at me as he did. I teased him about if I ever caught him doing so, which was most times.
“Enough time to get cleaned up, dressed, and transported to Toronto.” Simon, helpful as ever, grinned. “And scrub extra hard, with soap this time. You’re a bit smelly.”
I rolled my eyes and snorted. “Well, at least I’ll smell clean at the end of it, unlike you, who’s just naturally stinky.” I huffed again. A lame retort, but I couldn’t let Simon have the last word.
John suppressed a laugh and shook his head. Hooking an arm through mine, he tugged me into the elevator that would take us to the kitchen a floor above.
“Come along, children,” John said. “We’ve also a little time to grab a quick bite before we head off.”
“Does he really have to come with us?” I glanced up at John, who was just a few inches taller.
“Someone has to keep an eye on you.” John winked, squeezing my arm. “Two days is not long, but it’s long enough for you to get into all sorts of trouble.”
I groaned loud and long, tipping my head back. “I promise not to get into trouble!”
“Promises, promises,” Simon muttered from behind us. The elevator doors opened and we filed out into the large kitchen.
One of John’s automated housekeepers was cleaning the cooking range and turned to offer us a polite smile. The thing was designed to look middle-aged with soft-features and graying hair, like everyone’s favorite aunt.
I still wasn’t accustomed to having robots around, especially ones that looked human. Their waxy, artificial complexions and over-bright eyes put me off the most. With a scowl in place, I gave Crocker a wide berth before planting my backside on a kitchen stool. At least John’s name for the droid was amusing—his wry sense of humor in naming it after the legendary Betty.
John instructed Crocker to provide us with refreshments and a light snack. With a small inclination of the head, Crocker obliged with cheer. I grunted with a sneer. I hadn’t spoken directly to any of John’s droids, yet, preferring to defer that task to him.
“So,” I cleared my throat. “After the big do tonight…”
Leaning against the kitchen counter, John glanced at me. “You’re sure?” And watched me for signs of distress.
I nodded, but frowned.
Three hundred years was a long time to wait to see one’s hometown again. It had changed. A lot. But I had to see it in real life. Holographic images and pictures of the city was one thing, but to actually be there was another. It would be painful, knowing that what once was, was no longer, but it was something I needed to do. Closure, a word I detested hearing and using, was what I really needed.
And thoughts of visiting my hometown dredged up
ancient memories, which had been circling my mind since John mentioned two weeks ago that he had a big gala to attend in Toronto. I’d known I’d revisit the place one day, but that “one day” had come far too soon. I was ready, but there were moments when I wasn’t so sure I could handle it. To me, it still seemed like the other day when I’d climbed into the stasis pod.
Tilting my head, I saw that John was giving me his Lancaster inspection. Watchful and worried, and a pinch annoyed. I returned it with one that I hoped said, “I’m fine.”
John held my gaze a moment longer, then averted his eyes to the floor, clamping his lips together in his habitual way. “And, you know, I can only accompany you in the afternoon.”
I nodded and flicked a glance at Simon’s square, angular face. Everything about Simon was straight and sharp, from head to toe. He stood tall with the proud, strong bones and face of a Viking. Short, cropped red hair that matched his eyebrows hugged his scalp. Paler lashes framed small, intense blue eyes. He was the light to John Lancaster’s dark and mysterious. Complete opposites.
“I know. You said so. Meantime I get Thor here as a babysitter,” I snorted, scowling at Simon.
He and John stood shoulder to shoulder in height. I knew from experience that both moved with lightning speed and lethal power. They had mastered the art of combat until it had become part of them. And the two were as devoted to each other as lovers, and then some.
A frown creased between John’s brows. “And as I said before, I don’t think it’s wise to go to Prince Edward Island. There will be nothing there to see anyway. Your brother’s farmhouse…is gone.”
Why not? I wanted to retort, but held my tongue. It would sound petulant and petty. “I know,” I replied, my tone flat.
We had discussed—and argued—about it to no end, yet he kept reminding me. Prince Edward Island was where my brother and young family had once lived, on a farm, growing potatoes and producing alternative fuel for the island. The farm held some of my happiest memories. When I was there, the scent of the country, the idyllic lifestyle, and family moments squeezed my heart in all sorts of emotional ways. It was a time when everyone was happy, at ease and at peace. And alive.
And PEI had also been where my father had ended up secreting away my stasis pod. With me sleeping inside, right there in that dark, damp cellar amid bags of potatoes and stacks of jams and preserves. How and why I’d ended up there was a complete mystery. I’d probably never know, and it was something I tried hard to accept. And now, no one was around to tell me. My father, the underrated Dr. Peter Bettencourt, had died, documented as killed under mysterious circumstances, soon after he’d hidden me. But before his death, his research had been published, and pandemonium had spread throughout the scientific community. Suspended animation was doable, safe, and here to stay! All sorts of groups were for it, dishing out money and force to obtain it from my dad. And all sorts of groups were just as strongly against it.
The fate of my brother and his family was another mystery, one I loathed to know, though curiosity tweaked at the thought incessantly, begging me to find out. Initial searches had come up empty. Had they also been murdered, or had they lived out their natural lives? Had the world’s economic downfall and famines affected them? Were their descendents still alive? Did I still have family? I wanted to know, but at the same time, I didn’t. That place held many mysteries, but perhaps many clues too. The desire to go there was intense. But pointless.
PEI was now home to one of the most sophisticated and ultra-secret defense posts for the Atlantic Basin, a facility run by the Lancaster government. What happened there stayed there. Operatives were trained at the facilities there, becoming lethal and adept at their trade. A place loosely touted as being where I had come from, training-wise. Close enough to the truth, yet so wild and fictitious that even I had trouble keeping the “facts” straight. Posing as an operative had its downfalls when it came time to be truthful. As it was, I’d learned to keep my manner aloof and my mouth shut. But that didn’t stop people from talking about me with keen interest.
John continued to watch me with that all-seeing Lancaster stare.
“I know,” I repeated. “I said I won’t go.”
It pained my heart, but John was right. There really was nothing there for me, nothing familiar. Prince Edward Island was military base, nothing more. Cold, stark, deadly and secret, and any trace or memory of what the island once was or had, was no longer. With a sigh, I looked away, inspecting my reddened knuckles.
John gave my arm a light squeeze to bolster my spirits. He didn’t like to see me sad or troubled; it worried him. So I put on a brave smile for him.
Crocker returned with a tray laden with small savory treats, the meaty tang seasoning the air and making my belly somersault in anticipation. Taking them to a round table in a breakfast alcove overlooking a lush forest of mountain pines, the robot dished them out. With the table set, Crocker inclined her head and asked what we wanted for beverages. John ordered three mineral waters and followed me to the food—my stomach never failed to dictate my actions before all else.
“But I’m still going to my old neighborhood,” I announced, stuffing a meat pie into my mouth. “I don’t care if it’s a hyper-super-whatever-mall, I want to see it. And I want to cruise up Yonge Street—at least that’s still there.”
Once our hasty meal was consumed, I dashed into the shower to clean up. Before long, we were in the shuttle and heading to Toronto. Butterflies made a frenzied attempt at breaking loose in my stomach. I had to take discreet breaths to calm my nerves. I was really going back.
The shuttle had been in the air not ten minutes and already Simon had found some shit to fling at me and start an argument. John groaned as he reclined in his seat. In a quiet corner at the rear of the shuttle sat Loeb, John’s aide, who was making a point of studying the speech John was to give later. Whatever thoughts ran through Loeb’s mind regarding me never showed. He was always professional, his face neutral bland. I could tell Loeb was quite fond of me, though, and not in the icky way. Respectful. To Loeb, John and I were part and parcel of his job. He showed kind patience with me and exhibited immense tolerance toward my abrasive manner. I knew my cussing grated on his refined sensibilities. Loeb was almost a throwback character from centuries ago, like a butler or valet who saw and did everything, but never uttered a word about it or let it influence their personal opinions.
John ran a hand through his dark hair; he seemed distracted by it ever since it had been freshly trimmed. It was a bit too short for his liking. The last time he looked in the mirror he grumbled, saying his scalp felt exposed, and made his widow’s peak spike up like a mountain. For all the gruffness he liked to portray, he was quite particular with his grooming regime. With his eyes closed and head resting on the seat back, he ran a palm over the widow’s peak, trying to tame it some. It made me smile and, without meaning to, my eyes drifted along his body. That tall and slender form, tapered like a diver’s physique. It matched his lithe and fluid movements, and only accented his keen predatory demeanor. John was the epitome of dark and brooding. He was a man utterly comfortable in his own skin, accustomed to the power he wielded as if it were second nature. His movements and actions were always in check, deliberate, but reined in to contain the wild elemental force within. John was consciously aware of and in control of his emotions. Attuned. But at times, he’d be afflicted with random outbursts, especially when something affected him so deeply that the only outlet was to roar. And roar he did. I realized it must be hard work being John. Who wouldn’t have a hissy fit now and then?
All his life, he’d been observed with a mixture of loathing and awe. Being the grandson and son of two dictators didn’t help his image much. Because of this, he’d learned to keep his face in control, thoughts private, head bowed. He was young, thirty-seven, and just beginning to show the strain and stress of leadership around his eyes and mouth. His brows, thick and dark, moved as if by their own design, expressing a multitude o
f emotions the rest of his face seemed incapable of expressing. And those dark hazel eyes, set deep in his face; I swore they glowed with a dark menace—predatory.
When I first met him, his appearance had chilled me to the bone. He was a contradiction; gentle but wild, handsome yet marred, young and also ancient. John was quiet by nature, accenting it by holding his head low, his thoughts secret. Private. He had a habit of compressing his mouth and it added to the intense persona he exuded. His complexion was pale, his nose small and a little upturned—delicate but brutally male. The sharp cheekbones and strong jaw, his combat-ready stance, these all embodied the fearsome presence that was John Lancaster.
There was still so much I didn’t know about him. Every day I learned something new, whether good or bad—and he, I guess, learned likewise about with me. To each of us, the other was as vital an element to living as oxygen. We rarely parted for extended periods—couldn’t. And if we did, we remained in close contact with one another. We’d grown to depend on each other. A unit. If someone had ever asked me about love being so inseparable, I would’ve laughed it off. But now I was living proof that love like that did exist.
And it was mine. He was mine. Who would ever have guessed—
What was Simon nattering on about now? Security?
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. You’re such an asshole, you know that?” I plastered on a frown and snapped back. That seemed an appropriate enough response, especially since he was scowling at me.
Loeb cleared his throat with a closed fist to his mouth. People hardly, or just didn’t, swear in this stick-up-the-ass future. He’d been somewhat briefed on my past, the key dates and elements having been omitted. As far as anyone was concerned, I was a pod-survivor from fifty years ago, just as the first Lancaster took control of the world. The story went that I’d been resuscitated and re-trained to serve as an operative for the current Lancaster. This would account for my crass, old-world behavior.
When Dane Lancaster ruled, he’d implemented a strict new law—death would ensue on breaking it—forbidding the use of expletives and other behaviors deemed crude and obscene. The law enforced the proper use of language, including the instillation of old traditions of formality, etiquette and behavior, and the resurrection of strong familial values that over the previous centuries had run askew. And now, generations later, old habits died hard.
