The Master Key

by T. K. Toppin

  “All right,” he said, knowing she was awake. “I’m sorry. But you know the situation. A disruption during the gala with us both present is just too close for comfort. For you to then go gallivanting around the city would be just plain lunacy. You know that, don’t you?” He stared up at the dark ceiling, imagining what her expression would be like. Murderous was the first thought that came to mind.

  Josie sighed and rolled onto her back. “Of course I know that. Don’t speak to me as if I’m a child. I’m not stupid. I know all that security shit. I’m just upset, is all. Disappointed.” Her tone suggested she was about to start, or was already, pouting.

  “And I said I’ll take you once things quiet down. Maybe in a couple of months, we’ll come unofficially. Under the radar.”

  “I know. You promised.”

  John flinched. It sounded too much like an accusation. Choosing to ignore it, his mind flicked to other things. Rolling to his side, he propped his head on his hand.

  He had to remember Josie wasn’t like most women. She had survived three hundred years in suspension and came out of it looking like death. Jerked away from a safe and peaceful world and dropped into what for her must be a nightmare. She’d been kidnapped, threatened with death by fanatical extremists, suspected of being a terrorist and then marked for assassination. She’d even stepped before an exploding human-bomb to save him and herself, had to kill people, and then she married him.

  Me. The thought always made him swell with joy and pride. Warmth. And weakness. John Lancaster, the World President of the United Europe and Americas. Before her, he was just a humble man. She had chosen him and, finally, seemed at peace with her new life. Connected, belonging. Happy.

  But he knew the mysteries of her past assaulted her sanity. Being here must not be easy for her, so close to her original home, yet centuries away. He needed to remember that. He needed to be more understanding.

  “Again. I’m sorry.” John reached out a tentative hand to touch her stomach. “So can we just get to sleep? Our shuttle leaves first thing in the morning. And I never said you were stupid.”

  “Yes, you have. Countless times.” There was no sarcasm in her voice. She wriggled up closer, then turned her back to him and jumped. “What the fuck is that?”

  “Hmm?” he murmured. His proud erection poked her back.

  “Don’t you ever get tired?”

  “Well, I figured if you weren’t sleepy and keeping me up—pardon the pun—we might as well make the most of the night. Dawn is still a long way off.”

  Josie giggled and snuggled closer, shifting so John would have a clear path to get between her thighs. His hand was already there, investigating. Drawing in a sharp breath, she tilted her head back to find his mouth. He kissed her hungrily and brought her to climax with his hand before she even had a chance to take in another breath. Then, in one quick and sure move, he took her from behind.

  It was fast, hard, and desperate, the frustration of the day working its way out, and it was what they both needed now. Afterward, they lay still joined, breathing heavily and clinging to one another.

  “I’m sort of glad not to see it just yet.” Josie’s voice was hoarse, ragged from the exertion. His arm draped over her ribs rose and fell with her heavy breathing, her heart thundering against it. “I don’t know why. Maybe I’m a little scared to see it again.”

  “It’s changed quite a bit. You’ve seen the old archive images.” John kissed the back of her neck and gave her a light squeeze. He was close to dozing off; the scent of her body furred his mind. He willed himself to pay attention, but it was a losing battle. Even his speech slurred.

  “That it has.” Josie sounded distant. “Would you go back if it were you? To see?”

  “Yes, I would.” He ran a hand over her shoulder. “And you want to. I know you. I’ll be there with you when you’re ready. You won’t have to reminisce on your own.”

  “I know.” She made a contented noise. “I know.”

  John drifted into a sweet sleep, spurred by the exertion of sex and the comfort of Josie’s body next to him, her scent drugging him. His dreams were light, happy, about his parents, his siblings, with much laughing, and having a meal at their dining room table. Curled in his lap was Hissy, his kitten, purring as he fed her bits of food from his plate. He was giggling at something and he wanted to keep doing it. It was so nice to just laugh…

  A sharp ding invaded his senses, waking John with a start. The remnants of the dream lingered, and he had a half smile on his face. Beside him, Josie muttered something that sounded a lot like the smallest animal in a litter. It confused him, since Hissy was quite small.

  “Who’s a runt?” John shook his head to clear it. He could’ve sworn he’d only rested his eyes for ten minutes. “What?”

  “Fucking doorbell.” Josie growled into her pillow.

  “Who is it?” he called out, knowing only Simon would dare ring so late at night. He was up in a flash, stepping into his pants. Something urgent must’ve happened for Simon to come calling. He gave Josie a quick glance, waited for her to cover up with the sheets, then opened the door.

  Simon’s body was tense, and a dour look twisted his face as he pressed a hand against the doorframe. John nodded and stepped aside for his friend to enter. Josie muttered some more and struggled with the covers, tucking them securely about her.

  “We’ve a situation,” was all Simon said.

  “Shit,” Josie gripped her stomach and stared at Simon. “How many times have we heard him say that before something horrible happens?”

  “Michael Ho.”

  After a moment’s silence, John ran a hand through his hair. “Where?”

  “Direct link to us. He wants to talk.”

  “What the fuck for? He’s still alive?” Josie blurted. Her face contorted with fear. “I thought he was supposed to be dead.”

  “It was never confirmed—just suggested.” John’s chest froze at the sight of her face. He would do his damndest to let no harm come to her. “Did he say what he wanted?”

  Simon shook his head. “We’ll find out in the morning. I’ve prepped everyone and the shuttle is ready. We leave in one hour.” He looked at Josie with a wink and a click of the tongue. “I suggest you get dressed, but I’m sure the media wouldn’t mind you naked. Personally, I’d rather see a warthog having a crap while standing in a fly-infested cesspool.”

  Josie snorted, gathered up the sheets and headed straight to the en suite bathroom.

  Simon plucked at John’s arm to stop him. “He wants to talk to Adam as well.”

  “Does he now?” With slow, deliberate movements, John pulled a jersey over his head and smoothed it over his body. “Now, I wonder why?”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “What time is he meaning to chat with us?”

  “Nine.” Simon flicked a glance at his watch. “More than enough time to get back.”

  Josie padded out, dressed and ready. It didn’t take her long to throw on a sweatshirt, pants, and soft shoes. She held a large bag that contained all her other clothes and toiletries. She traveled light. John loved that about her.

  “I heard. I thought no one knew about Adam’s circumstances.” Josie dropped the bag by the door and walked back to the bedside table to retrieve her personal unit, a new model Slide, which she dropped into her pocket. John had only just given it to her, and she had yet to work out all its functions.

  “Which means either there’s a leak or Adam has been in contact,” Simon replied.

  “Whichever it is, I intend to plug it up,” John answered in a low voice.

  “How can there be a leak?” Josie hoisted the bag onto her shoulder, ignoring John’s extended hand and offer to carry it for her.

  “People talk, they see things, no matter how careful we are,” John said. “I will find out.”

  Chapter 4

  Adam Lancaster was a sick man. He’d been sick all his life. For as long as he could remember, he was either in a
hospital or confined to a bed, receiving treatment after treatment until his body and mind no longer focused on it. He could remove himself to another place, a place where no pain existed, no suffering. A place where he alone was in control.

  He had done that once. What had followed was a madness that almost killed him and his family. And it had made him murder his own father. It was a poor excuse, the reason to kill, but it was so.

  He was a very sick man.

  Adam blinked the thought away, took a breath, and concentrated on calm. The last few months in exile seemed to bring out his melancholy side. Drawing it out for days on end, he ran the risk of becoming morose. That was a weak trait. But he had far too much time now to reflect on what could have been, should have been. Some days, he was certain his mind was confused and playing tricks on him.

  Ironic, since it had been his mind that had made him successful. Alas, such was the existence of a man in exile. He was no better now than when he lay sick in bed as a child, with nothing but endless time at his disposal.

  Did he regret what he’d done? Yes. The thought of what he’d done sickened him. What was it that drove a son to kill his own father? Greed? Power? Envy?

  No. Sickness, he reminded himself. Or perhaps it was hate, plain and simple.

  To be honest, he’d done it because he’d wanted to. And then he’d killed again because he’d had to, that day when the boy who became Uron Koh killed his own father, Lorcan, who’d been Josie’s protector. And then Koh had turned his sights on Josie, intent on killing her. So Adam had had to kill the boy, stop him. To stop the madness that created the madness. Both he and Koh had killed their fathers. How poetic. And sick.

  Adam’s mind swirled with images and voices, bright slashes of colors and sounds. Confusion plagued him, and at the same time, calmness and clarity.

  Too much time to think.

  Penance? A little atonement? No. Punishment. And this was his purgatory.

  And it was all of the above. He paid for it now, and he welcomed it with a certain pride.

  Pride. He straightened his posture a bit. When nothing else was left, pride was the one thing they couldn’t take from him. Whatever he’d done, he’d always done it with determination and pride.

  And acceptance.

  He’d accepted the fact he was sick and found ways to work around it, to use his mind. He’d accepted that he wasn’t suitable to lead the world, and chosen to follow a different path, using his mind. It was the strongest part of his body. He trusted his mind more than he did his heart. His heart confused things, made him weak and vulnerable—tempted him.

  His heart was in love and it shamed him, weakened him. It had been his heart that had brought him back to the Citadel. He was a fool. A sick fool. To think a woman like her would ever return the love he had for her. He knew better than to indulge in such wishful thinking.

  Yet he pined for her.

  And hoped. His heart kept tricking his mind with promises.

  She had stolen his heart from the first moment he’d seen her. Wrenched it apart and twisted it like a giant clawed hand. She hadn’t known who he was then. He’d been a mere shadow, a figure in the dark, a frightful menace.

  But he saw her.

  And his world stopped making sense. He had to follow her, and he did, straight into the waiting arms of honesty and retribution. He’d convinced himself that he would play it out and see where it led. After all, he’d done wrong, he knew that. Life in exile wasn’t so bad, considering what the alternative could’ve been. Death was something he wasn’t yet ready for. He’d played his brother well, knowing John’s mind well enough that he would stay the executioner’s hand.

  Confessing to the conspiracy to overthrow the government, and to murder, hadn’t hurt Adam as he’d thought it would. In fact, it was liberating. He had a new clean slate upon which to work now. But, like with most confessions, his had come too late. She was already in love with John.

  Now she was married—untouchable. Adam would never dream of acting on his thoughts or desires. To do so would somehow stain and dirty the image he had of her, tarnish the pedestal he’d put her on. She was pure, she was light, she was a mystery; like a diamond with a multitude of gloriously lit facets.

  His mind had accepted this fact, but his heart still betrayed him each time he saw her. As it betrayed him now when a broad smile touched his face as Josie walked through the door and greeted him.

  She’d become a lot like John now, Adam mused. Like forgetting to knock, even doing so on purpose. She used to announce herself, but no longer. And it was so like her to ignore what people thought of their friendship. Especially John, who disapproved strongly.

  Adam was a prisoner, an exile within his own country. His sole purpose was to be sequestered, used only for his mind when called upon. He had been a strategist and was good at it. But to date, he still had not been called upon.

  Another requirement of his exile had been to assist with the rehabilitation of those injured or maimed during the siege. But he’d found his phobias prevented him in the task. He did try, very hard, but it left him ill and useless. His sister, Aline had intervened, but John remained silent. Adam no longer existed to him.

  Josie visited often, or as often as she could. He knew she was still disturbed over the fact he’d killed his own father and betrayed John. Lied. They never spoke of it, yet it hung over them like a dark, suffocating cloud. He was glad for it. It allowed him to keep his distance. And he knew she would never cross over that particular bridge.

  She belonged to John.

  Adam watched as Josie strode into the room. Something had upset her, judging by the twist of her mouth and the thin line between her brows. How well he knew her, her mannerisms. She occupied his mind almost every hour of the day, and even infiltrated his dreams.

  “How was your trip? Did you see everything you wanted to?” Adam asked. He would’ve touched her, but his obsessive-compulsive disorder would not let him comply. She was still riddled with unfamiliar germs.

  * * *

  “We had to cut it short,” I replied.

  Adam cocked his head as he gave me the all-seeing Lancaster inspection. My face must have given me away. I smiled, quick and fast, but it didn’t ease the tension in my jaw.

  I glanced about the room in a wide sweep, a habit I’d started to ensure all was safe and secure and the exits clear and easy to reach. We were in Adam’s private rooms, located in the Citadel’s southern sector in an ultra-secure and out-of-the-way annex just west of where John and I resided. Adam’s small apartment looked out on a glorious view of the mountainside with a stingy glimpse of the famous Doucet Falls.

  The apartment itself was simply furnished. Basic. He wasn’t allowed the use of any communications equipment or devices. In fact, he’d been forced to live like a monk with nothing but his own company. Not even books or television were available to pass the time.

  Aline visited almost as often as I did, sometimes bringing food and small treats. We were his only visitors. Sometimes John walked in with the intent of consulting Adam’s intricate mind or to question him regarding the straggling members of the group who had tried to overthrow the government. But it never panned out that way. He’d just stare at his sick brother with a stony expression, then walk right back out. That was the extent of Adam’s contact with the outside world. And even then, we weren’t supposed to talk about current events in any detail.

  “What is it?” Adam asked with a slight frown. “I know you didn’t come here to talk about your trip.”

  “They’ll be coming by soon to see you. I told them I’d let you know so you could get dressed and ready. I know how you love surprises.” I pushed up a shoulder, remembering John’s sullen face when I told him I wanted to see Adam before the appointment with Michael Ho. He wasn’t pleased, but he didn’t ask why. He’d stopped questioning my reasons for wanting to continue a friendship with his brother. Honestly, I didn’t even know why I was drawn to Adam. Maybe I felt sorry for him. Or
maybe because, like me, he was an outsider—had become an outsider.

  “I sense trouble.” Adam extended an arm, offering me a seat in one of the terrace chairs.

  I knew Adam preferred to spend his days on the terrace, gazing out at the view. It was lush and green now as the last breaths of summer bloomed across the Swiss Alps. Brilliant white snow capped the mountains, and the air was crisp and clean with the sharp tang of pine needles. The weather screens were up to buffer the UV rays and purify the air, but they didn’t spoil the pristine view in the least.

  It was early morning, not yet seven, and Adam still lounged in his robes. Solitary confinement had somewhat diminished his strict wardrobe habits, making him spend half the day in his sleepwear before he showered and made himself ready for evening. Dinner was still something he made sure to be properly attired for—despite eating alone.

  Ignoring the chair, I propped against the wall of the terrace, plucked a leaf from a trailing vine and stared at Adam. How best to broach the subject?

  Fuck it. Just rip the bandage off. “How does Michael Ho know you’re here?”

  Adam’s eyes widened a smidgeon. “I don’t know.”

  He sat as if the wind had knocked him, pale and sallow. Over the months of confinement he’d lost more weight, causing his already stooped shoulders to curve inward. Adam, ten years older than John, now looked closer to thirty years his senior. His once sparsely graying dark hair, so much like John’s, had turned lighter with silver. The face, also like his brother’s, only longer and more elegant, was now hollowed and creased with stress lines around his mouth and forehead.

  “Has he been spotted?” he asked. “I would have sworn he’d been killed.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  I watched Adam. I knew his mannerisms and habits enough to know he was just as surprised as us about news of Michael Ho.

  Glancing about his spartan rooms, I also knew he had no device with which to transmit messages. The fact that the entire area was shielded with a deflector signal, repelling and preventing any form of electronic signal from coming or going, also compounded this. He wasn’t even allowed paper or writing materials. Yet he was allowed free access to sharp utensils like cutlery and glassware. Perhaps to help him self-terminate, should he wish to do so? It would ease the problem and burden of keeping him sequestered like the deep, dark secret he was.