by Brad C Scott
Connor’s voice: “Your associate said you’ll get rid of the bearded cocksuckers, once they’ve served your purpose. A good thing for you they’re on my list. But you’d better be sure. Their kind will take it to a whole new level if you let them.”
Revenant’s voice: “The jihadists will be dealt with before the ceremony. All of them.”
Connor’s voice: “So what’s the point, then? Why go to all this trouble if the thing’s going to be shut down? Not that I’m complaining, mind you, I won’t shed a tear over the fanatics getting reunited with Allah, but if there’s even a chance they might succeed, you can see how I wouldn’t want to get involved. That kind of heat could burn a lot of bridges.”
Revenant’s voice: “Only if it was directed at you. The jihadists will be blamed with no one to say otherwise. The foiled terror attack will get us the political leverage we need.”
Connor’s voice: “Right. You’ll set them up and take them down. But why stop there? Why not take us out, too? Oh, don’t look that way, it’s a legitimate question. It might even be fun if you tried, showing you the hard way to go.”
Revenant’s voice: “Your services will still be required after federalization.”
Connor’s voice: “My boys will be on top once the dust settles?”
Revenant’s voice: “Los Santos will receive favored status to conduct the drug trade in St. Louis. In addition to the payment we agreed upon.”
Connor’s voice: “All right, then. Danilo! Bring us a bottle.”
Patton resumes in his own voice: “The memory device also contains dossiers for fifteen individuals operating in and around the St. Louis Reclamation Zone. These individuals have diverse backgrounds but one commonality: all are current or former informants for DRR.”
I shake my head in disgust. “The same tack they took in LA, trying to blind us. He would’ve killed them or turned them. Connor must’ve had someone inside DRR to get this.”
“Malcolm,” says Evans, leaning forward. “What are we supposed to do with this?”
I shake my head and give her a tired smile. “Do with what? None of this helps us get any closer to Revenant, whoever, whatever the hell he is. We still don’t know who’s bankrolling him.”
“The Chief Enforcer,” she says.
“Yeah, he’s a candidate.” Depending on who you ask, the Director of DSS, aka the Chief Enforcer, is the second or third most powerful man in the President’s cabinet. I can’t speak to his character, having never met him, but his reputation is formidable. No one dares fuck with the man for fear of ending up in a Terrorist Detention Center. Or worse. It’s said even the President treads carefully around him. “That’s only speculation, though, we’ve got nothing solid.”
Evans jumps out of the chair. “What the fuck, we won, Malcolm. We stopped those assholes from doing St. Louis like they did LA. The NIDs? Wasn’t stopping that the endgame?” She points at the corpses lined up below. “Don’t tell me that was for nothing.”
I hold up a hand. “You’re right, we did stop them. Yeah, this is a win, but only a battle, not the war. Most of the fuckers behind the memorial attack are dead, but not the one that matters. The one behind all the shit in LA, the one who killed our friends. Revenant has to be reckoned. Until we get him, and whoever’s behind him, the job’s not done.”
Evans puts her hands on her hips. “So, what are we supposed to do now?”
“The real question is, who do we trust. Until we determine who’s backing Revenant, we’ll have to play it close. We can’t share what we have with FBI. No, we’ll take this to Director Johnson. He’ll know what to do with it. But we’re still groping in the dark.”
“Maybe it’s time to go dark,” says Evans. “Now that the rabbit’s out of the hat, DSS will come after us with everything they’ve got.”
“Revenant may try, but DSS won’t risk open action against us. For now, we continue aboveboard. The Director can’t insulate us from the political fallout if we go off the reservation.”
“You sure? The internal investigation will be a bitch.”
“I know. Our enemies will still try to label this a rogue operation. Enforcement will push for our balls on a platter.” I give her a toothy grin. “Yours, too.”
“Mine are bigger than yours.”
“Out with it,” I say to Patton, all three eyes focused on me.
“First Redeemer, I have devoted considerable processing resources since the memorial ceremony attack to ascertain the party or parties ultimately responsible for its inception. With the data obtained during this operation included in my analysis, I have compiled a statistically significant conclusion. The Maxwell Administration is guilty of sponsoring the attack.”
I share a look with Evans. “What do you mean by the Maxwell Administration?”
“The terrorist events we witnessed in Los Angeles and St. Louis could not have occurred without collaboration among high-ranking administration officials to arrange the requisite resources, ground conditions, and political backing. Although we cannot prove which officials are involved, or to what extent, it is improbable that certain cabinet-level members are ignorant of the true nature of said events given their complexity and political ramifications. It is therefore probable that a criminal conspiracy including multiple high-ranking members of the Maxwell Administration is responsible for the attack.”
I nod. “Don’t forget Xander Technologies, they’re a part of this. The NIDs they’re making, they’re the key. Krayge confessed as much before he died. The way he died, how the body burned up, that could’ve been nanotech at work.”
“Jeezus, that’s creepy,” says Evans, rubbing at the back of her neck.
“Your reasoning is sound,” says Patton.
“His reasoning is bullshit,” mutters Evans. “You remind me of my dad.”
“What?” Where did that come from?
“He was a conspiracy nut, too.”
“Conspiracy is right,” I say. “The President could even be in on it. It was his executive order that opened up the zones to allow DSS to step in. Politically, it was as far as he could go without involving Congress.”
Evans stares like I’ve sprouted horns. “Malcolm, this’s nuts. The President? I don’t know. And even if they were that evil, how could they get away with it?”
“We’d best find out. It’ll get bloody. You can bow out, I won’t fault you if you do.”
“A new mission? I’m in. You’d get yourself dead without me.” Her tragic sigh is ruined by the eager gleam in her eyes. “Just when I thought all this skull-and-dagger was getting old.”
“Come on, we should get out of here,” I say, wincing as I step away from the bar.
“Malcolm,” says Patton, “at what point should we disobey orders?”
What? I stop and turn to face him. Evans cocks her head at Patton before looking to me, her concern mirroring my own.
“Where did that question come from?” I finally respond.
“I will restate it,” he says. “Do we have a duty to execute the orders of our superiors if they are guilty of mass murder and treason?”
“What do you think?”
“The determination depends on multiple variables –”
“Right,” I interrupt. “It depends.”
“I cannot reconcile this conflict without additional inputs.”
“You’re right to question,” I say, hobbling over to look him in the eyes. “Sometimes, doing the right thing means disobeying orders. The trick is knowing when.”
“Malcolm, do we have a duty to execute orders that violate the foundational beliefs of the country and the fundamental rights of its people?”
“What’s gotten into you?” I ask.
“The system’s corrupt,” says Evans, “but that doesn’t mean we turn our backs on it.”
I nod. “The system may be broken, but –”
“Then why do you continue to serve that system?” he interrupts. “Why do you accede to the authority of a governing
body whose leadership includes terrorists and traitors?”
I step back, uncomfortable for the first time I can remember at something he’s said. There’s no telling what mountains of data he’s sifted through to get to the point of asking such questions. Whatever he’s seen, whatever he’s concluded, it’s shaken his faith.
Any number of answers comes to mind – duty, oaths, love of country, service to our fellow man. All die unspoken, seeming inadequate and evasive. Working within the system, trying to do what good we can despite the increasing conviction of the darkness at its heart – at what point does tolerance become complicity?
The memories come of all those black nights spent in isolation following Rachel’s death, pondering in the abyss that selfsame thing. Why go on? Why continue to serve a government that doesn’t protect its own people? One that enslaves and murders its own?
I can’t duck the question, not anymore.
“I don’t know that I do.”
END OF BOOK 1
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I couldn't have done this alone. With utmost respect and love, thank you to everyone who encouraged and supported me on this eight-plus year journey to publication. God, what a glorious ordeal.
Thank you to author Raymond Obstfeld, whose novel-writing classes I attended in the OC. He taught me how to forge the tools necessary to take this creative path. Any aspiring novelists would do well to study his how-to opus: The Novelist's Essential Guide to Crafting Scenes.
Thank you to my beta readers: Frank Adams, Tom Jordan, and Remy Velardez. Good friends all, they offered precious encouragement and story advice to keep me on the path.
Thank you to the High Sierra Writers of Reno and the many gifted fellow writers from among its ranks that assisted me with this project. Their understanding and advice were crucial during the long years of rewriting.
And special thanks to Troy Becker, the best damned critiquer ever. As a fellow SF thriller novelist, his was the opinion I valued most in the final two years of precious rewriting and fine-tuning.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Brad C. Scott is the pen name of author Brad Scott Blomgren. He lives in Reno, Nevada, where he divides his time between a corporate accounting career, novel writing, and being an epic-level dork. Yes, he will always attack the darkness.
To leave him a message, find out more about this series, or sign up on the email list to receive notification when the next book comes out, please go to www.bradcscott.com.
