The Regent

by Marcus Richardson

  Jayne switched her voice, using her best British accent. “Let me make something perfectly clear to you. Love your wife, do you? Your children?”

  The man paused. “I do. Very much so, yes.”

  Jayne frowned, letting the sweetness roll off her voice, replaced by a harsher tone. “Then you’d better make sure that vote doesn’t happen, or their screams will be the last thing you ever hear.”

  The man swallowed audibly. “Understood, Madam Regent. I swear to you that vote shall never happen.”

  Jayne smiled. “Oh, lovely! I simply knew I could count on you.”

  She closed the connection and dropped the phone back in her clutch. “Now…I just need to find my little lost senator and get his red ass outta here…”

  Her phone buzzed again so she retrieved it. “Fuck it, now what?” She flung her braid over one shoulder and barked into the phone, “What?”

  “You’re running out of time.”

  Jayne’s frown deepened. “What do you mean, I’m running out of time?”

  “The SEALs…they’re on their way. And the chateau is gone—they obliterated it in a drone strike, just like you wanted. I have arranged for the bodies to be found, but if they catch you there…you have to get out.”

  She pursed her lips, thinking. “You’re positive the chateau is gone?”

  “I’ve seen the video myself. There’s nothing, but a crater left on top of that hill south of town. Multiple strikes from four different UAVs. They wanted you bad.”

  Jayne smiled. “Four? I thought perhaps I’d rate at least an F-18.” She sighed. “Oh well, what’s done is done. Are you sure about the SEALs?”

  “You have thirty minutes to an hour, tops. Yes.”

  Jayne glanced back at the bodies on the ground. “How many men do you have? Here, I mean?”

  The reply was instant, “Thirteen.”

  Jayne’s blood ran cold at the sound of that word. Svea was still out there, too. She glanced around, half-expecting her former colleague to be lurking around every corner, waiting to pounce from the shadows. It’s what she would do.

  “Send them.”

  “All of them?” the man asked. “Now?”

  “Did I stutter?” she asked sharply. “Why is everyone forcing me to use my mean voice today?” she whined.

  “No—I…don’t worry. I will send them. Are you meeting resistance?”

  Jayne took a deep breath. “No. I just need a diversion. There’s still way too many cops and soldiers on their feet. What’s their ETA?” she asked, stomping out of the courtyard on one heel and down the slight hill toward the Governor’s House.

  “I can have them there in just a few minutes,” the voice on her phone said, “once the gas takes effect—”

  “The hell with that. Get them moving—now. They can wear gas masks. I need them in the castle. The senator has too much protection and Svea is probably on her way if she’s not here already.”

  The man swore. “It will be done.”

  Jayne hung up and dialed the king. He answered on the second ring, his voice cracking.

  “Sssh…dear, never mind. Listen to me, I assume you can see what’s going on?”

  “It’s mad, is what it is! There are people running everywhere. What’s happening?”

  “Nothing you need concern yourself with, Your Majesty. But I’m afraid I’m the bearer of some rather bad news.”

  “What is it?” he asked, the fear making his voice tremble.

  Jayne swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. You’re so fucking weak. You are nothing compared to Charles. She sighed. “The chateau is gone, sire. The Americans thought they had you and me in their sights and bombed it.”

  “They…what? The Americans? I don’t understand…it’s gone?”

  “It’s gone—as in there’s nothing but a smoking crater left where your family home used to be. They tried to assassinate you, Your Majesty. They tried to kill both of us.”

  “Bloody cowards!” the young king roared. “I…I’ll…we—”

  “No need to worry about that just yet, sire. The important thing to remember is we’re both alive and safe here in Edinburgh. Now—I want you to pack your things.”

  “We’re leaving?”

  “Soon, yes. I’m nearly finished my business here, and we’ll be leaving for another more secure location. We need to keep you out of sight for a while, to let the Americans think they’ve won. It will make your triumphant return that much more memorable.”

  “Bloody bastards…all my family’s history…”

  “I’m afraid it’s gone, sire, but I promise you, we’ll make more—your name will be remembered for a long, long time.” Not as long as mine…

  Jayne reminded the king to stay in his room, then killed the connection and dropped the phone back in her clutch. She snapped the little gold clasp shut and peered around the next corner.

  Now, where are you, Svea, dear? I’ve some unfinished business with your meddling ass…

  36

  The Drums of War…

  The president looked up from the latest report in his hands. “Tell me you’ve got good news.”

  Chief of Staff Revellue frowned. “I just heard from State. The U.N. General Assembly is leaning toward canceling the North Korean vote.”

  The president sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Do we have our emergency resolution drafted?”

  Revellue nodded grimly. “We do. But Secretary Strettall thinks there’s little chance of success. He’s hearing through the grapevine that Russia’s going to veto it.”

  The president’s eyebrow went up. “Russia? I expected that from China…but Russia? What’s their angle?”

  “From what I understand,” the Revellue said, sitting down in a plush chair opposite the president’s desk, “the Chinese feel it would be too obvious if they use their veto—that might end up revealing how they pushed North Korea into starting all this mess. They don’t want to lose face.”

  The president scratched his chin. “So, instead they get their old buddies from Moscow to take the heat, and keep them covered up. I wonder what they’re getting in return?”

  “Word has it that Beijing is willing to make some concessions on South Asian military bases the Russians want—they’re looking to expand.”

  The president stood and put his hands in his pockets. “This doesn’t make a whole hell of a lot of sense…Moscow, Beijing—they both know that this is going to back us into a corner and leave us with no option but to launch an attack to reclaim our West Coast without U.N. approval.”

  Revellue shrugged. “There’s not a lot of people out there—on either side of the aisle—who are going to care about the U.N. at this point.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t give a shit about them either,” replied the president. “But if North Korea squeals and calls in big brother, China can use the vote as a weapon against us.”

  Chief of Staff Revellue opened the folder in his hands. “Here’s the latest report,” he said, handing over the facsimile.

  The president took the document and scanned it. “Jesus, they’re already lining up allies? Does Sam know about this?”

  “I made sure the Secretary of Defense has his own copy, yes, sir.”

  “What’s our readiness?”

  Revellue flipped a couple pages in his folder. “According to this, we stand ready to take on Russia or China—but not both. And certainly not other allies like Iran and Syria and a half dozen Eastern Bloc nations. If this is coming down the pipe, I think you need to consider putting us at DEFCON 2.”

  “Is that the recommendation of the Joint Chiefs?”

  Revellue shook his head. “I haven’t heard anything from Admiral Bennett yet, sir. I think the next cabinet meeting is going to be very interesting.”

  The president checked his watch. “Three hours is too long to wait on this. Get on the horn, George. I want the cabinet meeting as soon as possible—within the next half-hour.”

  “I’ll gather
the troops,” Chief of Staff Revellue said, standing from his chair. He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and started tapping away.

  The president stared at the reports spread out on his desk. It showed a pattern of international cooperation, even if some of it was reluctant, lining up behind the United Nations in an attempt to keep the investigatory vote from happening. Despite the bombing and ongoing crisis in Edinburgh, the fools wanted to goad America into launching a unilateral military strike.

  To take back our own Goddamn country…

  The president shook his head. When Revellue left the room and shut the door behind him, President Harris pounded both fists down on his desk.

  It’ll be a cold day in hell when I allow the United States to be broken up by the likes of some piss-ant country like fucking North Korea.

  If the U.N. wanted war, then by God, he’d give them one.

  37

  Reunion

  Denny followed Braaten down the winding stone path, hugging the huge barrel-shaped tower. “Mind telling me what that was all about?”

  “That woman was Jayne Renolds,” Braaten said over his shoulder. “Keep moving and watch your footing.”

  “The woman who worked for Reginald?”

  “The same,” Braaten replied in a deadpan voice. “Notice how you feel nauseous?”

  “How did you know?” asked Denny, shocked.

  “It’s her perfume…some sort of chemical agent. I’ve encountered it before.”

  Denny was silent for a moment. “You can’t take her in a fight, can you?”

  Braaten stopped, turned, and exhaled. “When I was full strength…a few years ago? Hell yes. Now?” he asked, slapping his leg. “With this damn knee ready to give out again and having to protect you? No way. She’s younger and faster—”

  “Certainly easier on the eyes,” Denny commented with a wry grin.

  “Don’t underestimate her, sir. If I didn’t have to protect you, then yeah. I could probably take her in a straight-up fight. I’m bigger and stronger. But I can’t risk it with you here.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  Braaten smirked. “Come on—we need to keep moving. I don’t know how she got the gas inside the castle, but you saw that guy stagger out of that building…people are going to be tearing each other apart in a matter of minutes. We need to get out of this castle…”

  Braaten’s voice trailed off as screams floated to them across the walls. A gunshot rang out, echoing off the ancient stone buildings. Denny flinched, but Braaten cocked his head, trying to determine the direction the shot came from.

  “Over there,” he said, pointing. A collection of tents—the infirmary—nestled at the base of the Governor’s House. “Whatever’s going down is starting over there.”

  Braaten turned Denny toward the Argyle Gate. “We need to go that way. Hurry, sir, we got to get the fuck out of here.”

  “But there’s infected people out on the street! We won’t stand a chance, just the two of us!”

  “I don’t think we’ll be any better off trapped inside with a bunch of infected, do you?” Braaten called over his shoulder, picking up his pace and heading for the massive gray Argyle Gate.

  Two cops in riot gear appeared out of the open portcullis and wrestled each other to the ground. They threw punches and grunted, fighting tooth and nail, rolling around and thoroughly blocking the way.

  A third officer appeared, weapon drawn, and shot one of the men on the ground in the back of the head, splattering his opponent with brains and gore. The survivor shrieked in surprise and struggled to get the dead body off his chest.

  Denny tripped in surprise and almost fell, cursing. The shooter looked up, his face a mask of rage. He started to raise his weapon but Braaten was faster—he whipped his arm up and fired twice, dropping the shooter.

  “Okay, let’s try this way,” Braaten said, spinning Denny around and running away from the Argyle Gate back toward the Governor’s House.

  “We can’t go that way!” Denny called out as people in scrubs fled the tents at the sound of more gunfire. Some physicians slashed at each other with scalpels. Many of them had bloodstains on their outfits.

  “There!” Braaten said, turning to the left and sprinting up a short walkway that led to a squat stone building behind a truly massive cannon.

  Denny glanced at the placard as he ran through the low stone doorway: St. Margaret’s Chapel. Braaten shoved him in, urged him to be quiet and quickly—but quietly—shut the thick wooden door to the chapel.

  Inside, the tiny building was whitewashed, the rocks all sporting a uniform, if rough, white coating. Lit by a single small arrow slit of a window over the altar, and a pair of stained glass windows recessed into the thick stones of the northern wall, the little chapel had a claustrophobic, yet comforting vibe that Denny immediately picked up on.

  Braaten holstered his pistol and motioned for Denny to join him at one of three worn, old wooden benches.

  “Help me get this in front of the door,” he whispered. They lifted the bench from either end and propped it against the wooden door, wedging it shut.

  “We can’t stay in here forever…” Denny said, dusting his hands on his pants.

  “But we can stay here till nightfall…maybe whatever is going on out there will have burned itself out. Either way, it’ll be easier under cover of darkness.”

  A rapid knock at the door caused Braaten to draw his weapon and bring a finger to his lips.

  “Braaten, open up, it’s me!” hissed Ms. Baker from the other side of the thick door. “I saw you go in—hurry up and let me in before someone sees me!”

  “What the fuck?” Braaten asked. He motioned for Denny to move the bench, then opened the door and stepped aside. As the door cracked open, his pistol stuck out and stopped Ms. Baker from entering.

  “Ms. Baker!” Denny blurted, beyond excited to see the woman alive and apparently well. He frowned. “What’s with the police slicker?”

  She plucked at the yellow fabric. “I heard this was going to be a fashionable fight.”

  “Hold up—how do we know you’re not infected?” asked Braaten, blocking her entrance.

  “Let her in—we need to shut the door,” Denny urged, looking at the chaos unfolding over Ms. Baker’s shoulder.

  “I am infected,” she said, staring at Braaten. “Or I was…I don’t know…I think I fought it off. I mean, I think I can control it instead of the other way around….”

  “What?” asked Denny. He looked at Braaten. “What’s she talking about?”

  Braaten stared into her eyes, searching for something. At length, he nodded. “Good enough for me.”

  Once she was inside and the door safely barred again, they sat down behind the altar, their backs against the cool, ancient stone walls and allowed themselves to relax. Or, at least as much as possible with the screaming and gunfire erupting outside.

  Braaten shared energy bars from his cargo pockets while he and Ms. Baker told each other how they escaped the tunnels. “Renolds is here, by the way,” he added around a mouthful of foul-tasting protein bar.

  Ms. Baker froze. “You saw her?”

  Braaten frowned. “Up close. I almost took the shot—”

  “Why didn’t you?” Ms. Baker hissed.

  “Because I had to get him out of there…it was too dangerous, too exposed.”

  “You should have pulled the trigger when you had the chance. This makes twice…”

  A shadow crossed Braaten’s face. “I’m not like you…” he muttered with a sullen tone to his voice. “She was unarmed.”

  Ms. Baker laughed, a short, harsh sound. “Jayne Renolds is never unarmed.”

  “So, going back to you being infected,” Denny prompted. “How did you not…you know…go insane?”

  Ms. Baker shook her head. “Don’t know, sir. One minute I’m on the radio, the next…I’m so mad I could hardly see straight and I felt so…strong. Like I was invincible…unstoppable.”

  Braaten
eyed her closely. “So if you didn’t go full zombie, and you were exposed…we were too…why weren’t we infected?”

  “You were exposed?” she asked, her eyes wide.

  Braaten grunted. “Yeah…”

  “I smelled the flowers…like I did in the tunnel,” Denny said. “And again when we ran into Ms. Renolds.”

  “Don’t call her that,” Braaten said, frowning.

  Ms. Baker ignored the outburst. “I don’t know…the flower scent was baked into the accelerant, so if you weren’t exposed to the infecting virus…”

  “Wait, accelerant? Virus? What the fuck?” asked Braaten.

  A long string of gunshots rattled through the castle. Ms. Baker shook her head. “When I was still with the Council—”

  “Wait, you worked for them?” Denny leaned back. “If I knew that—”

  “You wouldn’t have hired me, I wouldn’t have brought Cooper here on board, and you’d be dead by now,” Ms. Baker said, matter-of-factly. “Got it.”

  Denny closed his mouth. “Good point.”

  “Back to this virus…” Braaten said.

  “The Council had a back-up plan if the Korean Flu and the invasion didn’t work out. They were working up a bio-chem weapon combo that would neutralize whole cities.”

  “That sounds like a good time,” muttered Braaten.

  “Yeah, not so much,” replied Ms. Baker. “Turns out, the people get a little testy.”

  “You knew about this?” asked Denny, waving an arm to encompass the castle.

  “Yes…well, sort of. It was all just theoretical when I was still with the Council. I had no idea they’d made so much progress. If Jayne can perfect this—”

  “It’s not already?” asked Denny.

  “No,” replied Baker. “She still needs the virus to be present well before the accelerant.” She stared at Denny’s blank expression. “It works like this—they infect you with a designer CRISPR virus…”

  “Wait,” Denny interrupted. “You’re talking that genetic modification stuff?”

  “Yes. This virus doesn’t make you sick, it uses its DNA splicing capability to alter your genetic code—a tiny, tiny portion of it, but an alteration nonetheless.”