Her stomach turned. She had considered shooting him.
The larger Dragonfly had turned again to face her and was beginning to settle in for a landing just upstream from them. Four heavy landing skids lowered from its fuselage, and the wings lifted into their vertical orientation. It set down awkwardly, though. The front skid landed before the back ones did. Either something was wrong with the craft, or the pilot wasn’t very good. Water splashed around the landing gear, which made a loud pneumatic hisssssss when its suspension compressed. The whining engines died, leaving only the sound of the water running over the rocks and Val’s breathing.
Val laid Braden against a rock and splashed on all fours toward the rifle, which lay partially submerged on a group of large rocks. Praying it would fire, she stood and pointed the gun at the Dragonfly.
“I’m about to come out of the vehicle,” said a man over the loudspeaker. Unlike the other pilots, this one didn’t shout at her. In fact, his voice sounded oddly calm. “Keep the gun, but please don’t shoot me. I’m coming out unarmed. I just want to talk.”
He killed the blinding white headlights, leaving only the dimmer running lamps to illuminate the water of the stream in a splash of pale yellow. Hydraulic motors whined from the back of the Dragonfly as a loading ramp opened. A man stepped into view wearing the same kind of tactical gear that the others had worn. He held hands up, stepping forward slowly, and shadow obscured his face.
“You can keep that gun pointed at me if it makes you feel safer,” he said, taking off his helmet and letting it hang by his side. “But I’m not here to hurt you or to take away your son. I’m here to help you both.”
As he stepped into the light of the fire from the crashed UAD, Val’s stomach lurched, her chest tightening around her heart.
“Asa,” she said.
28
Merida let out a small scream. Jessica spun around so quickly she nearly fell over her own feet. Men in SWAT uniforms poured through the open doors, their bodies covered in tactical gear from head to toe. Each of them carried an automatic rifle.
“Homeland Security! Put your hands in the air!”
Jessica raised her hands, a wave of nausea passing through her. This was it. It was over.
Several agents formed a perimeter around the kitchen, their rifles pointed at Jessica and Merida. A few others fanned out into the dining area of the restaurant.
“What the hell is this?” said Merida. She was trying to sound tough, but her voice squeaked with obvious fear.
One of the agents stood a few feet from them, his rifle aimed at Jessica’s heart.
“Jessica Brantley,” he said.
She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but a lump in her throat stoppered it like a cork. She nodded. Her head throbbed with her pulse.
Another man stepped through the door. He had no body armor and no rifle. Just a tactical vest over a black tee shirt and military-style cargo pants. A pistol hung from his right thigh in a black leather holster. But it wasn’t the typical semi-auto pistol that soldiers and police carried. This gun was a long-barreled revolver of some kind. It gave an odd Western flavor to his appearance that didn’t match the rest of his special forces look.
He walked straight to Jessica.
“I’m Captain Marcus,” he said, waving away the man with the rifle. That one moved aside to let Marcus through and backed away, his rifle still aimed.
Marcus stood with his fingers laced together in front of him, like someone at church or a graduation ceremony. His narrow eyes bored into her, and Jessica thought of a falcon or some other bird of prey.
“You’re under arrest,” he said.
“For what?” Merida said.
“For illegally obtaining classified information,” said Marcus, still looking at Jessica. His voice was deep and resonant and had just the right midwestern accent that networks looked for in an anchor. “For trying to sell that information to the governments of North Korea, Russia, and China.”
“What the—”
“For murder,” Marcus continued. “For domestic terrorism. For assault on U.S. Homeland Security officers.”
“What the actual hell?” said Merida.
“For treason,” said Marcus, a faint smile crossing his thin lips.
“None of that is true!” Merida shouted, stepping forward.
The agents who had formed the perimeter around them all closed in, aiming their rifles at Merida.
“He knows it isn’t true,” Jessica said finally, surprised by the calm in her own voice.
Looking at Merida, Marcus held up his hands toward Jessica in a gesture that said, See?
“No, none of it’s true,” he said. “But we’re going to prove it anyway. And we’re going to make sure both of you are completely discredited. Just in case you told anyone what you read on that computer or put any information out there already.”
Merida snorted.
“Well, one part is true,” he said. “You illegally possess classified information.”
“Bull shit!” said Merida.
“Stop it,” said Jessica. She didn’t take her eyes off of Marcus.
But Merida was shouting now. “We were just attacked by two of your guys for no reason! One of them tried to rape her!”
“Stop, Merida,” said Jessica, still looking at Marcus.
Merida let out a long breath.
There was no good way out of this. No fighting. No reasoning. All Jessica could do was to keep them from finding the computer. But what good would that do? They hadn’t told anyone where it was, and Merida had hidden it well. Unless someone repairing the oven had to take off the bottom panel, no one would ever find it. Would they just kill her if they couldn’t find it? Would they let her live if she gave it to them? A story wasn’t worth her life—especially not one she had reservations about breaking.
“How do you know I have the information you say I have?” said Jessica.
“Never mind that,” said Marcus, his voice still smooth, still the anchor’s voice. “Where is it? Where’d you put the computer?”
“I don’t have any computer.”
Marcus stepped toward her slowly, his movements careful and deliberate. Almost like a predator getting ready to surprise its prey. He gestured up and down with one hand.
“You can put those hands down,” he said.
Jessica lowered her arms to her sides.
Marcus stood next to her, close enough that Jessica could feel warmth from his arms. She kept her face forward, her eyes fixed on her own reflection in the face shield of an agent who had his gun pointed right at her.
“Where is it?” Marcus said, his voice low, not quite a whisper.
“I don’t have it.”
“You’re lying,” he said. “And there’s no point in doing that. We’ve got you, and we know you took the computer from Artemis earlier today. Did you give it to someone?”
In the quiet, Jessica could hear her own heartbeat ringing in her ears. She could also hear Merida breathing through her nose.
“No, I’m willing to bet you brought it here, thinking no one would look for you or it at a restaurant,” he said.
“So look, Wyatt Earp,” said Merida. “You don’t have shit. You can search her apartment, my apartment, my restaurant. You don’t have anything. No computer, no proof.”
“You’re both smart enough to know I don’t need any proof,” he said. “And I think you know what’s going to happen next. You can make this easy, or you can—”
“Oh, come on,” said Merida. “Not the ‘easy way or the hard way’ line. You carry that big ass gun to impress people, Mr. Government Agent? Trying to make up for the short barrel that you’ve got in your shorts?”
Jessica had to stop herself from groaning. “Merida—”
“Captain Needledick? Commander Tinycock? Is that what they call you back at the home office?”
“Merida, stop!”
Marcus let out
a small laugh. “No, no,” he said, waving a hand. “It’s fine.” He looked around at the agents, who stood silently with their rifles. “Avery, Freeman, cuff the ladies. The rest of you, find the computer.”
All of the agents except two hung their rifles over their shoulders and started searching, tearing open cabinets and refrigerator doors. A few crawled on the floor, looking under appliances.
Marcus leaned toward Jessica so she felt his breath on her neck. He smelled faintly of aftershave and breath mints. “See? We’ll tear this place apart until we find it.”
One of the agents pulled her wrists together behind her back and cuffed her.
“Hey, asshole,” said Merida as the other agent cuffed her. “Lay off with the hands. I like women, not boys.”
“You won’t find it,” said Jessica, turning to look at Marcus.
“That’ll be okay,” he said. “We have a special way to get information from you.” He winked.
Someone behind her put a hood over her face, and everything went black.
“Don’t worry, though,” said Marcus. “It doesn’t hurt.”
Agora: The Ideas Marketplace
LUPITA RILEY: Look at this. This is what those who oppose SRP in the name of reproductive “freedom” do. This is what happens when people are allowed to teach dangerous ideas and follow poisonous ideologies like the anti-SRP Movement.
LINK (VIDEO): WATCH: WOMAN WHO BOMBED DHR AND DHS AGENTS GUNS DOWN HER OWN SON WITH AN ILLEGAL RIFLE IN ORDER TO KEEP HIM FROM BEING RESCUED BY AUTHORITIES!
JASON STEADHAM: Sickening. The poor kid.
LUCIA ARGUETA: It was probably best for the kid. They said he had severe mental problems.
DR. MICHAEL TAYLOR: This is where the cult of the First Amendment has brought us.
SHEENA MASON: Y’all don’t believe this shit. You KNOW they can doctor footage and make shit up. Why would you believe this???!!!
DR. MICHAEL TAYLOR: Yes, that’s what everyone says when they see something that contradicts their ideology. They scream “Fake News” and “doctored footage!”
LUCIA ARGUETA: You would be able to tell if it was fake footage, right? Can’t you tell if you look close enough???
29
“Asa,” she said again.
Val stood with the butt of the rifle between her elbow and her side, the muzzle aimed at his gut and her finger on the trigger. Her head swam. She couldn’t help wondering if a sedative dart had gotten her and this was all just a dream. But the heat from the blaze in the woods. The cool water around her shins. The pounding of her heart. These things reminded her that it was all real. Kim shot, Braden tranquilized, and this man standing in the creek. This man who had walked out of her past as if he had never gone anywhere.
Asa stepped toward her, his hands up so that she could see them. He wore a wide, silver wedding band that reflected the flames from the woods. His hair, which had been jet black when she’d known him before, had grayed at the temples. It gave him an almost distinguished look. His shoulders seemed even broader, his arms thicker than before. She could remember how strong they had felt when she gripped them. When he had made love to her in Iran. And yet, the man and woman in that memory were like characters in a movie. Both vivid and unreal at the same time.
Asa glanced at Braden, who lay on the rock, still sleeping. Val bristled.
“Don’t you look at him,” she said. She raised the gun from her side and shouldered the butt, aiming the muzzle right at his chest. “You look at me. You don’t get to look at him.”
She wanted to make him afraid. Wanted to see the same look of fear in his eyes that she had seen sometimes in Iran. But instead he looked sad.
“I’m sorry for what I did to you,” he said.
“What is this?” said Val. She gestured the rifle toward the burning Dragonfly. “Did you do that?”
“Look,” he said, slowly lowering his arms to his side. “I know you’ve got every reason to hate me. I know I can’t give you any reason to trust me.” He turned his eyes up toward the sky as if searching for something. In the firelight, his face glistened with sweat. “But I did that to help you and your son. And more agents are on their way here now. Right now.”
Val stared, her finger on the trigger.
“That Dragonfly has a transponder for tracking,” she said. “You can’t take it out without the removal code. And I’m guessing you know what it is.”
“It’s already taken out,” he said. “I just dropped the transponder in the creek. You can see for yourself.”
Almost involuntarily, her finger squeezed the trigger just slightly. She could put him down right now and fly the Dragonfly away.
“I have a wife,” he said. “And a daughter about your son’s age. I’m risking everything of mine and theirs to help you and your son.”
Her finger relaxed. A wife and a daughter. An image in her mind. Asa making love to that wife. The faceless, nameless woman who had been on his mind after he had fucked her in the ruins of some Iranian family’s clothing business. Her face burned. Maybe from the heat of the downed Dragonfly.
He stepped toward her slowly, his eyes pleading. “If we wait until backup gets here, then I’ve risked my family’s safety for nothing.”
When we’re done here, I can fly us anywhere, she had once told him in Iran. Anywhere.
“Val.”
“Do you know where they’ve taken my husband?” she said.
He paused.
“Yes,” he said.
“Then you take me to him,” she said. “You take me to find him, and then you help me get him out. Or you leave me and run like a coward. That’s what you’re good at doing.”
He winced as if she had slapped him. “Val,” he said. “I’m sorry for what I did. But this isn’t about that—”
She stepped toward him and jabbed him in the chest with the muzzle of the rifle. He backed away a little.
“If you want to help me,” she said, “this is how you do it. If you don’t want to help me, you tell me how to find him and I’ll go alone. But if you just stand there and look stupid, I’m going to shoot you and take the Dragonfly. Either way, I’m going to find my husband, and I’m going to kill anyone who gets in my way.”
“Val,” he said. “If you try to take your son into that place, they’ll take him. You’re going to risk him for a man who might be dead—”
Val shifted the gun and fired a burst over his shoulder. The report cracked, and the muzzle flash lit up his face.
“Oh, my God!” he screamed, his hand going to his ear.
“Take me to my husband!” Val yelled, pointing the gun at his face now.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay. I’ll take you there.” He held his hand over his ear, tears filling his eyes. “I’m going to be deaf in this ear now.”
Val backed away. She knew he didn’t mean her or Braden any harm, but she kept the rifle at the ready. He’d killed his fellow agents to save her, to save her son. But she didn’t understand why. Guilt and lingering romantic feelings? It didn’t feel right. There was something more going on here, something larger. There had to be. And yet, what else could she do but trust him?
Please, God, let this be the right choice, she thought.
“Pick up Braden,” she said, gesturing toward her son, who still slept serenely on the rock. “Let’s get moving.”
“Yeah,” said Asa, rubbing his ear. “We might already be too late.”
The Dragonfly was a standard troop and supply carrier. The loading ramp in the back of the fuselage opened to reveal a cavernous section lined with chairs for troops. Four hoverbikes sat secured to yokes in the middle of the space, their fan-like propellers folded into upright positions. Several crates were strapped to hooks that protruded from the center of the floor. Weapons on one wall. Several rifles. Pistols. EMP guns. A mini-gun. Two Stinger IV shoulder-mounted surface-to-air missile launchers.
“We can strap him in while he sleeps,” said A
sa, carrying Braden up the ramp. The boy’s head and arms lolled like dead weight.
The rifle hanging over her shoulder, Val followed Asa up the ramp. The Dragonfly was similar to the C-90A Timberwolf that she had flown in Iran, only a little smaller. This one could carry twenty-four troops and up to four of the hoverbikes. The C-90A had carried up to thirty-six troops and two Humvee-VIIs.
Asa placed Braden in one of the troop chairs. Almost lovingly, he lifted the boy’s chin off of his chest and leaned his head against the frame of the chair. Val helped him to strap Braden in. As they worked with the buckles, their forearms and hands touched briefly. Neither acknowledged this.
“He’ll be all right there until he wakes up,” said Asa, stepping back. “Probably be out cold for two hours.” He put a hand on Val’s shoulder. A gesture of camaraderie that he hadn’t made toward her since before they became lovers.
Val allowed—no, forced—herself to look him in the eye. He had dirt and sweat on his face, just as he had that day in the Iranian clothing shop.
“I know you need a breather,” he said, his face still strained. “But we need to go. I need you to fly us out of here.”
Val looked at her son, who breathed softly in the chair. With a wave of longing, Val knew now that she’d never see him in his own bed again. This was the end of the world. But she would beat the end. She would win this fight for him.
“Let’s get moving,” she said.
Asa stepped past her toward the cockpit. “This way. I need you to help me get rid of him first.”
“Who—”
But now she saw. Next to the doorway to the cockpit, the body of the pilot lay in a crumpled heap.
“He’s dead?” said Val, taking off the backpack and setting it on the floor. She bent over to grab the man’s ankles.
Asa grabbed the man under his arms. “You remember how good I was at snapping necks.”
Val remembered the moment when the Dragonfly had reeled and veered away from the UAD-9 and understood.
The Way Out Page 16
