Ward looked on in awe from behind the chimney. It had happened again. Just in the nick of time the Revolution had found a way out of what should have been an impossible situation. He wasn't just good.
“That's one lucky son of a bitch!” Ward said to himself.
Arbor turned to pursue. The chopper was pulling away fast. Arbor reasoned its pilot had figured out he had nearly bought the farm and was getting the hell out of there. “Track that copter!” Arbor yelled back to the men behind him.
“Yes, sir,” the SWAT leader replied. But Clay Arbor didn’t hear him. He was already airborne. Arbor's boot rockets blasted him into the sky as he leapt after Revolution. But his charge was nearly used up. The big man reached outward. He could feel his jets giving out. They sputtered and spit. But he was hurtling through the night’s dark void toward the chopper. Blasts from the tail rudders whipped his face. Revolution's cape was only a few feet away. Arbor stretched his iron-clad arms; his fingers reached out. He felt the cape flutter against his glove—just missed. And then he realized he had no idea how high up he was.
Or how far he would fall.
He looked down and saw a high roof mercifully close. But then his breath caught in his throat. He shielded his face, braced for impact.
Arbor crashed through a rooftop greenhouse. Glass, dirt, and plant matter flew across the tar surface. The big man tumbled and slid, rumbling to a stop with the debris all around him. He looked ahead, pain pulsing from his chest. In the distance, he could see Revolution drop and roll onto a high-rise and disappear into the shadows. The copter arced away out of sight. The big man wiped dirt and plant matter off his face; his voice was just a grunt: “Jesus!”
CHAPTER 25
Six nights later, the man now known as Spider Wasp leaned against a different chimney, on a different street, overlooking a different alleyway. It was the choice of the Revolution, and this was date night. Ward had actually had two dates that night. One with a sexy blonde—which had gone very well; the other with a sexy...tank?
He spent a few minutes considering whether Revolution's armor could be classified as vehicle, body armor, or something else. Then he realized that it was now a full thirty minutes past the time Revolution had given him to meet.
Ward sighed. “Okay, we make a date, I get all cleaned up, and where are you? Out with other girls?” Digging deep, he tried his best Antonio Banderas, which was not very good: “Damn you, Revolution!”
Something cracked behind him.
“Not the first time someone's said that.”
He spun. Revolution was right there. Two feet away.
“Good God! You're spooky, you know that?”
“Thank you for the other night.”
“You were lucky. Again. You know, I won’t always be there to bail ya out, big guy.”
The joke fell flat. Revolution just stared at him for several seconds then shrugged. “I don't need a partner,” Revolution said, anticipating his pitch. “You fight criminals. I fight crime. And that starts at the top. With the Freedom Council.”
“We both know things are getting out of control. Even you couldn't stop State Street. You need help.”
“There's already a hero movement. Go help that.”
“There is a hero movement,” Ward retorted. “You started it. And they fight the gangs, not the Council. So should you. Or you'll end up dead.”
Revolution turned and started to walk. “You're wasting your time.”
The roof was long. Ward would have a chance to catch him before he jumped this time. He'd been given a second chance to warn him. He wasn't going to let it slip by again. He'd just have to say it.
“Revolution, wait!” Ward bounded after him. “I have a well-placed source at the Freedom Council. Says they're building a weapon. A weapon like no one's ever seen before.”
Revolution stopped in his tracks. He lifted his head slightly. Ward stopped short.
“To kill you,” Ward added. Now he’ll come back. I knew he'd see the light.
Revolution turned to face him. “Where did you say you heard this?”
“Please...just trust me.”
Revolution's arms swung forward. A brilliant flash of light stabbed Ward's eyes. And then something hit him in the throat so hard he nearly vomited. He felt his head slam against the brick wall behind him.
He was stuck. Pinned to the wall, a metal staple closed over his throat. It took a second before he could see that the pin was glowing. Pulsing. Ward reached up for it and then realized he couldn't breathe.
That’s when he panicked.
The glow began to fade, and as it did, he could see Revolution more clearly—just watching, observing. As the glow dimmed, his breathing became easier, but the metal was still closed tight over his throat. He tugged on the pin with all his might.
“I don't trust anyone I don't know,” Revolution said finally.
Ward was choking. It was more than a little awkward. He tried his best to grin. “I'm trying to get to know you,” he involuntarily whispered. He could hear Revolution chuckle under his breath, but still he turned to go once again, leaving Ward in his predicament.
Ward tried to yell, which just came out in a loud rasp. “It's a machine. Some kind of new power source. Unstoppable. Almost online...almost...ready to go.”
Revolution froze.
He swiveled and headed straight at Ward with a gait that meant business.
Ward freaked out.
For a split second he lost all composure. Ward leaped about like a frog on hot coals. His legs left the ground as he flopped here and there, but it was no use. He was about to get his ass kicked, or worse. He tried to think of what he could do. He wasn't sure he could speak again. His darts were no use against the armor. He could try to kick Revolution, but he knew his flight suit was no match for titanium. Finally, he decided to just play it cool, and went limp. And that’s about how he would have described his dignity at that moment: limp. He peered up at the big guy in the cape like a child who had just been grounded.
Revolution reached up with a speed Ward couldn't begin to follow. He grabbed the staple and yanked it free. Brick and mortar chunked out with it and scattered across the roof.
Ward lunged forward, gasping. “Thought you were gonna kill me.”
“How good is this source of yours?” Revolution asked.
Ward rubbed life back into his throat and peered up at the metal man. Tears ran down his cheeks from under the helmet. “This source has saved my life.”
Ten minutes later, the duo took an elevator from the roof down to a deserted parking garage. Ward noticed an idling car in the shadows. He couldn't make out the model.
“You're the Lone Ranger out there, but you're trying to face down the whole cavalry. How long can you really rely on luck?” Ward thought he might finally be getting through. Revolution’s demeanor had seemed to change in the last few minutes. Then again it was so damn hard to tell. Not like he could read Revolution’s facial expressions.
“A partnership. That's what you want to offer, is it?”
“I think I can help you. I have resources, connections. And I'm pretty good at strategy and diagnosis. It's what I do.”
“I am impressed. You’ve given me important information. But...you can never be too careful. I've always expected that the Council would send a spy—”
“I'm no spy.”
“No, I don't think you are. And I'm going to trust you. But first you're going to have to trust me.”
“I already do.” Sort of.
“Before we make any decision, I need to take you somewhere, show you something.” Revolution produced a blindfold.
“Hey, when I said partnership, I didn't mean...” Ward smiled as he let the thought trail off.
“You're funny.” Revolution didn't laugh. He tossed him the blindfold. “First test of faith.”
“You mean getting my ass kicked back there didn't count?”
Ward slipped on the blindfold, and he heard the car approac
h. Revolution helped him into the backseat, tromped around to the other side, and slid in beside him.
The drive was long. Ward tried to follow in his mind. He kept track of where they turned. How far they traveled before each turn. For the first eight blocks he kept up, but he lost the trail after that. The truth was, he’d find out later, the driver drove in erratic circles for the first ten minutes to throw him off, and then they’d proceeded to a location in the middle of South Boston. Ward kept being distracted by the burning questions in his mind. How does a guy in a titanium suit sitting in the backseat not bottom out the car? How the hell can a guy in a titanium tank actually sneak up on someone? How is it powered? What’s it actually made of? Someday he'd build up the courage to ask the questions. Right now he just really hoped he wasn't being driven to his death.
They stopped in front of an industrial warehouse. No lights on inside. The dark building took up the entire block. They entered a long, dim hallway. Light from streetlights spurted in at regular intervals. Revolution led Ward by the arm down the lengthy expanse. Ward listened to the echo of their footsteps. No other sound was present, save his own breathing and his heart thumping in his ear.
“All right, you can take it off.”
Ward yanked off the blindfold and squinted. In front of him, slowly fading into view as his eyes adjusted, was a rusted steel door. Though it was disguised to look ordinary, Ward could tell it was made of serious stuff. He had studied personal security extensively for his own sake. This was reinforced steel, several inches thick, with trigger-alarm electric deadbolt locks up and down its side. At least five that he saw.
Revolution swiped his hand in front of the eye-level lock, and the whole assembly clicked and whirred to life. Triggered by some mechanism in his suit, Ward guessed.
“This is why my luck won't run out…”
He inserted a keycard Ward hadn't noticed him holding before. The industrial deadbolts unlatched down the side of the entrance. One by one. The massive door swung open.
“I don't rely on luck.”
Ward's eyes went wide. His mouth dropped open.
“No way!”
CHAPTER 26
Paul Ward watched as the massive door swung open to reveal a well-lit, expansive office. People were everywhere, hard at work.
In the middle of the night.
They toured the premises. The room was cavernous and open. It took up most of a city block. Enormous. The ceiling was high, nearly three stories. The first half of what Ward could see was an office space. No cubicles, just desks. Open desks. The second half of the part he could observe was a laboratory, a high-tech workspace with lots of computers and other equipment he didn’t recognize. At the far end was a glassed-in chamber. A long console with dials, gauges, and computer screens ran along the side of the chamber. There was a large metal door just past the glass chamber on the other end. The other half of the complex—the half he couldn’t see—no telling what was on that side.
As they walked, Ward felt very out of place. This was no ragtag group of hippies, like many people thought of the Resistance. These were professionals. It could have been the main office floor of any company on the Freedom Council. Ward couldn't help but feel the stares as they walked on. He felt like a circus freak.
“So, all of these people work for you?”
“Work with me. I'm never really alone out there.”
“Those quick escapes and lucky breaks…”
“Not luck at all. I always have a team with me.”
Ward thought about that. Suddenly it all made sense. The stories he’d heard about how Revolution could throw his voice in different directions to disorient someone. Or how he could hit someone in the back with a shuriken when he was standing right in front of them. These were legends about the man. Ward figured most of them were urban legends, in fact. Now, he was not so sure.
Then another thought hit him. “So, does this mean I'm in?”
“It means you're in the door.”
They entered the lab, and Ward noticed a beautiful, young blonde staring at them. She smiled at Ward and then returned her gaze to the Revolution. He thought she was going to say something, but Revolution never looked her way, and they just kept walking. Finally, Revolution offered him a seat in a quiet part of the lab.
“The people in the street, they respond to us, not the other way around. We’re much more organized than you realize.”
“Yeah. I’m getting that,” was all Ward could think to say.
In fact, everything he thought he knew about the Resistance was turning out to be wrong. The Revolution was the public face of a much larger movement. A rebellion. Ward took a deep breath. He'd just seen behind the curtain.
Soon the meeting was over, and he was whisked back to the meet-up spot the same way he had arrived: blindfolded.
The next morning, most of the same insurgency workforce began returning for duty in the large warehouse. This was no nine-to-five job. It was a way of life. Coffee was brewed, yawns were shared, and everyone wished they could see the sunlight. But there were no open windows in this place. To the outside world, the home of the Resistance was an abandoned relic of a long-gone industrial era. Few folks would ever wonder why the owner of the building didn't do anything with it since most of South Boston's industrial heart sat idle. Americans hadn't made much of anything for decades. All of that was done in China, India, and on the robotic assembly lines of the EU and Japan. An abandoned warehouse, even one as massive as this, was not likely to stoke suspicion. But this one had subterranean layers. Seven of them, dug into the Earth, housing the members of the insurgency and all of their equipment. All of it concealed from satellite imaging.
Inside, the workday was in full swing. Young Fiona Fletcher attended to her chores. Which mostly meant basic cleaning and maintenance on much of the machinery in the lab or serving as a courier between divisions. Every now and then she even assisted with the actual operation of the lab. Those days were her favorites, because science had become her first love. Well, actually her second love. Possibly even her third, in fact.
Because she found every excuse she could to be as close to the Revolution as possible. She knew men thought she was beautiful. She had gotten their attention far earlier than she had desired. Earlier than was appropriate. Anytime that happened she thought it was gross. Except when it was his attention.
She made it no secret to him that she wanted him. He was the Revolution, after all. Lots of women fantasized about the man behind the mask. The difference was, she knew he was interested too, even if he tried to deny it. And she practically lived with him.
Fiona heard someone walking up behind her and turned from dusting the computer banks. It was only a couple of techs back from a break. They were easily ten years older than she.
“Hey, I think you missed a spot,” one of them said.
“Yeah, you should do that again. Man, no standards around here.” They both smiled at her, obviously hoping she would joust back. Instead, her eyes went wide and twinkled with excitement. But she was looking past them. They followed her gaze to see Revolution walking up behind them. The techs turned silent, gazed at the floor, tried not to make eye contact with him. Fiona could practically feel them tremble. She loved how he could intimidate anyone simply by his presence. There was something primal about it. It's the very essence of cool.
“Hi,” she said.
But he just kept walking toward the lab. A single-minded focus that those around him were used to.
“Shouldn't you be in class?” As he spoke to her he didn’t break stride; he turned his head only slightly.
“No. They let us out early today.”
He said nothing, but he shot the techs a second look. Instantly, the duo scattered.
Revolution continued toward the lab. In the distance he could see an elegant African-American woman in her midfifties. She was Dr. Leslie Gibbons, the director of the insurgency’s science division and formerly one of the nation's most distinguish
ed scientific minds. To the rest of the world she was missing.
Presumed dead.
Fiona followed behind him and settled into a desk facing the large chamber and console Paul Ward had seen earlier—just out of earshot. Leslie was busy adjusting gauges on the console. In front of her, inside the chamber, a table was set up with a small arsenal of weapons the Revolution used routinely: several whips, rows and rows of throwing stars, and a dozen nunchaku. Leslie smiled at Revolution and shook her head as he approached. She had seen the whole interaction with the techs.
“General, that girl gets hit on by every guy in this place until you shut 'em down.” Strangely, the Revolution was referred to as “General” in this place as much as he was by his adopted superhero moniker, if not more so. It had rankled him a bit at first, but as the years had worn on he’d come to accept it. To like it even.
“She's just a child. And I…” He searched for the right words. “I'm responsible for her.”
“Yeah, well, she loves you. You’re keeping her awful close, aren't you?”
“She's seventeen.” He tried to sound irritated at her suggestion, but Leslie was the one person he did not intimidate. “The girl is special.”
Leslie glanced over at Fiona and caught her watching them. The teenager swiftly gazed back at the screen. Her beauty was unmatched and undeniable. She was a true heartbreaker in the making.
“Yeah, clearly” Leslie said. “But did it ever occur to you that maybe she wants some of that attention you're always saving her from? It's lonely in here for her. Why do you think she follows you around like a puppy dog?”
Revolution sighed in the echoes of his mask and pushed the button on one of Leslie's carefully calibrated displays. A deep hum of power droned out of the chamber in front of them. A bright yellow-green laser streaked to life, searing across the glassed-in enclosure from the powerful cylindrical gun-like device in the center of the far chamber wall.
The Suns of Liberty (Book 2): Revolution Page 12
