“You do whatever you need to do,” he said. “Do you want to start?”
Caroline definitely needed to close her eyes. It made it easier when the door creaked open and the footsteps started. I’m just here with my husband. No big deal.
Beatriz spoke in a low voice. “We can start whenever you’re ready.”
Jack grazed Caroline’s shoulder with a finger. “Do you need help?”
She turned around and began to unbutton her shirt. “No, but if you want to stand here I’m not going to complain.”
Her voice shook. He noticed. Jack kissed her cheek. “It’s all right,” he said softly. “They’re all women.”
Something that had undoubtedly been done on purpose. She nodded in understanding.
“Close your eyes, sweetheart.” He grabbed her hands. “I can do the shirt if you want.”
She was nervous and nauseated, and knew the clothing removal wouldn’t be the least bit sexual. She felt his warm hands on her shoulders. His fingers unhooking her bra. She heard his voice, sure and steady, clear and confident. It mollified her. Jack gave her verbal directions, occasionally brushed her cheek or squeezed her hand to let her know he was nearby. A few minutes of positioning and photography seemed to take much longer. The women discussed what they were photographing, probably because Beatriz was making a video of the entire session. Pointing out the length of scars, the color, the general appearance. Filling in the blanks, noting how each injury was caused.
Each time Caroline would flash back. She saw the hammer. Caught the butt of a handgun. Felt the ropes around her wrists. The knife across her chest. Across her stomach.
And she’d counter it, compartmentalizing yet again. Remembering the first time Jack kissed her scars. How he still did it every chance he got. How he made her feel beautiful despite her wounds. She was dauntless. Indomitable. Strong as steel.
They documented the scars on her back last, which took a while. Measuring the length of each, detailing whether there were buckle marks or other anomalies. Caroline clenched her fists, blocked out the dark thoughts, and didn’t shed a fucking tear.
“We’re done,” Beatriz said quietly.
Caroline heard her and the other staffers retreating as Jack enveloped her in his arms. The door clicked shut. “We’re the only ones in here,” he whispered. “I’m so proud of you.”
She opened her eyes. “Is that it for today?”
“I sure as hell hope so. I think we’ve been through enough.” He picked up her bra and blouse. “How does some room service sound?”
She slipped her clothes back on, claiming a small victory. She’d survived. “Great.”
*****
The hotel food continued to be better than anticipated. Exhausted after a late meal, Caroline was resting in her husband’s arms, decompressing in the most effective way possible. “Thank you for today.”
“Of course,” Jack said. “I told you I’d be there whenever you needed me.”
“It was hard, having them take those pictures. I felt like they must all have been looking at me, feeling sorry for me, maybe even judging me.”
“They all saw what I see – courage and bravery in the face of overwhelming, incomprehensible evil.”
“I love you,” Caroline whispered.
He kissed her. “I know. The past few days haven’t been easy.”
What an understatement. She’d not only reopened old wounds, she’d cut them even deeper. She hoped they would heal again. “It helps to talk about this stuff. A little.”
“It’s still draining.” He squeezed her ass gently. “You do okay sitting down the last few days?”
His question was a reminder they hadn’t done anything more than cuddle over the past few nights. “Yes. You’re going to have to do better next time.”
He bit her neck. “I’m always up for improving my performance. Just not tonight. Maybe when we get back to California.”
“We should do freaky shit in every country we visit. For posterity and practice.”
“If it helps you relax, I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”
There was so much uncertainty. So many unknowns. So many questions that needed answers, even if she didn’t want to hear them. Fleeing to Europe was a nice escape. Especially if reality, particularly whatever was waiting for them in Canada, didn’t work out as anticipated. “Part of me doesn’t want to leave,” Caroline whispered.
“Despite the reason we’ve been here, it’s definitely a change of pace.” Jack rubbed her shoulders. “But I agree with you. There’s a part of me that wants to stay here too. Maybe take a long train ride across the continent, find you a nice villa in France or a cottage by the sea and stay there forever.”
Caroline closed her eyes. “That sounds nice. Tell me more about the cottage by the sea.”
“The beach would be right outside our door,” he said. “I’d get you an easel and supplies so you could paint anything you wanted. We could take our shoes off and walk along the water, feeling the sand in our toes. At night we could lay out on a blanket under the stars and do whatever we wanted to each other. We’d be totally isolated.”
“You wouldn’t want to do it during the day?”
“Well,” Jack said. “I do have some respectability.”
But not much. “Tell me more.”
“There would be room for a garden and you could grow whatever you wanted. We could get matching Vespas and ride into town whenever the mood struck us. You’d get your fill of fine European cheeses and chocolates. And I’d get you a helmet with flames on it so you’d be the hottest mama on the road.”
He sounded so earnestly excited. Like he’d really thought about it. It was cute. “Jack, really.”
“You wouldn’t like that?”
She could practically smell the sea air just thinking about it. “It all sounds so perfect. If only that could really happen.”
“Maybe someday. When all of this is over.”
Finality. A tempting concept but Caroline knew better. A story could reach its conclusion with far from the desired outcome. Or it could linger without a proper denouement. The kind of ending that wouldn’t give them the soul cleansing resolution they so desperately sought. “Do you think it’s ever going to be over?”
“We’ll keep doing whatever we need to do to further the process along, including going to Canada.”
Fantasies about beach living were all well and good, but they’d both prefer a more grounded life with their family intact. “Then we’ll have our answer,” Caroline said.
“We’ll deal with it when it comes, no matter what it is.” Jack caressed her cheek. “I know I’ve said this more often than you care to hear, but I am in awe of you,” he said. “I’m glad you’ve gotten to the point where you feel comfortable enough to share your story.”
“Maybe it will be enough to get the international community to do something.” Caroline wasn’t holding her breath, though. Not after what Beatriz had told her. The ironic double edged sword of centuries of American military might – once political power was in the wrong hands, corrosive circumstances made it damn hard for anyone else to wrench away the torch.
“We’ve already heard rumblings, sweetheart. This may force them into action.”
“It also means we have to expose ourselves. Fully. Not just here. We’d have to go completely public. Are you ready for that?” she asked.
“The tribunal will soon be public knowledge. That’ll be enough of a hint that we’re alive, I’d think.”
His voice was a little too hearty. He had his reservations. Hell, so did she. But she didn’t want the weightlessness of the conversation to end. Not yet. “So, once this is all over we can retire to Europe?”
“Yes, Michael and Diana can retire to Europe and eat nothing but croissants and drink nothing but wine.”
“I’d rather Jack and Caroline be doing it. As themselves. Without having to hide.” And with our children.
“We’ll see.”
He w
as coming down. They both were. Flirting never kept all the demons at bay. “One more day of this,” she said. “Has Schroeder heard anything from Ottawa?”
“Always thinking about that, huh?”
She’d been able to banish thoughts of their children to the back of her mind while she fretted over their overseas travel, but the practicalities of the next part of their journey seemed an easy enough transition. “Of course. Aren’t you?”
“We’ll get our answers.”
“It’s almost Mo’s eighteenth birthday,” she said.
“We’ll know before then.”
Caroline shook her head. “What are we even doing here? Why is this happening? We should have been picking out colleges, talking about prom, finally breaking down and giving her a car that was much too nice for her, helping her do all the things she’d always wanted to do. This isn’t fair.” Her voice broke. “What if I’m getting my hopes up for nothing?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Understand?”
She’d kept it together for most of their time in The Hague but she’d reached her breaking point. “I miss my Mo Mo. I miss them both.”
Jack pulled her to him. “I miss them too,” he whispered.
She wept against his chest until her throat was raw. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have fallen apart like that.”
He kissed her forehead. “You’re allowed to let your pot boil over. You’ll get through this, we’ll go to Canada, and we’ll find the truth either way.”
Would that give her closure? “I got your shirt all wet. Again.”
“You can ruin every shirt I own. I don’t much care for this one anyway.”
“You’re too good for me.”
Jack wiped the remaining tears off her face. “I’m starting to believe you. Just a little.”
She snuggled closer. “Can you hold me for a while?”
“Forever,” he said.
*****
Caroline slept soundly, cradled in her husband’s arms, the rhythm of his heartbeat lulling her into slumber. When she heard vibrations she raised her head, confused.
“What is that?” she asked hoarsely.
Jack fumbled around the nightstand. “Phone,” he mumbled. “Turned the ringer off.”
“What time is it?”
“Late. Early. Whatever.”
The light from the screen poked through the darkness. She rolled over in a weak attempt to preserve her half-sleepy state. “What’s going on?”
“Sit up,” he said. “Now.”
Caroline rubbed her eyes. “This better be good.”
He handed her his phone. “See for yourself. It’s from Schroeder.”
Sent you a great offer. Please read immediately. Taking a vacay.
She cocked her head at him. “Care to translate?”
Jack put the phone face down on the nightstand, yawning. “We have a few hours before we can head over to the ICC,” he said.
He seemed remarkably calm. What the hell? “Seriously, Jack.”
“Documents sent to The Hague. Schroeder is en route to Schiphol.”
“What kind of documents?”
“I assume it has to do with our visas. If we can go straight to Canada, so be it.”
“Why didn’t he just say that?”
“You never know what’s being monitored.”
“But that was unnecessarily cryptic.”
“Don’t overanalyze, Caroline.”
She glanced at the alarm clock. There was no way she’d be able to go back to sleep now. “What time do you think they start serving breakfast?”
“Probably not for a little bit.” Jack slipped his hand under her shirt. “I could distract you for a while.”
Good luck with that one. “I’d like to see you try.”
“Such incredulity.” He rolled on top of her. “I’m going to spend the next two hours proving you wrong.”
Chapter Seven
“Do you think he’s here?” Caroline asked.
“It’s a long flight. Probably not.”
“But he sent something ahead. Right?”
Jack pressed her hand between both of his. “I’m sure Beatriz will be able to tell us.”
Sure enough, she was headed toward them in the hallway, a stack of papers in her hand. “You’re going to want to look at this.” Beatriz waved them into a conference room. “Heavily encrypted, so no danger of hacking.”
That was strange. Maybe it didn’t have to do with their visas.
Jack flipped through the pages. “What is this?”
“See for yourself. I’ll leave you two alone.” Beatriz backed out the door, shutting it behind her.
Caroline stared at Jack. “Is it our travel plans?”
His expression changed as he read the first page. “No,” he said quietly. “It’s something else.”
She grabbed the papers out of his hand. The headline read: American Ex-Pats Eager for International Intervention in Homeland Crisis
In the months since American rebels released classified materials detailing the activities of the Santos Administration, international leaders have entered into a vigorous debate whether to intervene in the embattled nation’s troubles. The now independent California Republic has taken a vital role in providing aid and comfort to the revolutionaries who have tried for the past two years to expose Lorenzo Santos’ behavior to the world.
When Santos first took office, there was no reason for the international community to believe he would do anything more than recent American presidents to isolate the United States from the rest of the world. As rumors of repression, persecution of political enemies, and disappearances of the wealthiest Americans started to spread, many outside the U.S. chose to let the country flounder on its own.
Oppressive executive orders regarding reclamation of wealth and programs conscripting LGBTQ+ persons and religious minorities for questioning and psychological treatment were signed after nine months in office. The legislative and judicial branches of the federal government were largely nonfunctioning. Alliances formed between radical socialists and fascists, Posse Comitatus, sovereign citizens, communists, anarchists, and other fringe reactionaries. They found a welcome home in a new republic where everyone who spoke out was an enemy and everyone willing to snitch, an ally.
Rebel troops have been organizing in an unknown location in California, although details of their plans are spotty. Clearly, their main goal in releasing the documents was to make the world aware of Santos’ true intentions upon ascending to the presidency. Among the most explosive allegations? That the Republican Santos and left wing Senator Bernard Gunderson, a known socialist, conceived the assassination of then-President Richard Hendricks shortly after he was sworn into office. Santos selected Gunderson as his Vice President after the shocking attack on Hendricks, vowing to bring the nation together by bridging the gaps between political extremes.
Classified CIA documents detailing this conspiracy were released to the CBC, BBC, al-Jazeera, Reuters, and other international news organizations. Numerous internal records from American prison facilities indicate that federal law enforcement agents tortured and executed high profile politicians and members of activist movements.
Scores of government workers, former elected officials, and other asylum seekers have been welcomed by the Canadian government. A large number live and work in Ottawa. Many have been given protection, financial assistance, and other means of support. Many of them have strong feelings about the documents the rebels have released.
“The time has come for the international community to become more involved in this situation,” said American ex-pat Joshua Delaney. “Those of us who fled to Canada want to return home. We love our country. We want to see it restored. Canada and other nations should lend their support to the rebels in any manner they can.”
Delaney was a press secretary to former United States Speaker of the House Robert Allen, whom documents show was executed after extensive interrogat
ion at a federal holding facility in Washington, D.C. He was not the only high profile prisoner. Numerous members of the American Congress, their staffers, and other political dissidents were all housed there. None are believed to have survived.
One of the most prominent public figures held at the facility was former United States Representative Caroline Gerard. She served in the U.S. House of Representatives for six years before retiring to aid her husband, John McIntyre, then a fellow member of Congress, in his quest to become governor of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.
McIntyre succeeded in that endeavor and was inaugurated two and a half years before Santos came to power. Both self-identified political moderates, Gerard and McIntyre were the two most outspoken critics of the Santos Administration. It is now believed they were clandestinely accumulating information similar to that recently released by the rebels. According to leaked documents, Gerard was apprehended in a rural forest in Pennsylvania and detained for two weeks as federal agents attempted to obtain intelligence regarding the rebel movement. She was executed after refusing to provide information. McIntyre’s location is unknown, but he is presumed dead.
Shortly before she was captured, Gerard entrusted her children to the care of her close friend, former United States Senator Christine Sullivan. Sullivan and her family took custody of the girls and were intent on seeking refuge in Canada, believing Gerard and McIntyre would soon follow. They were ambushed while approaching the border crossing at Fort Covington, New York. Sullivan’s husband Thomas and daughter Jessica were killed by U.S. Border Patrol officers after the five Americans fled their vehicle in an attempt to cross through the forest into Quebec on foot.
Equipped with nothing but the clothes on their back and a few meager supplies, Sullivan and Gerard’s daughters trekked across the boundary between New York and Quebec. They struggled through near blizzard conditions until they made contact with local law enforcement in Dundee. They were granted asylum and protection by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, by order of the Prime Minister of Canada. While their identities and location have remained a secret until recently, they are now willing to speak with reporters about their ordeal.
Triumph (The Bellator Saga Book 6) Page 7
