by J. L. Lyon
“Something as simple as a strand of hair can tell us what we need to know,” Rosalind said. “Then we can begin.”
“And what exactly do you plan to do?” Grace asked warily. “What did you mean by ‘strike first’?”
“We will get to him before the MWR can.”
Grace shook her head, “301 will never leave the World System.”
“Not willingly, perhaps,” Rosalind smiled darkly. “But certain measures must be taken to ensure the continuity of the resistance. We are lucky you arrived when you did, with what you did. Most likely, you have moved up our timetable considerably. As for the rest, I will leave it to the general’s discretion to tell you. Here he is now.”
Before Rosalind finished speaking the lock on the front door turned, prompting Grace to pull out her Spectral Gladius in case it was not the general. She had no desire to return into slavery, not when she knew only death awaited her there. The door opened wide enough for a man cloaked in black to slide quickly inside, after which he shut it swiftly behind him and twisted the lock back into place.
He lowered his hood and turned to face them. It had been many years, but Grace knew him immediately. He was a good deal older than in her memories, with more gray in his hair than brown, and his face was careworn as only one who carries the weight of some great destiny can be. In his eyes she saw more cynicism than she remembered, but the valorous fire still remained. Beneath his cloak, Grace briefly saw a flash of green—the green emerald casing of his Spectral Gladius. She knew its name, not so much different in meaning than that of her own.
At first Crenshaw did not see her. He turned his rapt attention onto Rosalind and spoke with impatience, “Got your message, Ros. I really hope this is not one of your games.”
Rosalind smiled sweetly in the general’s direction, “Good to see you too, Ellis. I really hated to pull you away, but we have a guest. One I think you should meet.”
Crenshaw looked ready to throttle the woman, a reaction Grace was thankful for. She was glad not to be the only one who found Rosalind a bit…eccentric. But when he looked at the younger woman sitting in the chair, his expression changed from annoyance to astonishment, “Grace? Grace Sawyer?”
Grace rose from her chair with a grin, “Hello, General Crenshaw. It’s been a long time.”
Crenshaw rushed forward and caught her up in a fatherly embrace, “Fifteen years! But how can this be? We heard you were dead!”
“As good as,” she said, not wishing to recount the entire story again. “Or so I thought anyway. Someone intervened.” Grace pulled back from the general and let him see the imprint on her arm. His eyes widened and his lips grew thin. He turned back to Rosalind, “Is he here?”
“No,” Grace answered for her. “He released me and then returned to the palace. But this is his uniform. You should be able to lift something from it to make a DNA match.”
Crenshaw looked at Rosalind incredulously, “You told her?”
Rosalind held her hands up as though to declare herself innocent, “Come now, Ellis. You know what a stickler I am for the rules. I never really told her anything…I merely paved the way.”
The general rolled his eyes and said sarcastically, “I’m sure.” He turned his attention back to Grace, “Well, considering the tattoo on your arm I presume you probably know more about him than any of us, so it’s good that you are on board.”
“I don’t know that I am quite yet,” Grace said. “At least, not until I know what you intend.”
“Alright, then,” Crenshaw nodded. “Since I assume you will want to return to your father and let him know of your survival, you should know that I can and will take you there. But we will not leave until curfew has been lifted. There is a brief window between then and sunrise, and that is when we will go. Ros will provide you with more appropriate clothing and lift the sample from 301’s uniform. After that, the three of us will gather in the dining room.” He spared another frown for Rosalind, “So let’s get started. We have much to discuss, and little time in which to do it.”
28
301 LEFT THE Jeep in an abandoned warehouse about half a mile from the palace defense ring, fully expecting it to be weeks or more before it was found. By then the Great Army would undoubtedly have bigger things to deal with, and wouldn’t think to connect the vehicle’s absence with the incident at Defense Center Five.
But when he came within view of the destruction wrought along the ring’s northern rim, he realized no one would forget the incident anytime soon. Defense Center Five lay in ruins, a charred heap of rock and ash still smoking despite countless attempts to defeat the flames. Both sections of the perimeter fence on either side of the defense center had collapsed, leaving the way into the courtyard wide open for any who might enter. Though who would try it with all the Great Army soldiers present, 301 couldn’t imagine.
The neighboring Defense Center Six, where the collapsed wall had allowed them to escape at the time of the blast, was badly damaged. Defense Center Four, on the other side, appeared untouched by the explosion, though the EMP had blown out every electronic system and weapon in range, which also included the majority of the palace’s North Wing.
In surveying the damage, the gravity of what Liz had done sent him near the edge of panic. Surely there was no way their involvement in this mess could be concealed forever. He hoped she had a plan.
No one even acknowledged him as he stepped over the fallen perimeter fence next to Defense Center Six. Every man there had a job to do, and most could care less why a Specter Captain would be on his way back inside. Once in the courtyard he merely blended in with the swarms of other officials running frantically from place to place in an attempt to restore power. No one bothered him as he approached the darkened North Wing entrance.
He passed through the open doors and into the dark foyer, where he saw a vision of chaos nearly equal to that on the outside. Soldiers ran from one hall to the next as though the MWR himself bore down upon their backs, and their flashlights created a strobe-like effect on the walls.
Among the constant movement one man stood alone with his eyes on the door, a pillar within the chaos. He moved forward immediately when he saw 301 enter, and 301 felt a spike of apprehension. If someone was there waiting for him, perhaps the truth was already known.
“Specter Captain,” the man spoke over the shouting. “Colonel Luke Orion, Premier Sullivan’s Chief of Staff. We met at the royal airport when you came to retrieve Elizabeth Aurora.”
“Yes,” 301 said, vaguely remembering. “What’s this about, Colonel?”
“I was told you might be returning this way,” he replied. “Please come with me.”
301’s heart dropped. Orion spoke with a tone of urgency, one he had seldom heard from Great Army officers since becoming a Specter. It bespoke authority, as though 301 had no choice but to follow him. And since Orion was the Premier’s Chief of Staff, he had to assume they had been discovered.
But as he followed Colonel Orion deeper into the palace toward the Crown Section elevator, he realized the flaw in that theory. If the Ruling Council believed him a traitor, why send only one man to apprehend him?
They passed into an unaffected area, and his eyes strained in the light. The hall was deserted, as all personnel had been shifted to deal with the blackout. When they reached the Crown Section elevator and began to wait, 301 took a moment to study Orion’s face. He didn’t seem frightened or anxious, as he probably would have if he were leading 301 into danger. He didn’t even appear hostile…just unsure, like a wise man sizing up a mystery he had never before considered.
“Do you want to ask me something, Specter Captain?” Orion asked.
301 knew he had been staring, but made a point not to look away, “Where are you taking me?”
“To the Hall of Advisors,” Orion replied. “Your friend, Specter Aurora, awaits you there.”
“Liz?” So they had her, too. If they came for him, she must have
told them everything, and that meant they would both be drawn up on charges of treason and executed. He looked back down the hall, tempted to make a break for it. Chances were slim that he could make it back out before Orion alerted the Great Army, but surely that was better than walking straight into the jaws of death?
“Don’t,” Orion urged strongly, noticing the direction of 301’s gaze. “You are in great danger, Specter Captain, but not from me.” The elevator doors opened and Orion stepped inside, turning back with an inquisitive stare, “So are you coming, or will you play the fool and attempt to run?”
With a loud sigh, 301 stepped onto the elevator. He was the one who got Liz involved in this mess, and he couldn’t leave her to face it alone. If Premier Sullivan really wanted him dead, he wouldn’t last long anyway. The doors closed and the elevator began to rise.
Orion spoke then, quietly and with that same urgency he had used in the foyer, “Listen to me carefully, Shadow Soldier. I am carrying an anti-surveillance device so that we cannot be recorded, but we don’t have much time. You took longer than expected to return to the palace. We have arranged to expedite the intelligence of Sir Collin’s dealings with Security Officer Nathan Emerson to the MWR, so that he will learn of the assassination attempt as well as the identity of the assassin—your slave, Grace Sawyer. We will not, however, mention a Spectral Gladius being included with her belongings—something you should have reported. We have planted evidence in your suite that will point to Sawyer being the cause of tonight’s incident along the Defense Ring, thereby explaining her escape. You and Specter Aurora were in a late-night meeting with the Premier in the Hall of Advisors at the time, meaning you couldn’t possibly have aided her flight.”
301 shook his head, totally beside himself at this turn of events. Why would the Premier’s Chief of Staff help them conceal a blatant crime against the World System?
“And if someone thinks to confirm this with the Premier?”
Orion turned to look at him with a sly smile, “I am here under orders from the Premier, Specter Captain.” The elevator doors opened to the halls of the Crown Section and Orion stepped out, leaving 301 standing alone, open-mouthed at his revelation. Sullivan—second-in-command of the World System—was going to help them cover this up? How did Liz pull that off?
301 recovered his senses and followed Orion into the hall, reeling with the prospects of what this new turn could mean. He couldn’t imagine Premier Sullivan doing this out of the goodness of his heart. He had some ulterior motive, something he wanted—and now they were backed into a corner where he had the leverage to get it.
Orion turned and opened the door to the Hall of Advisors, where both Liz and Premier Sullivan waited. 301 gave her an inquisitive look, but didn’t dare say anything with both Sullivan and Orion present.
The colonel closed the door as soon as all four of them were inside, and Premier Sullivan spoke first, “Well, Specter Captain…this is quite a mess. I assume Colonel Orion has you up to speed?”
301 nodded, “Yes. But—”
“Please,” Sullivan stopped him. “There is no need to explain. Sometimes the heart does foolish things, I can understand that. But what you must understand, both of you, is that the Ruling Council cannot afford to lose you—especially now. I would ask you to keep that in mind next time you decide to travel such a road.”
Not knowing what else to do, 301 merely nodded again. If Sullivan had prepared a snare for them, he seemed reluctant to make it known. But 301 didn’t like being backed into a corner without knowing how he might get out.
“With all due respect, sir, what will you require in exchange for this…favor?”
“Favor?” Sullivan seemed surprised that 301 would even ask. “I’m not doing this for you, Specter Captain. I’m doing it for the Ruling Council. Specter is our most valuable asset, and you are Specter’s most powerful member. If the MWR ever catches wind of what really transpired tonight, he might be of a mind to kill you himself.” The Premier’s eyes narrowed. “The only expectation I have is the one that has always held true: that you will remain loyal to the Ruling Council.”
301 turned his attention briefly to Liz in an attempt to discern where she stood in this. Had she gone willingly to Sullivan, or had he somehow found out and she improvised? Tousled blonde hair framed her beautiful—and somewhat anxious—face. She was uncomfortable under 301’s gaze, as though afraid he might accuse her of betraying him. So, she had gone to Sullivan willingly. Perhaps that had been her plan all along. But to what end?
“So can I count on you, Specter Captain?” Sullivan asked. “Should the time ever come where the interests of the Council need protection, it would be a great relief to know we could rely on Specter’s assistance.”
There it was. Every time Sullivan spoke of loyalty, he did so not in the context of the World System as a whole, but of the Ruling Council. He wanted to know that if a conflict of interest ever arose between the Ruling Council and the MWR, Specter would side with the Council. Immediately he felt the danger of his position. To deny Sullivan this assurance would likely lead to his refusing to help them. But accepting it could launch him into an entirely different realm of treason. Who knew how much—or how soon—such a promise might come back to haunt him?
But Sullivan played his game well. In the end, there was no choice to make but the one the Premier desired. 301 could either pledge himself to the service of the Ruling Council, or die by the hand of the MWR. He stared fire in Liz’s direction for a brief moment, knowing she had been Sullivan’s pawn in this. As for the why, they would discuss it later. For now, the second most powerful man in the world needed an answer.
“Of course, Premier,” he said with as much lightheartedness as he could muster. “Specter is the arm of the Ruling Council—your right hand. We will respond to your call if it becomes necessary.”
Sullivan smiled as though he had received a contract signed in blood, “Excellent.” He made a show of looking at the time. “Well, I suppose the palace guards have arrived at your suite by now and are sifting through the trail we left. If I were you I’d head that way, and let as many cameras see you as possible. Once you arrive I have no doubt they will take you into custody, at which time you can tell them of your alibi. They will contact me for confirmation and you will be set free. Colonel Orion and I will take care of the rest.”
301 felt sick with dread, certain he had just sold his soul. There would be no escape from this, he could see that clearly in Sullivan’s victorious expression. Some master plan brewed beneath that aged brow, and 301 doubted it had much to do with peace and unity. It was no secret that tensions between the Ruling Council and the MWR had risen near the point of breaking, and he had just unwittingly stepped into the middle of it all.
Not trusting his powers of conversation in this conflicted state, 301 said the simplest thing he could think of, “Thank you, sir,” and turned to leave before he got himself in any deeper. He was only vaguely aware of Liz’s attempt to follow before Sullivan stopped her.
“Remain with me a moment, Specter Aurora. You should not both arrive to the North Wing at the same time. If possible we would like to isolate you from this incident completely.”
301 looked back long enough to see her watching his departure with disappointment. She obviously sensed 301’s feeling of betrayal, and wanted to set the record straight. But he didn’t want to spend a moment longer in that room, and so he opened the door and slipped silently back into the hall.
As the door shut after him, Liz turned to Sullivan with a wary expression, “Is this going to work, Premier?”
“No reason it wouldn’t,” Sullivan replied with confidence. “My word does still carry some weight around here, albeit not as much as it once did. But all of that is about to change, my dear—with your help of course.”
“You promised me—”
Sullivan held up a hand to silence her, “I’m well aware of our arrangement, Specter Aurora, but your part
in that pact is not complete just yet. You have done well tonight, and now is the time to finish it. Go and make him ours.”
29
THE NIGHT PROCEEDED PERFECTLY, as though Sullivan had scripted it himself. 301 arrived at his suite to find the door torn from its hinges—by the search team or Sullivan’s evidence planters, he didn’t know. A squad of palace guards searched the room from top to bottom, leaving no corner unchecked in their attempt to find Napoleon Alexander’s would-be assassin. Aside from the clothes she left behind they found nothing of interest, and in their frustration they took 301 into custody.
He feigned outrage and incredulity for a few moments before dropping his alibi, which fell like a bomb in the ears of the chief guard. He seemed fearful as he confirmed 301’s story with Premier Sullivan, his face white as he surveyed the chaos his men had caused to the Specter Captain’s suite. For good measure, and likely in order to keep himself out of 301’s line of fire, the chief guard ordered his men to clean up the mess—including the repair of his door. The squad departed less than an hour after his return to the palace, leaving him a brief moment of peace before his next great challenge.
Even at that late hour, Admiral McCall summoned him to the briefing room and yelled himself hoarse about the incident at the Collins estate. Derek Blaine had already given his report, which of course included detailed mention of 301’s erratic behavior after the Great Army’s arrival.
The admiral at least seemed to buy his cover story for Grace’s escape, lie though it was, though he did express some suspicion:
“An awful lot of strange things have taken place tonight, Specter Captain, and you cannot deny that they all seem to center around you. Collins dies by your hand after confessing his involvement with the benefactor network, intelligence discovers that what they believed to be payments for illegal documents were actually bribes to keep a security officer quiet about a DNA match for Jacob Sawyer’s daughter—a woman Collins believed he could put in place to assassinate the MWR and who just happened to be your slave. And then, on the very night all of this is discovered she mysteriously escapes, leaving ruin along the northern Defense Ring in her flight. Just another day in the World System?”
