Betrayal

by Tim Tigner

  Odi looked back at her from the other side of the room, his face a mask of desperation. She felt an inexplicable surge of guilt, followed by a sense of foreboding. He walked slowly toward the armchair with his feet shuffling and his head bowed low, the epitome of a beaten man.

  In a split second, he changed everything. As Odi drew beside the chair he scooped the marble cigar ashtray off the end table and whirled around like he was holding a discus. He completed one full turn and then launched the rock straight into the center of the aquarium.

  The enormous glass panel cracked into a spider’s web as the ashtray soared through. There was a catastrophic crash followed by the sound of three hundred gallons of furious water and a hundred doomed fish spewing onto the beige carpeted floor. Cassi and Wiley both shot out of their chairs as the living rainbow began to thrash and flop.

  Odi dove into the writhing school toward the nearest Beretta. Cassi heard a gunshot as the Beretta jumped off the floor an inch before Odi’s hand. “Don’t move, Carr,” a new voice shouted from the doorway. “I never miss.”

  Cassi turned toward the voice as Odi froze.

  Stuart was standing there, dressed head to toe in black. Aside from the handgun and accompanying snarl, he looked exactly as he had when Wiley brought him to her loft for brunch. His dark eyes flashed with cold intensity behind silver spectacles as he spoke. “Lie on your stomach with your hands behind your back. If you try another funny move, I’ll put the next bullet in your sister.”

  Cassi looked from Stuart to Odi to Wiley. “Wiley, what’s going on? Tell your friend to put his gun away.”

  Wiley rose and picked the three wet automatics off the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “You should have listened to your brother.”

  Cassi felt the blood drain from her face. The room began to spin. It couldn’t be. Wiley couldn’t ... Wiley wouldn’t ... “Wiley ... ?”

  “I didn’t expect it to come to this. Your brother is a little too resourceful.” Wiley slipped the two Berettas beneath his belt and used the Colt to motion Cassi toward the floor.

  Cassi had no strength to resist. Stuart pressed her face into the saturated carpet as he bound her hands using thick black zip ties extracted from his pocket. A dying fish gasped for air an inch from her face. She knew exactly how it felt.

  She turned to look at Odi. Stuart had him similarly bound and positioned. He was drenched and bleeding from a dozen cuts, some still embedded with aquarium glass. Guilt overwhelmed her as she asked her brother, “What resourcefulness are they talking about?”

  Odi said, “I’ve been a fool. I’ve been used.” He looked up at Wiley. “What are your plans for the explosive?”

  “What explosive?” Cassi asked, now totally confused.

  “He’s referring to the two gallons of custom brew that he gave our mutual friend,” Stuart said, unzipping Odi’s backpack and pulling out a bottle of what looked like milk. “What he really should be concerned about is this pint.” He shook the bottle as Odi groaned. Then Stuart produced a long funnel and Cassi saw tears appear in her brother’s eyes. She had not seen Odi cry since the day their parents died. The sight curdled her rage into fear.

  “Your brother really is a remarkable cook,” Stuart continued. “I think it’s time you enjoyed a taste.”

  Chapter 52

  Asgard Island, Chesapeake Bay

  ODI GAGGED ON the end of the funnel as Stuart forced the tip into his throat. He was pinned on his knees with Wiley behind him and Stuart in front. Wiley had a knee planted between his shoulder blades and was pulling back hard on his elbows to incapacitate him. Meanwhile, Stuart kept one foot on Odi’s crotch for insurance as he prepared to pour. Odi sensed that Stuart would joyfully transfer his weight if he resisted, however Odi was not about to do that. He had lost the will to fight the moment they emptied half a pint of Creamer into his sister. He clenched his eyes and listened to the upturned bottle gurgle as his stomach accepted the cold flowing liquid death.

  “You’re working with Ayden, aren’t you?” Odi asked Wiley, once the bottle had been emptied and the funnel withdrawn from his mouth. “Were you working with him from the start?”

  “No, we have you to thank for introducing us,” Stuart interjected.

  Odi kept his eyes on Wiley. “I figured it all out, everything except one key question.”

  Wiley raised his eyebrows.

  “Why do it? You have so much to lose.”

  “Let’s just say that I’m a hero in need of a war.”

  As Wiley spoke, Odi saw Cassi staring at him, tears still running down her eyes. Odi could not begin to imagine what she must be feeling. Perhaps the Creamer was a blessing. All her sorrows would vanish in about thirty minutes.

  Odi had brought the Creamer to Asgard to use on Wiley, so he accepted this turnabout as fair play. Part of him even thought that he deserved it. But he could not accept what Wiley was doing to his sister. She had given Wiley nothing but love and devotion. Now she had eight grenades worth of explosive sloshing around in her belly as thanks.

  “The plan to assassinate the Senate Armed Services Committee—was that real, or another red herring?” Odi pressed.

  Wiley grew a wry smile. “Oh, the idea Ayden presented was very real. I fear, however, that our mutual friend misled you on the tactics.”

  “How so?” Odi asked.

  Wiley looked over at Stuart, who had been standing there silent and expressionless with an automatic gripped professionally in each hand.

  Stuart nodded, his message clear. With the Creamer already congealing in their opponents’ bowels, they had nothing to fear from that revelation.

  “Do you know what day it is?” Wiley asked, turning back to Odi. “What date?”

  “October twelfth,” Cassi interjected with venom in her voice.

  “Precisely. First there was 9/11. Now there will be 10/12. Just as The Prophet warned.”

  Odi had not caught on to the calendar aspect, but otherwise he was not surprised. “So it’s even bigger than what Ayden proposed? Bigger than the SASC? What are you going to do, take out the Capitol? Two gallons of Creamer is a lot, but it’s not nearly enough for that.”

  Wiley returned an amused smile. “The SASC won’t be in the Capitol this afternoon. They’re going home. They’re flying home.”

  Odi felt a frigid iron vise take hold of his heart and begin to squeeze. His parents had died aboard a plane on 9/11. So had many others’. “Twenty-five airplanes,” he thought aloud. “That’s thousands of innocent souls.”

  “We’re hoping to get six thousand—double the casualties of 9/11—but we expect it will turn out closer to five. A lot depends on where the planes hit the ground. In any case, it won’t make a good advertisement for Baileys Irish Cream.” Wiley paused to admire his own wit. “Oh, and just to be accurate, it’s only going to be twenty-four planes. SASC Chairman Marshall is not flying home. He’s taking a cruise. The Senator is going to England, aboard the Queen Mary 2 no less.”

  Odi cringed but did not comment.

  Wiley continued. “There is one particular operational detail that I’m sure will hold your interest. Believe it or not, Ayden is going to handle Marshall personally. He considers it an honor.” Wiley chuckled. “Actually, Ayden’s mission will bring terrorism to a whole new level, an elite level. What location could strike closer to home for the world’s elite than the fanciest suite on the most luxurious ship? The QM2 may not sink, but a terrorist attack aboard it will strike home with the rich, and evoke a tidal wave of campaign donations.”

  “How could you, Wiley? How could you become such a monster?” Cassi spit the bitter words through her torrent of tears. “You were a good man, a decent man ... I loved you.”

  “Love often requires sacrifice, my dear. To answer your question, only a man in full control of his emotions can hope to survive the electoral process. It’s part of the hazing ritual. To join the fraternity of presidents, one must prove himself capable of despicable acts�
�and for good reason. You see, for all their wealth and position, the American people can’t afford the luxury of a Commander-in-Chief who will waiver when the time comes to pull the nuclear trigger.”

  It was obvious to Odi that Cassi wanted to retort, but apparently the words would not come—only more tears.

  “We’re going to leave you now,” Wiley continued, picking up the remote control. “Stuart and I have much to do. You two enjoy the rest of your lives.”

  Chapter 53

  Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport

  AYDEN FELT HIS anxiety peak as he watched Amir reach the front of the security line. He looked perfect. Polished shoes, a crisp navy suit topped with rimless spectacles and platinum tie. A Wall Street Journal adorned with a Grand Hyatt sticker completed the disguise. But the scanner would not be looking at the man …

  “Your identification and boarding pass please.”

  Amir handed the requested documents to the TSA officer. It was ridiculous how many times you had to do this, Ayden thought. Did the bureaucrats really think that terrorists could not afford to go online and buy a ninety-nine dollar ticket?

  The Idaho driver’s license Amir presented was not real, of course. For that matter, the matching boarding pass was unlikely to be used. The twenty-four martyrs had checked-in online the day before. Each had booked himself on three or four sequential flights under differing aliases. Although Director Proffitt had supplied Ayden with the list of the SASC Senators’ flight reservations, plans were known to change as meetings ran long or finished unexpectedly short. With multiple tickets, each martyr would be ready to board with his assigned Senator no matter which flight His Honor actually took.

  Ayden watched Amir’s progress over the shoulder of the lady in line between them. His colleague was a rock, or perhaps more appropriately, a rolling stone. He acted respectful but bored as the guard finished his perfunctory perusal. Then he put on the requisite thank-you-officer smile as the guard nodded like a dog approving of his biscuit.

  Amir put his bag on the scanner belt.

  The lady who had been separating them in line stepped aside unexpectedly as her cell phone rang. Suddenly it was Ayden’s turn. It took all his willpower to keep his nervous eyes off the guard inspecting Amir’s bag as he handed over his boarding pass and driver’s license.

  Ayden had run each refilled miniature Baileys Irish Cream bottle through the dishwasher six times, so he was confident that the agents, their bags, and the bottles themselves would pass a random swab test. The luggage scanners might be a different story.

  During his discussion with the woman pretending to be Sheila, Odi had asserted that Creamer would pass through security scanners like a bottle of milk. Ayden had repeated Odi’s claim with certainty to his twenty-four friends, although as his sweaty palms now testified, he had serious doubts. It was highly unlikely that Odi was up to date on the latest scanning technology. The field was changing too fast. Yesterday Ayden had pushed that worry aside because he had no choice. Now that the ball was in play, he felt weak in the knees.

  As Ayden walked through the metal detector, his heart jumped into his mouth. A guard had picked up Amir’s plastic quart bag as it emerged from the scanner. Ayden walked to stand behind Amir, straining to hear while trying to make nervous look like impatient. He wished he had taken one of the Diazepam tablets that Arvin had him give the martyrs. His nerves were not well suited for this kind of work.

  “Do you have anything unusual in here?” The guard asked, no sign of alarm in his voice.

  “No,” Amir said, “just toiletries … and uh, my breakfast.”

  As the guard held the bag up his face registered comprehension. “Expecting a tough day at the office, eh?”

  “You have no idea,” Amir replied, his tone remarkably cool.

  The fat guy putting on his shoes in front of Amir looked back, saw the bag full of miniature bottles of Baileys, and nodded appreciatively.

  Amir was quick on his feet, Ayden noted, not without a touch of pride. He also had a gift for words. Ayden had not told the martyrs what to say in the testimonial videos each had made for release in the coming days. He had just told them to tell the American people why they had chosen to do this. Arvin had pointed out that their testimonials would be much more persuasive if the world could see the un-coached conviction in their eyes and sense the sincerity in their voices. If Ayden had written a text, however, it would have read like Amir’s. His arguments were an oversimplification, to be sure, but political sound bites always were. He wiped a tear from his cheek as he remembered the words delivered by the handsome, well-coiffed man before him in flawless American English.

  My friends and I do not wish to die. Quite to the contrary, we want the same thing as you. We want to better our children’s lives. Unlike you, however, our situation is desperate. Desperate enough to do … this.

  You all harbor a deep desire for world peace. It’s in America’s blood. It’s the default answer in every religious sermon, political race, and beauty pageant. Yet despite all your means and rhetoric, all your promises and potential, and all your fine examples of individual and private efforts, your government is actively working against it.

  Your politicians are the problem.

  Our action today is a result of their inaction yesterday. We do this destructive act in the hope of building a better tomorrow. My colleagues and I are executing the twenty-five members of the Senate Armed Services Committee in order to shed light on their crimes. The American voters deserve to see the enormous gap that exists between these politicians’ promises, and their deeds.

  They spout bromides about Christianity, democracy, education, and world peace much as a fountain does water—with great volume and much show but little thought. Then they quietly shovel billions out the back door and into the pockets of their war-mongering corporations in exchange for campaign contributions.

  We hope that the sacrifice we make today gives the good people of America the chance to reevaluate the world, to see it not as the ‘Us’ and ‘Them’ politicians peddle, but for what it really is: one people under God.

  Chapter 54

  Asgard Island, Chesapeake Bay

  CASSI WATCHED OPEN mouthed as Odi sprang from the floor, instantly recognizing the desperate act of a man with nothing to lose. She remembered his line from the Potchak video: The only antidote to Creamer is death. Since Odi’s hands were bound behind his back, he tried to ram Wiley with his head. Cassi wanted to join him but before she could rise she saw Stuart’s Beretta flash and heard the sickening crack of metal on bone as he brought the butt down on the back of Odi’s charging head.

  “You bastard!” She screamed.

  Stuart turned to point the Beretta at her face.

  She ignored the gun barrel inches from her nose and gave Wiley a contemptuous stare. He and Stuart backed out the door. As Wiley lifted the remote control, Cassi screamed, “Wiley, for God’s sake, don’t do this!”

  “It’s already done,” Wiley said. Then he dialed the non-emergency code, and pressed the red panic button.

  The door slammed closed and Cassi heard bolts sliding into place. Titanium shutters began rolling down to cover the bulletproof windows. In seconds the study would be a fortress. For the second time in as many days, she was locked in a room with a bomb. At least this time she was not alone. And for better or worse, she could not see the clock. On the downside, she was the bomb. Escape was not an option. Strangely enough, Cassi found that fact calming.

  She struggled to her feet and used a shoulder to turn on the lights as the shutters dropped into place. She walked over to Odi and knelt down beside him. He had a nasty lump where Stuart’s pistol butt had cracked the back of his head, but he was breathing.

  “Odi ... Odi wake up ... Wake up. I need your help.”

  He did not respond.

  She repeated herself, louder.

  Still nothing.

  She gave him a vigorous nudge with her knee and then turned her attention
to the floor. She needed to find a piece of glass sharp enough to cut her bonds. Unfortunately the aquarium had shattered like a car windshield. It lay strewn about the floor in a thousand little pieces. She knew that this was a safety feature, but in her case it would do more harm than good. Most of the pieces were far too small to be of use.

  After brushing a dead fish aside with her foot, she spotted a triangular piece wedged into the thick carpet pile. It was more round than pointed, and each side was less than two inches long. Still, it was better than any other piece available, so it would have to do. She squatted and found it with her fingers. Picking it up, she rotated it to feel each side. The edges were only mildly sharp. “No problem,” she told herself. “You can compensate for sharpness with force.” A few seconds later she knew that she had spoken too soon. It was too small and slippery to afford a forceful grip.

  She stood and walked over to the desk and leaned against it so that if she dropped the glass, it would not fall far. As she scraped the edge against the tough zip-tie, she continued shouting Odi’s name. She knew that he would not be able to change their lot. Death was the only antidote. But that was not the point. Odi would want to face his fate head-on, teeth gritted and eyes opened wide. Since she had put him in this position, she owed him that final wish. For her part, she wanted to go out of this world as she had come into it—holding her twin brother’s hand.

  Trying to sever her bonds, Cassi lost her grip on the shard more often than not. Each fumble rewarded her with another gash in her palm or wrist. Adding insult to injury, the slippery blood made it even harder to work. She ignored the pain and kept at it. What else could she do? After two more fruitless minutes, however, Cassi realized that her current approach was not going to work. At least not in time. She needed to find another way to free her hands.