Hold On! - Season 1

by Peter Darley

  “And at what time did you arrive at the gas station?”

  “Around fourteen-thirty hours.”

  Brandon saw Brock covering his eyes with his hand as though despairingly. Have I just said something wrong?

  “How did you get there, Sergeant Drake?” Arrowsmith said.

  In his fatigued state, Brandon couldn’t grasp the nature of the question. “I followed the homing signal on the tracker.”

  “No, I mean what did you get to the gas station . . . in?”

  Brandon instantly realized he was defeated. Struggling to keep his gaze away from David, he tried frantically to think of a way he could have gotten from the mountain road to Belinda without involving his friend. I ran? No, that’s ridiculous. “Somebody gave me a ride,” he said, but feared his delay had been too suspicious.

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. Some old guy with a truck.”

  “So,” Arrowsmith said in summing-up fashion, “you can’t tell us how you arrived at the gas station, and yet you ran from the FBI in the victim’s own car after savagely beating him to death.”

  Brandon felt his rage returning. “No. I saw what that bastard did to her. He’d skewered her fingers, waterboarded her, and he was about to rape her at gunpoint when I got there. I had no choice.”

  “You said some of the devices you took from Mach Industries were destroyed when a grenade hit the SUV?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s convenient. Where’s the Turbo Swan?”

  Brandon was silent. It was one question he couldn’t answer, no matter what. He could almost feel all eyes upon him as he sat gazing at the floor.

  “I will ask you again, Sergeant Drake. Where is the Turbo Swan?”

  Caught in a vacuum, Brandon didn’t utter a word.

  General Grant said, “Drake, I am giving you a direct order. Now, answer the damn question!”

  Finally, he raised his head to the general. “I’ve told you everything that happened. If you don’t believe me, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  Grant turned to Brock. “Lieutenant, would you like to redirect?”

  Brock stood with a look of hopelessness. “No, sir.”

  ***

  The particulars were discussed among the jury members over the following two days. Belinda was granted permission to remain at Fort Bragg until the verdict. It was a harrowing ordeal for all concerned.

  The jury questioned how they would decide Brandon’s fate. Aside from the matter of how he’d managed to reach the location where Belinda had been tortured, everything he’d said had the ring of truth, and Belinda had corroborated all of it. There was no reason for any of them to believe she’d been complicit in a conspiracy with him. His earlier outburst had been a reaction to her being brought into the court. This was highly persuasive that he had no knowledge she would even be attending the trial. He hadn’t had any contact with anybody since his arrest.

  Treadwell was dead and so couldn’t be tried, but everybody knew that at least three SDT agents had been involved in the Carringby attack. The Channel 7 incident had been blatantly obvious as to where the guilt lay.

  However, during the course of events, Brandon had committed acts contrary to the law, and his violent behavior and attitude in court had been damning. Conversely, although his behavior had been typical in its hateful aggression, there was a persuasive difference. This time, it was on behalf of another. His words during his earlier attack resonated in their minds: ‘Leave her alone,’ as opposed to ‘Leave me alone.’ It seemed to lend credence to his entire defense. His so-called crimes and acts of violence were all in the defense of others. Of Belinda Reese, in particular.

  Anxiously, Brandon awaited his fate.

  Forty-Seven

  Hollow Judgment

  Closing arguments had been delivered. Brandon sat on the bench in shackles with Lieutenant Brock, while Belinda sat among the off-duty soldiers three yards behind him.

  General Grant sat in the judgment seat and addressed the jury. “Have the members reached a verdict?”

  Captain Ward stood with their decision in her hands. “We have, sir.” She handed the paper to the general.

  Grant opened up the folded sheet and perused it for a moment. “All right. Sergeant Drake, please stand.”

  Brandon and Brock stood. Brandon looked back at Belinda who was pinching her knuckles. “I love you,” he mouthed to her.

  “And I love you,” she whispered.

  “On the count of desertion, the members find the accused—” There was a pause as Grant looked into Captain Ward’s eyes, as though uncertain about what they’d written. Or perhaps, merely disappointed. “Not guilty on the grounds of necessity.”

  Belinda’s eyes glowed joyously at those words, but Brandon tried to remain composed.

  “On the charges of conduct unbecoming an officer, including assaults against three police officers, attempting to liberate government property from police detention, and an escape from police custody, the members find the accused . . . not guilty, on the grounds of necessity.”

  Brandon exhaled with relief. Life in the cabin with Belinda was in sight.

  “On the charge of the murder of an agent of the US government, the members find the accused not guilty, on the grounds of necessity.

  “On the charge of theft of government property, the members find the accused not guilty on the grounds of necessity, contingent upon Sergeant Drake’s disclosure of the location of the test aircraft known as the Turbo Swan.”

  Brandon looked back at Belinda in horror. They were asking him to reveal the location of the cabin. Their cabin.

  “Sergeant Drake, I am going to give you one last chance to tell this court where the Turbo Swan can be found.”

  Brandon made an impulsive decision. The cabin was the one, unrepeatable chance for him and Belinda to be free of authority, corruption, and the horrors of so-called civilized society. If all else failed, he could disclose the location at a later date, but for now, he had other plans. He looked at General Grant with contempt-filled eyes. “Go to hell!”

  Belinda stood and called across to him desperately, “Please tell them, Brandon. It’s not worth it.”

  His anger and resentment for Grant superseded his fears, feeding him with a rebellious burst of overconfidence. He turned to her again, smiled, and whispered, “Wait for me.”

  “All right,” Grant said. “Given your violent temperament and your blatant contempt for this court—”

  “You’re a joke, General,” Brandon interrupted him, thus beginning an exchange of the general ignoring him and Brandon ignoring the general.

  “—and your assaults against officers of this court—”

  “—a puppet whose only power is a delusion.”

  “—I sentence you to an indefinite period in the United States Disciplinary Barracks—”

  “You can never contain me.”

  “—your release contingent upon your disclosure of the location of the Turbo Swan.”

  “You can never take my freedom from me, Grant. Nobody can!”

  The jury looked away.

  “Upon your release, you will be dishonorably discharged from the United States Army. We are adjourned.” Grant struck the gavel and retired to his chambers.

  David Spicer looked at Brandon with profound sorrow and confusion. Against all odds, he’d had his freedom in his grasp, but he’d refused it simply to avoid giving the Turbo Swan back to the army. There was no possible reason for it. He certainly wouldn’t be flying it around at Leavenworth.

  Ultimately, David concluded that the man who had saved his life in Afghanistan had lost his mind—a violent, dangerous individual who had always been destined for tragedy.

  All except Belinda turned to leave. Four MPs grasped Brandon by the arms and led him past her.

  As Brock moved with him, Belinda heard him say, “I believe we may have grounds for appeal.”

  She presumed Brock’s thoughts were that, due to his hea
d injury, Brandon may have incurred cranial damage, which may have been causing his irrational behavior.

  Brandon turned his face to her as they led him toward the courtroom door. She fought back her tears and gazed at him longingly for what was likely going to be the last time. She knew he was a good man. Thinking along similar lines to Brock, whatever was inside him was well-intended, no matter how volatile. His mind had been violated by Treadwell, and no one could say how it may have impaired his judgment in times of stress. The circumstances were so terribly cruel. She wanted only to put her arms around him, return to the cabin, and spend the rest of her days there with him. It made so much sense. He wanted to be away from the world, free, where nobody could hurt him, and where nobody could be hurt by him.

  But then she remembered his words to her a few minutes earlier—“Wait for me.” Did he have something planned? Oh, God. What are you going to do, Brandon?

  In that moment, she realized. He was going to try to take it all: his freedom, the cabin, his happiness with her, and they would never find them.

  But what if he was wrong? What if he failed? How could she talk him out of whatever he was planning when he was so sure of himself?

  The courtroom door closed and Brandon was gone. Belinda sat alone knowing her period of waiting was just beginning.

  Brandon’s eyes were totally vacant as he was led along the corridor outside the courtroom. He didn’t appear to notice the young man and his elder companion with the snow-white beard standing several feet away from the courtroom door.

  Belinda exited the court, but she didn’t notice them either. Her eyes conveyed the same numb, empty, vacuous shade of devastation.

  The bearded man turned to the young man at his side. “I think you should go talk to her.”

  “I want to, but I don’t think now is the right time. I couldn’t tell her anything that would take away her pain.”

  “All right. I understand.”

  “So, this is where it has led,” the young man said sadly.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Isn’t there something you can do, Dad? I mean, for Christ’s sake he’s—”

  “Gone, Son. He made his choice. If you ask me, you’re better off without him after that little scene in there.”

  The young man turned to his father, outraged. “Don’t say that to me. I’ve been searching for him for most of my life, and now you’re telling me to abandon him?”

  “I just don’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all.”

  “I can take care of myself. And if you can’t do anything, maybe I can.”

  “What difference does it make? You’ve got everything you’ll ever need. Don’t do anything to jeopardize that.”

  The young man exhaled as he watched Brandon disappear around the end of the corridor. “He’s my brother.”

  ***

  Lightning filled the sky and rain fell onto the military police unit as it transported Brandon to the gates of Fort Leavenworth. It was six in the evening, two days following his sentence, when he was led out of the storm into the facility.

  The image of Belinda’s face was with him continually as they guided him into the ante-chamber. He was ordered to strip, but was oblivious to the humiliation.

  From the moment of his arrival, he began studying the outside architecture of Leavenworth—the security system at the gate, the code-key entrance systems, the corners of the ceiling, the walls, the lighting system, and the carpentry. It was all relevant. His silent plan was already set in motion.

  As he was searched, he watched the walls, his calculations rigid. He heard every word, even conversations outside the door. Nothing would escape his notice.

  They pulled him up again, but he refused to be a victim. Every moment provided him with information. His mind absorbed every sound, every routine, and every move.

  “He’s clean,” he heard a hard-sounding voice say. “Dress him and take him to his cell.”

  As he was led away, he scanned the most trivial of details—the fact that the ceilings were designed in straight lines. The corners led to further corners. It may have all seemed insignificant to a regular prisoner. But to Brandon, it was the beginning of an incredibly intricate web—a maze he was determined to conquer. There has to be a way out of here.

  However, as more of the architecture and security system became apparent, a sinking feeling consumed him. There was no way he was going to succeed in the few weeks he’d thought in his irrational, rebellious rage. Leavenworth may as well have been a fortress, and the realization that he’d made a grave mistake was devastating. But he couldn’t give up, no matter what. Belinda was counting on him.

  He stepped into his cell and his gaze darted around the small, sterile room. There was a sink, a toilet, a bunk, no windows, and everything was fixed with bolts. Possibilities quickly came to his mind, but he knew he had so much to learn.

  As he faced the back wall of his cell, he heard the metallic clang of the door as it locked behind him. With his head turned away from his jailers, nobody saw the slight smile edging from the corners of his mouth.

  Epilogue

  Two years later

  February 13th, 2016

  Belinda found a new job working as a secretary at an insurance company in Denver. She’d continued her life to the best of her ability. It was all so terribly boring. It seemed as though every time she stepped out of her apartment, or met somebody new at work, she was bombarded with questions about Brandon and the Carringby escape. In the beginning, she’d been hounded by the press relentlessly.

  Brandon was always in her thoughts. He was the most incredible human being she’d ever known, but now he was gone; caged by his own people. She hadn’t been able to come to terms with his incarceration, and had long since realized that whatever he’d planned at his trial hadn’t succeeded. She’d become a bitter woman, whose life was a living memorial to him.

  She’d rejected all advances from other men. No man could ever compete with her memory of Brandon. He was perfect. Who could possibly follow him?

  She returned to her apartment after work and switched on her fourteen-inch, flat-screen television set with abandon. Tara Willoughby’s voice was so familiar it had become a piece of monotonous background noise.

  That is, until that fateful evening. Her head snapped toward the screen urgently. The kettle of boiling water slipped from her hands onto the kitchen floor.

  “Unruly celebrations are taking place tonight,” Tara said with unusually-unprofessional joviality, “following the escape from Fort Leavenworth of the man many have called a national hero—Brandon Drake.’

  Belinda’s hand came across her mouth.

  “To repeat,” Tara continued, “the man Time Magazine rebelliously voted the ultimate hero, Brandon Drake, has escaped from Leavenworth. Drake was sentenced to an indefinite period, his release conditional upon his surrendering stolen military hardware two years ago. It is still not known why Mr. Drake refused to comply with the order.”

  In that moment, Belinda knew her life was renewed. She knew Brandon, and she knew exactly where he was heading. Her life and love with him was about to be resumed. They were finally going to be reunited.

  Her face shone with excited, tearful elation as she made a hurried move to pack her belongings. She hadn’t a moment to waste lest the authorities be on her trail. She would be vigilant, watchful, never averting her eyes from what may be behind her. One way or another, she was determined to reach him.

  In her mind, she was already in the cabin, holding him, kissing him, loving him.

  “I’m coming, Brandon,” she murmured. “Hold on!”

  To be continued in

  Go!

  ________________________________________________

  Hold On!—Season 2

  OUT NOW!

  http://www.amazon.com/Go-Hold-Season-Peter-Darley-ebook/dp/B00YD8497U

  Go!

  _________________________________________________

  Hold
On!—Season 2

  Video trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1fA0ufEp-MU

  Excerpt

  Belinda approached the station and there seemed to be no cause for alarm. She entered the ticket court, relieved she’d made it. It was crowded and easy for her to lose herself among the commuters. Excitedly, she joined a line to one of the ticket vendors. Immediately, another commuter stepped in behind her. She glanced around trying to spot anything alarming, but there was nothing. Everything was perfectly normal.

  As she reached the halfway point in the line, she noticed a man in a suit talking on his cell phone close to the station’s entrance. There was nothing unusual about that. But it was the way in which he just glanced at her as he spoke into the phone. She looked away.

  And then she slowly looked back. Their eyes locked. In an instant, she knew, and could see he did too.

  Her breathing became shallow, her palms were damp, and there was a heaviness in the pit of her stomach.

  She gently eased her way out of the line and looked back again for a fleeting instant. The man was talking into his cell phone with a sudden urgency in his eyes, and he was persistently looking back at her.

  She darted forward only to be halted by a hand on her shoulder. She looked around to see it was the man who’d been standing behind her.

  “Belinda Reese?” he said.

  That was enough. Without hesitation, she drove her fist into the man’s nose and he recoiled with blood trickling onto his lip. He was stunned by her unhesitant assault, which gave her the moment necessary to run.

  A number of men in suits emerged from the crowd like a swarm. Belinda barely missed being grasped by one of them as she dashed through the exit.

  Out in the street, she ran as fast as her legs would carry her. The suitcase was slowing her down, her breathing was labored, and she didn’t know how long she could keep up the pace.