SPARE PARTS (The Upgrade Book 4)

by Wesley Cross

  Connelly looked up. From the place where he was sitting, it looked like a part of the roof was perched at almost a forty-five-degree angle. “I don’t know, but I’ll give it a shot. Have you called the tower?”

  “Yes sir,” the man said. “Two birds are already inbound and there’s a ground team on the way.”

  “Good. Get everybody out as soon as you’re able. The building is unstable and I have no idea how much longer it’ll keep on standing.”

  “Roger.”

  Connelly shifted his weight without making sudden moves. It didn’t seem to upset the balance of the slab. The top of the plate, where it buckled after the explosion, was cracked and the gap looked wide and rough enough for him to grab on to. He planted his feet into the barrier and catapulted himself, running up the tilted block. As his feet started to lose grip with the surface, he pushed harder, jumping and stretching out his arms as far as he could. The tips of his fingers gripped the rough edge, sharp rocks painfully digging into his skin.

  The slab shifted.

  “Meyers.”

  “Yeah, boss.”

  “Make sure nobody’s standing outside on the north side of the building. Some big chunks of concrete are about to go down.”

  “Are you okay, boss?”

  “I don’t know yet.” Connelly pulled himself up as the slab moved faster under his feet. Then, as soon as his right foot made contact with the top of the rugged edge, he jumped.

  A large chunk of the roof disappeared from under his feet as Connelly seemed to hang in the air for a moment before falling into an office space below. He fell on top of an empty workstation, crashing through plastic walls of an office cubicle and knocking monitors to the ground.

  “Boss,” Meyers’s voice came through, “everyone is accounted for. We are outside in the parking lot. The birds will be here in two minutes. Looks like we dodged a bullet on this one.”

  “More like a missile,” Connelly quipped, standing up and assessing the damage. “I’ll be out in a moment.”

  By the time he made it to the parking lot, the two helicopters sat in front of the building and a convoy of four Suburbans was blocking the entrance. A small group of office workers huddled around a medic van with Orion’s markings. One man was on a stretcher but the rest seemed to have gotten away with scrapes and bruises. Among the newcomers, Connelly, to his dismay, recognized the tall figure of Jason Hunt heading his way.

  “You shouldn’t have come,” he said, shaking the man’s hand.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Never better.” Connelly looked back at the building. The missile had hit the east side of the complex just above the first floor. Most of the east wing was missing and large cracks snaked their way through the entire facade. “I can’t say the same about the base, though. By the looks of it, we might have to tear it down.”

  “We have bigger problems than one building,” Hunt said. “Let’s step away.”

  “What’s going on?” Connelly asked when they were out of everybody’s earshot.

  “There are two developments that are newsworthy today,” Hunt continued. “Engel appeared on TV earlier today and called for prosecution of Darius Price. It’s unclear if there’s a will in the Department of Justice to do that, but Engel seems to be hell-bent on punishing his presidential rival.”

  “Why?”

  “I think part of it is about kicking his opponent while he’s down. Revenge. But Engel does nothing without a long-term goal. I think the bigger reason is that he wants to send a message.”

  “As in, don’t screw with me or else?”

  “Exactly.”

  “What was the other news?” Connelly asked.

  “There will be a disbandment of the US armed forces.”

  “Say what?”

  “POTUS himself announced they are laying the groundwork. Something about the most peaceful time in our civilization’s history nonsense. Won’t fully happen until next spring.”

  “That’s when Engel will be in the White House.”

  “Right.”

  “And what will happen to everybody in the service?”

  “I’m glad you asked. There’s a lot of speculation in the media, but Rovinsky is telling me there’s a brilliant plan for that as well. It will be contracted out by a few corporate outfits to, and I quote, ‘preserve the technology and maintain order.’”

  “What corporate outfits?” Connelly said, tasting bile in his mouth.

  “There are four or five names. But Black Arrow is at the top of the list.”

  “This,” Connelly made a sweeping gesture, “was Black Arrow.”

  “I know.” Hunt craned his neck to look at the top of the building. “They are loyal to Engel and company. And privatizing the armed forces under their umbrella solves a giant problem. Engel wouldn’t want to have over a million combat-ready individuals pissed off at the government and out of work. What will happen is the opposite. He’ll be seen as the savior who will swoop in and save everybody’s jobs from the incompetence of the previous administration. Gives people who thought they are about to lose their jobs a secure future and better pay.”

  “Subsidized by the US government, I take it?” Mike said.

  “Of course. Nobody else has that kind of money. It’s genius really—he created a fake issue out of thin air and immediately offered a solution. The army isn’t being disbanded, Mike. It’s effectively being converted for his personal use. Once that happens, it’s game over.”

  26

  A simple upright headstone with a concrete base marked the grave. When Alexander Engel first saw the design, he didn’t think it appropriate. Had he had any say in it, he would have done it differently for his late father’s final resting place. But now, looking at the clean, straight lines of the honed marble that sat at the edge of the lot of Trinity Church cemetery, the sparks of Hudson River glimmering on its surface, it looked as if it was in the right place. It belonged.

  “It is very serene here,” he heard Susan say. She wore a smart black pantsuit under a three-quarter cashmere coat, and her hair was tied back in a ponytail instead of her usual layered look. “He picked a great place.”

  “He did,” Engel said. “You can’t be buried here anymore. You can offer a billion dollars and no one will take it. It doesn’t matter how much money you have or who you know, there are simply no more spots.”

  “How did he do it?”

  “Foresight, as always.” Engel laughed. “He was good at it. On many levels, personal and business. I’ve never told anyone, but it was his idea to move into weapons manufacturing covertly at first. When Guardian officially entered the arms race, we’d already had a massive head start. But as for this place… He reserved this plot before I was born. I don’t know if it’s true, but legend has it he had spent half of his net worth at the time to buy this spot. I asked him a couple of times, but he would only smirk and stay quiet.”

  “Sounds very much like him.” She smiled. “And he’s in good company here. Congressmen, mayors, entrepreneurs, dignitaries. A proper company.”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you…” She trailed off. “Forgive me if I cross the line, reserved a place for yourself?”

  “No.” Engel looked around, reading engravings on stones nearby. “Partly in defiance. It’s stupid, but a lot of things that I did or didn’t do in my life were to show him I wasn’t just following in his footsteps. I wanted to be my own man. Forge my own destiny.”

  “You are your own man,” she said, touching his forearm.

  “I thought about it,” he said. “You know who changed my mind?”

  She arched her eyebrow, without saying a word.

  “Jason Hunt.”

  “Oh.”

  “I watched him giving that speech, when Orion went public. It made me furious. I remember pacing back and front of the TV, yelling and cursing and making promises to destroy the little shit who stole from me. But I had to admit he knew how to sell. The way he talked. The way he sh
owed off his bionic arm at the end.”

  “I remember.” She removed her hand from his arm. “It was an excellent speech.”

  “And the bit about immortality didn’t sound like a schtick. It was sincere. And that’s when I thought—what if he’s right? What if it’s possible? Wouldn’t anyone want to do that? Wouldn’t you?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “It depends.”

  “On what?”

  “I’m sure you’re aware that not everybody is in the same situation as you are. For someone who does manual labor, the prospect of doing it forever might not be as appealing as you think.”

  “I guess that’s true.” He turned to face her. “You’ve been working for us for a long time.”

  “Since college. My first and only real job. I was fortunate.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “I’d rather not say.” She laughed. “My job might be to make sure you remember the important things, but I can live with you not remembering my age.”

  “Ah.” He smiled. “I see. I remember your birthdays, though.”

  “You are always thoughtful.”

  He studied her face for a moment. “Can I ask you something, Susan?”

  “Of course. Anything.”

  “A few days ago, something occurred to me. I don’t recall what it was, but you did something that I wanted without me telling you it had to be done. And I thought you must know me better than anyone.”

  “You flatter me.” Her lips smiled but her eyes didn’t. He could tell she wasn’t sure if she liked where he was going.

  “Not at all. Over the years,” he smiled, “though I won’t mention how many, you’ve witnessed my every aspiration, every victory, and every defeat.”

  “So have many.”

  “True. But you’ve also witnessed my every desire, every sin, every atrocity. Haven’t you, Susan?”

  She stayed silent, her smile disappearing, but her eyes never leaving his.

  “Do you think I’m a monster, Susan? Do you think I’m evil? Jason Hunt would want you to.”

  “Do you think you are? I think it’s more important than whatever opinion I might have about you, Alex.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “No,” she said quietly. “I don’t believe you are. You’ve made some hard choices, but you can’t be judged by the same standards as regular people. When presidents and generals give orders that cause death and destruction, we don’t consider them monsters as long as their overall goal is noble. Quite the opposite. If they achieve success, we call them heroes. Even though it might come at the cost of many lives.”

  “I guess that’s true. History is written by the victors. Walk with me.” He stuffed his hands deep into his pockets and started to walk. “You’ve been loyal to me, Susan. In fact, after his death, you’re the only person left who I can talk to without having to watch what I say. I’d like to return the favor.”

  She hooked her arm through his as they walked, the muted sounds of the city getting louder as they headed toward the parking lot. The bodyguards who had given them space while they had stood by the burial site now drew closer, forming a protective perimeter.

  “I owe you,” he continued.

  “You don’t owe me anything—”

  “Listen,” he interrupted her. “You can make your own decision later. We are on the precipice of something that has never happened before. I’ve been putting things in motion for a long time, but now, when the ship is finally about to sail, I realized something.”

  “What is it, Alex?”

  “There’ll be no turning back, Susan. There are certain decisions you can’t come back from. It’s like unleashing a nuclear weapon. Once you’ve hit that button, you can’t undo it. You either emerge victorious or perish in a nuclear holocaust.”

  They approached the limo. The bodyguard opened the door, letting Susan and then him into the car. She kicked off her shoes and curled her feet under her. If he didn’t know her any better, he’d say she was scared.

  “In the coming weeks and months, if I lose, everything and everyone who was connected to me will become toxic. Radioactive. They’ll be hunted down like animals and thrown in jail or worse. I’d like to make a proposal. I’ve set up a trust fund.”

  She tried to say something, but he waved her off.

  “There’s a beautiful villa in Malta that sits right on a private beach. You can take a stroll whenever you feel like clearing your head. Or take a swim. There’s full staff and expenses are paid in advance far enough for your kids to grow old before the money runs out.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying,” he leaned over and took her hands into his, “that I’m giving you an opportunity to walk away before it’s too late. Take it and enjoy yourself for the rest of your life, regardless of what happens to me or the company.”

  “You want me to leave you at the most difficult moment? To be a mere spectator when any day can bring the biggest victory or the biggest defeat of your life? Why?”

  “Because the risks are too great,” he said, squeezing her hands. “If I win, you can always come back. There’s going to be a place for you no matter what. But if I don’t, then there’ll be nothing tying you to me or the company. You’ll have unlimited funds, a new name and a new life. A chance that few people will get.”

  “Oh, Alex.” She freed one of her hands and stroked his cheek. Her fingers were smooth and cold. “There’s always been a chance that what you were trying to build would fail. You say the stakes are at their highest right now, but they have never been low. And had you lost before, I’d be in danger too. But I’ve stood next to you all these years without fail. That’s why when—not if—you win, I want to be standing next to you as well.”

  “And if I don’t? There will be no second chances.”

  “Then,” she pulled back and crossed her arms, “I will go down with the ship. Just like you will.”

  27

  The screeching alarm and a flashing light in his internal vision shook Jason Hunt out of deep slumber. He shook his head and tried to focus on the floating numbers of the digital clock.

  2:30 AM.

  He sat up in his bed, pulling the blanket aside, cool, fresh air washing his body and stealing the last remnants of sleep away. A flashing amber in the corner of his vision persisted and Hunt took the call. A holographic projection of Rovinsky’s face appeared to be floating in the air a couple of feet away.

  “Jim. What’s going on?”

  “I’m afraid I have some bad news. Tomorrow morning, at nine o’clock, the president is going to make a televised speech. I’ve seen the draft. He’ll be designating Orion and its management as enemy of the state. A terrorist group. Your bank accounts will be frozen, assets seized, and anyone with the connection to the company will be placed under arrest without bail. But the speech will be post-factum.”

  “Christ.” He stood up, chills going down his spine. “How?”

  “I don’t know the details,” Rovinsky said. “But I’m assuming Engel is pulling the levers somehow.”

  “Great,” Hunt said, pulling a shirt over his head. “He’s been on a warpath for the last two weeks. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. How much time do we actually have?”

  “They are planning on raiding the tower at three in the morning. I’m sorry for such a short notice, but that’s the best I could do.”

  “How did you come across this information? Are you going to be suspected when we flee?”

  “Don’t worry. It hasn’t been disseminated to us yet. You know me—I have my sources. I should be okay for now. I have to go. Good luck.”

  Hunt stared at the space where Rovinsky’s projection had been floating a moment ago and then dialed Connelly. The man answered on the first ring, fully awake.

  “We are bugging out,” he said, scrambling through his room and putting some clothes on. “Engel’s about to designate us as enemy of the state.”

  “Roge
r.” Connelly’s hologram shook rhythmically as the man started running. “How much time do we have?”

  “They’ll be here at three, so ten, fifteen minutes tops.”

  “Got it. I’ll meet you at the station in ten.”

  “Thanks. I gotta go. I’ll need to call Poznyak—”

  “I’ve taken care of it already.” Connelly cut him off. “He’s acknowledged. I’ve alerted everyone in the tower as well. We’ve trained for this.”

  “You’re the best, Mike. Are you feeling all right?”

  “Never better.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you in a few.”

  He disconnected the call and looked around the room he’d been calling home for the past few years. It was almost empty, save for a few articles of clothing on a chair by the window and a small, framed photograph on his nightstand. A large suitcase sat next to the door, its handle already extended.

  They had been preparing for this exact scenario for a while now—Rachel had been moved to a new location and while some of the infrastructure was still being built, a lot was already in place, either fully operational or ready to be switched on with a click of a button. All the key personnel had been prepared for the relocation as well. Chen and Schlager, who were in charge of the relocation and development teams, performed nothing short of a miracle, retrofitting the new site for their needs. Still, as Jason was about to execute on his own plan, it didn’t seem real. He grabbed the photograph, picked up the suitcase, and headed to the elevator. There would be time to reflect on this later, he decided. For now, he needed to get to safety.

  Connelly was waiting for him on the underground level when the doors opened.

  “I thought we’d meet at the station.”

  “I know.” Connelly smiled, taking the suitcase from him. “But I thought you’d enjoy my company.”

  “Max and Helen?”

  “They got lucky. They were supposed to come back from the site yesterday, but ended up staying for one more night. We’ll see them when we get there,” Connelly said, walking between the rows of parked SUVs to the electrical panel on the wall. He opened the door, flipped a few switches and a section of the wall slid sideways, revealing a hidden hallway. They walked in, the door closing shut and momentarily plunging them into complete darkness. Then, a moment later, the lights turned on along one side of the tunnel, illuminating the way. “Come on.”