Callum hocked and spat over the safety rail. He watched it sail toward the ground and then began the short lap of the guard tower for what felt like the thousandth time. Down below, a few of the inmates in the yard looked up briefly then down again. They tended to stay away from the tower and the fenced off walkways at ground level that let the security staff move through the camp securely. They knew better than to tempt bored guards, even if Callum wasn’t the sort to bust chops just for the fun of it.
Following his meeting with Bainbridge, he’d received a letter posting him to the security detail at a subversive internment camp near Effingham, Illinois. The facility housed around two thousand, with the capacity for more. He was still resentful that he hadn’t received his discharge, but if there was an easier posting in America right now, he wasn’t sure where. The major had been good to his word: Callum had stayed in the State Guard and in return he’d been posted as far away as possible from places where he was likely to be shot at.
Callum approached one of the other guards stationed in the tower, Staff Sergeant Micah Hill, who was busy reading a magazine. “Good to see you working hard.”
The large black man smiled as he looked up from his magazine, something with cars and tits on it. “You’re too stupid for sarcasm, Callum.”
“That’s fair.” Callum laughed. “Doubt we’ll be putting down any riots though. This lot can barely look sideways without pissing their pants.”
Hill’s smile vanished. “Fine by me. I had buddies in Indianapolis. We got the golden ticket right here. Don’t jinx it.”
Callum grunted in response. Dusk was starting to settle and as he looked out over the yard he reflected again on the size of the camp. Twelve pre-fabricated sheds dominated most of the space, though there was also a central recreation area and a well-guarded sub-complex along the western side of the facility which housed the hospital and administration wing. It was all divided by razor wire–topped cyclone fences and walkways for the guards. The prison was testament to how much could be built quickly if you put your mind to it.
“Hey, Micah?” He turned his head to Hill. “Just heading downstairs for a walk around and to make sure they all get to dinner. On the radio if you need.”
“No problem, Cal.” Hill didn’t look up from his titty magazine. “Make sure you leave the rifle behind though.”
Callum nodded and racked his rifle. Leaving it behind was a small price to pay for some freedom from the tower. Besides, he still had his pistol and Taser. He walked to the circular staircase. Lately he’d found himself taking these leisurely walks at least once a day, just to break up the drudgery of guarding people who posed no threat to anyone at all. Hell, most of them still seemed in shock that they were here at all. He appreciated that – they moved, ate and slept when told to, and were unlikely to try to shiv him or steal his weapon.
He reached the ground and swiped his access card on the reader. The gate unlocked with a clunk and he pushed it open and walked into the yard, protected on either side by the fence. He walked twenty feet before he was among the first inmates. They was a mix of gender, race and age. The only thing they appeared to have in common was loving the wrong person. That wasn’t the official line, of course, but it was whispered enough among the inmates for him to believe. Most or all of them were guilty of no crime.
When he was halfway between the tower and the first pre-fab building, a bell started to blare over the PA system. Dinner time. The inmates around him started to walk toward the dining hall, except for one woman who moved towards him instead. He caressed his pistol, but the fact that she was alone made the threat tolerable. As she drew closer he could see her eyes were puffy and red from too much crying. Despite that, she was very beautiful, with pretty features and nice curves.
“Slow it down, inmate.” He turned to face her straight on and called out. “I need you to think a bit harder about what you’re doing and stay away from the fence.”
“What the fuck do you think I’m doing?” She was visibly shaking as she approached. “I’m in jail for having a journalist for a husband. I need to get home to my children.”
He lifted one hand, palm facing outward and trying to calm her down. “This isn’t the way to do it. Don’t come any closer to this fence.”
“What is the way to do it then?” As she walked, she removed the top of her orange prison garb, exposing a tan-colored bra and a flat stomach. “Like what you see?”
Callum struggled to look away as he drew his pistol. “Inmate, stop where you are and put your clothes back on.”
He got one out of two. The woman stopped in her tracks, then started lowering her shapeless orange pants. He mused darkly that this was the issue with having the yard segregated from the paths the guards walked – he couldn’t quickly end this. Once her pants hit the grass, she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. She didn’t immediately let it fall, however, but held her hands over the front as she took a few more steps forward. He wasn’t going to shoot her, but this mischief had to end.
“Last warning before you find yourself in isolation.” He leaned in to the radio mounted on his shoulder in a deliberate enough warning.
She laughed. “Isolation? What do you call being stuck in prison for doing nothing, away from my family and without knowing a single soul in here?”
He pressed the button down on the radio. “Hey, Micah? Can you send a team down to me, I’ve—”
She raised her hands in mock surrender. The bra fell. “Look, all I want to do is get out of here. I’ll do whatever you and your buddies need doing, if that’s what it takes.”
“Callum, you okay?” The radio crackled. Micah’s voice had a slight hint of concern. “View looks good from here.”
“Not interested.” He looked away from the woman then leaned back in to the radio. “Micah, send someone to collect the naked princess for a day in isolation.”
He turned and kept walking. Once he’d walked a few yards down the path he glanced back to see the half-naked woman slumped on her knees on the lawn. She’d gathered her orange clothing and now hugged it to herself, her sobs audible even over the dinner chime. He shook his head. It wasn’t his job to question the decision to imprison these people. But he did wonder how long it would be until someone was trying to shiv him, rather than offering her body in return for freedom. He let out a long, slow sigh.
Being in combat might be dangerous, but Callum understood it a hell of a lot more than here.
***
Richard felt only a slight bump as the helicopter touched down softly on the rooftop, and he wasted no time sliding the door open and climbing out. He was here for one reason – this was one conversation he couldn’t have by phone or email – and the helicopter’s engine would barely have time to cool before he was in the air again. He glanced at the pilot, who stared ahead minding his own business. Good. He crossed the rooftop, entered the stairwell, walked down several flights and then placed his hand on the door handle. He took a deep breath, turned it and walked through.
The floor was vacant and painted a sterile white that wouldn’t have been out of place in a hospital. Plastic sheeting covered the cubicles and other assorted furniture that might one day house federal employees. But for now the entire building was empty, except for one table. She sat there with her back to him, her blond curls flowing down just past her shoulders. It was odd. For someone so deadly, she clearly trusted him not to stick a knife in her back. Or, more likely, her men were close enough to prevent that.
He could sense the anger radiating off her. She’d told him that the distribution center attack would be her last, that her team had taken on enough high profile jobs for him. She’d wanted to bank the enormous amount of money she’d earned and sit on a beach in South America for a few years, while the heat died down. But Richard couldn’t have that. He’d cultivated her for too long to lose her as an asset. He’d twisted her arm to accept one last job, to make one last attack, to help keep Morris convinced of the need for the s
tate of emergency.
She’d attacked Times Square and the attack had gone well, but at a cost.
They’d lost one commando. Her commando.
He stopped five yards from her. If she was feeling violent, a little distance wouldn’t hurt. Not that he could do anything to stop her anyway. He was a bureaucrat. A skilled one, with a great deal of power, but still a bureaucrat. His power was in bringing the sledgehammer of government to bear. She wielded a more surgical type of power. Both were vital to his plans. She hadn’t been behind all of the attacks, but she’d been behind many. She’d helped whip the country into such hysteria about terorrism that Morris had declared a state of emergency and put Richard in charge.
Now he had to soothe her. “I’m sorry about M—”
“Names.” The fury rolled off her in waves and her voice was barbed.
“Oh, don’t be so paranoid. The building is safe.”
“Remember who you’re talking to.” Her voice had pure menace as she stood and turned. “I told you I wanted to take a break. I told you Times Square was too hot.”
“It was.” Richard started to say more, bit his tongue, then continued. “I’m sorry.”
“I lost a man.”
“I know, and—”
“I don’t care.” Her hands were balled into fists. “I’d worked with him for a long time.”
“I know.” Richard was growing tired of this, but he needed to humour her.
“This is it. I’m out. I don’t work for you any more and neither does my team.”
He laughed, despite the fact that he was slightly afraid of her. One was not a woman to be mocked lightly. Even if her team wasn’t present, of which there could be no guarantee, she could kill him with her bare hands. On the other hand, the whole reason he knew her, and the whole reason she was willing to work for him, was the past they shared. Richard had saved One from a terrible situation. They didn’t talk about it anymore, but they both knew about it. He held the whip hand and, despite her bravado, she knew it.
“You don’t get that choice.” He kept his voice even. “You’re out when I say you are.”
She snarled and her eyes narrowed. “I’ve repaid my debt.”
“We’ll have to agree to disagree.” Richard smiled. “But you have earned a break.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Go on.”
He brushed some imaginary lint off his suit jacket. “I don’t believe it will be necessary to stage any further attacks. You’ve done enough.”
Richard smiled at her look of surprise. While it was true that more attacks would make it easier to keep the pressure on Morris and keep the state of emergency in place, he’d known this moment would come sooner or later. At some point, FEMA’s control would inevitably reach its zenith. At that point, it was imperative that the attacks began to slow. While this might be occuring a little earlier than he’d hoped, the risk of having One pissed off was too great. The attacks to date would have to be enough.
She nodded. He knew that his words had been accepted. She probably didn’t trust him to keep his word, but she didn’t have a choice. If push came to shove, he had the leverage to get her to do whatever needed doing. In the meantime, she’d be quiet and away from the eyes of authorities, and he could start making the case that he had brought peace to America. Or at least the start of it. He knew this might be the last time he saw her, or needed her.
But probably not.
***
Jack pulled the baseball cap a bit lower, to hide as much of his face as possible from the State Guard troopers walking on the other side of the street. He stared straight ahead as he walked, but kept the patrol in his peripheral vision. He had no reason to think they were after him, but he didn’t know what to expect from FEMA and their minions since Celeste and the others had been taken. Yet this lot didn’t even look at him, too busy talking among themselves and strolling along.
Once he was out of their sight, he leaned against the side of a building and composed himself. New York had been saturated with uniforms for the past few days as FEMA, the State Guard and the NYPD made noise about the detention of terrorists, supporters and sympathizers. Now the point had been made and with their targets in custody, he hoped that the tide would start to recede. Only then could they count the cost.
Since Celeste had been taken he’d kept a low profile, trying to decipher where she was, who else had been taken, and what was left of his support network. It was bleak. None of his old sources in New York had been any help: most had vanished, others claimed to know nothing and some refused to talk. Only Peter remained free. As for Guerrilla Radio, he’d had no word from Elena and he had to assume the resistance was stillborn.
Best he could figure, Celeste must have been sent to one of the camps that FEMA had erected, though he had no way of finding out which one. Worse still, the detentions had everyone on the edge of a razorblade. Nobody knew if they’d be arrested and detained for talking to the wrong person, or even who those people were. It meant people kept their mouths shut and their ears closed. It was exactly what FEMA wanted.
He took a left off 51st Street and onto 8th Avenue. He had to find something to eat and get back to Celeste’s house by curfew. He had no idea what to do or where to go, so he focused on nothing but living. He kicked at a loose piece of pavement, then watched it skid down the street and nearly hit a woman who was standing against a stop sign in a trench and boots. He squinted, then his eyes widened in realization. Elena.
He balled his fists by his side and huffed as he walked closer, ready to confront her, but he never got the chance. As he drew closer, she pushed herself off the pole. She’d clearly been waiting for him and there were tears in her eyes. While he’d lost Celeste, he hadn’t yet discovered what Elena had lost. She probably knew dozens of others scooped up in the raids. His anger subsided just a bit, but he still wanted answers.
“Hi Jack. It’s good to see you.” Her voice was soft, weak.
“How did you get out of the house?” His fingernails dug into the his palms. “You were in the front room. Where did you go?”
“What?” She wiped at her face, which contained tears mixed with a look of confusion. “I was out front. They rolled up in a SWAT van so I stayed where I was.”
Jack was speechless. He’d like to think that if he was in a similar situation he’d try to intervene, to help his friends or at the least make sure there were enough witnesses to keep the cops honest. The fact that she’d stood back and watched it happen – watched Celeste be taken – shocked him. It drove home the fact that he barely knew her at all, despite all that they’d shared in Chicago and Indianapolis and at the kitchen table in Celeste’s house in New York.
“Look, Jack, cool your jets, okay?” The conviction in her voice increased. “A lot of people important to me have been locked up too, just like Celeste.”
Jack huffed. “But—”
“No Jack.” She held up her hand. “You’ve lost one person, I’ve lost everything. While you were inside the house dealing with Celeste’s arrest, my phone was lighting up. A lot of people got picked up all over the country. A lot of colleagues, friends and allies – and their families – got locked up or killed.”
He tried to hold his anger, but it dissipated. She had a point. He let out a long breath. “Okay.”
Her face crumpled. “They arrested Brad as well.”
“Your fiancé?” Jack stepped closer and hugged her. “Why? Where—”
“It doesn’t matter!” Her voice was a little louder than she’d probably intended.
He backed away from the hug. “We’ll get them back.”
Her eyes were squeezed shut and her hands balled into fists. “It’s not just family and friends, Jack. We’ve lost people as well. Matt Barker got shot dead trying to protect his sister. The south-east was hardest hit. We’ve lost good people there. They know we’re not toeing the line, so they’ve targeted our loved ones.”
“I know.” Jack shrugged. “We can go back to Chicago if yo
u—”
“No.” She opened her eyes and her eyes locked onto his. “That’s what they want.”
“What do you mean?”
“If they wanted me, or you, they could have scooped us up. But doing that would only embolden more of us, right?”
He wasn’t convinced. “Maybe.”
“They want to twist our arms. For each of us that gives in there’ll be one less voice speaking out and trying to recruit for our cause.”
“I understand.” Jack reached out and grabbed her hand. He gave it a squeeze then let go again. “I just wondered where you’d been.”
“Catching up with an old friend. I needed to figure out how they tracked down all our supporters.” She stopped in front of a café and opened the door. “After you.”
Confused, he walked inside. The café was tiny, with only four small tables along the left side and a breakfast bar with eight stools. Only one table was occupied, by a man with his back to the door. Jack turned to Elena. She had a broad smile on her face, a strange contrast to her tears. Given the news she’d just shared, he couldn’t understand why. She gestured toward the seated man. He turned around and saw a face he could nearly kiss.
“Jack! Mate!”
The hug was high impact. Jack and Simon Hickens wrapped their arms around each other and slapped each other’s back hard. Though he hadn’t seen the surly IT pro from Chelsea for over a year, it was like they’d never been separated. More importantly, if he was standing here then there was at least one person who hadn’t been scooped up by FEMA. Simon had a habit of helping Jack out of binds, so it felt good to have him here.
“Sorry to hear about Celeste, mate.” Hickens backed away and gestured them over to his table. “She’s being held in Illinois by FEMA, but I can’t get an exact location.”
Jack didn’t even ask how he knew. Knowing which state she was in didn’t change much. “Doesn’t matter, we can’t get her out of a prison camp.”
“No.” Hickens shrugged then dug into his pocket. He placed a couple of small flip phones on the table. “Take these.”
State of Emergency: Jack Emery 2 Page 14
