Revolution

by Shawn Davis

  What’s this guy talking about?

  Rayne was having trouble adjusting from his original idea that he was going to be interviewed on national television, to having a one-on-one conversation with the helmet-less guard. The blond-haired guard seemed to realize Rayne was having trouble adapting to the situation.

  “I’m with the rebels. Campion sent me,” the guard explained.

  “Campion sent you?” Peter asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “We don’t have time to discuss it. I was assigned to work undercover as a guard in the Frump Sports Stadium. Now, I’m breaking you out,” the guard said.

  “Why are we going to the ninety-eighth floor of the Presidential Tower?” Rayne asked, perplexed.

  “We’re changing your mission. From now on, you’re going to work as an undercover operative.”

  Undercover operative? What’s this guy talking about?

  Peter felt dizzy as the elevator continued its ascent. The guard reached into a leather pouch on his police belt and pulled out folded papers.

  “Take these,” he said, handing the papers to Rayne. “Open this one,” He indicated the top paper.

  Peter opened it up and found a full-body photograph of an unknown man wearing a suit.

  “You are going to be this man,” the guard stated, pointing to a photograph of a man in his mid-thirties who looked to be about Rayne’s weight and height.

  In fact, he could have been Rayne’s brother. He had the same brown eyes, brown hair, and a similar facial structure. The only major differences were the person in the photograph wore gold, wire-rimmed glasses and a gray business suit, while Rayne had a bloody wound on his shoulder and wore the tattered remains of his dress shirt.

  “Don’t bother studying them,” the guard instructed as Peter unfolded the papers and started going through them. “Put them away. You need to know the immediate plan.”

  “All right,” Rayne said, refolding the papers and photograph. He placed them in his pants pocket.

  “I need you to follow my lead. You saw the guy in the photograph. His name is Malcom Getty, son of billionaire industrialist Connor P. Getty. Connor Getty has been having health problems, so he sent his son for his yearly meeting with the President. They’ve never met before. In fact, this is his first major governmental assignment with the company,” the guard explained, pausing as the elevator came to a stop on the ninety-eighth floor. The guard pushed the elevator’s hold button and continued his narration.

  “According to our information, Mr. Getty is flying out from Los Angeles, California to New Washington today. He should be arriving at his suite in the Frump Tower in the next several hours. You will be there waiting for him.”

  “Waiting for him?” Rayne repeated. He felt his head swimming.

  Just when I got used to the idea of fighting and possibly being killed in the arena, the situation has taken a one hundred eighty-degree turn. Now, this guy, who I’ve never met before in my life, is telling me to impersonate some guy in a photograph. It doesn’t make any sense.

  “You will wait for him in his suite on the ninety-eighth floor. When he arrives, you will take him out,” the guard said.

  “Take him out?” Peter asked.

  “Kill him and take his place.”

  “Kill him?”

  “Yes, with this,” the guard said, reaching down to his side holster and taking out his sidearm. He took a thin, black metal tube from another leather pouch on his belt and screwed it onto the top of the gun. “Silencer,” he explained. “It should be no problem taking him out. Take it.” The guard handed Rayne the pistol.

  Peter took it, looking down at the weapon in his hand as if he couldn’t believe it was real.

  “Shove it in the back of your pants,” the guard said.

  Rayne did as instructed.

  “Now, I’m going to check to make sure the coast is clear. We’re going to exit the elevator, take a left, and walk straight down the hall to suite number 908. You will walk in front of me, like a prisoner, in case we run into anybody. Got it?” the guard asked.

  “Okay. Got it,” Rayne said.

  “Good,” the guard said, taking his finger off the elevator hold button. He stuck his head out of the elevator, looking in both directions. “The coast is clear. Go.”

  Rayne made sure the silenced pistol was secure in the back of his pants as he left the elevator. They walked a short way down the hall before the guard spoke to him again.

  “It’s this next one on the right. Stand beside me while I open it.”

  Rayne watched the guard run his wrist across the door’s scanner. A blinking red light on the door’s handle changed to green. The guard pushed the door open, pulling Rayne inside by the arm.

  “Hide someplace and lay low for awhile. Getty will be here some time in the next several hours. Be patient. Read the note I gave to you. It’s written by Campion. When Mr. Getty gets here, don’t hesitate. Do what you have to do.”

  “What do I do after I kill him?” Rayne asked.

  “Campion’s note will send you in the right direction. It’s a basic infiltration mission. This is Malcom Getty’s first governmental business meeting and his first visit to New Washington, so he’s not known to any of the island’s residents. This is the perfect opportunity for you to take his place. You have to figure out the rest on your own. I have to go.”

  “Yeah, but what about the-”

  “Good luck,” the guard interrupted him, pushing the door aside and stepping into the hallway. He shut the door in Rayne’ face. Peter found himself staring at the thick wooden door, bewildered by the sudden change in his situation.

  Infiltration mission? When did Campion come up with this idea? I don’t know anything about infiltration missions! How am I going to do this?

  Peter shook his head as he looked away from the door and gazed across the suite’s living room area. His eyes widened. It was the most spacious room he had ever seen. The living room was the size of five of his apartments in Inner City. It was built on two levels with a lower level next to the wall-length picture window. The two-story window granted a perfect view from both levels. The upper level acted as a sort of balcony to the lower one, increasing the sense of spaciousness. Rayne had never imagined setting foot in the capitol city, never mind getting a view like this from a luxury suite in the Presidential Tower.

  The furnishings in the room were luxurious. Rayne had never seen such comfortable-looking couches and chairs. A large, flat-screen 3D television was placed in front of the leather couch on the lower level of the living room. Two sets of gracefully curved stairwells spiraled down to the lower level from the balcony. The other tables and chairs in the room looked like they were top-of-the-line. All the chairs and furniture were arranged so they faced outward toward the giant picture window.

  Rayne looked up and saw a gold chandelier sparkling above the lower area of the spacious living room.

  It’s time to explore the apartment.

  Peter walked across the upper level, glancing left at the towering buildings outside.

  I can’t believe I’m here. New Washington. The nation’s capitol. In a luxury suite in the Frump Presidential Tower. Who would ever believe it?

  Rayne smiled at the irony as he crossed the upper level and reached a narrow corridor. Entering the corridor, he turned the handle on the first door he found on his left. Peter walked into a spacious bedroom with a tremendous bed set against the clear glass wall.

  Lying on this bed would be like floating in the air.

  Peter admired the spectacular view of the city through the transparent wall. Leaving the room, he walked a short way down the corridor until he reached the next door on the left. Opening it, he found a bathroom almost as large as the bedroom.

  The bathroom also had a full-length clear wall, but unlike the bedroom, it was divided into several partitions. In the closest partition on the right was a toilet. An adjacent partition housed the shower and bathtub. The partition on the left contained
a wide sink and vanity. The remainder of the room was a spacious, two-tiered spa. On the lower spa level was an exercise treadmill and a fully equipped multifaceted weightlifting machine. On the upper level was a Jacuzzi the size of a small swimming pool.

  This place keeps getting better.

  Rayne left the spa/bathroom and walked down the hall to the next door on the left. Opening it, he found a large study area lined with bookshelves on every wall. The room appeared to be a miniature library. Books were stacked on elaborate shelves from floor to ceiling. A desk with a computer on it had been placed against the picture window, so a person could view the city as he or she worked the keyboard. A recliner chair sat in the left corner next to a coffee table and tall reading light.

  Looks like a good place to read a book.

  Rayne entered the corridor again. Walking to the end of the hallway, he opened the last door on the left and entered a large dining room/kitchen area stocked with everything a person would need to whip up a gourmet meal. The dining table had been placed in a spacious area next to the wall-length picture window, while the kitchen occupied the immediate space around the door.

  The kitchen appeared to be stocked with all the latest appliances. Gadgets, which he couldn’t even guess the function of, were spread across a long, high table in the center of the kitchen area. Rayne glanced to the right and saw the double steel doors of a walk-in refrigerator.

  Looks like a good place to get a snack.

  Rayne returned to the hallway and walked to the study to check out the computer. He reached for the door handle, but the sound of a slamming door made him freeze. Peter’s blood turned to ice in his veins as he heard footsteps in the foyer.

  That must be the suite’s real occupant.

  Peter tried to recover his composure. The guard had led him to believe the individual would not be here for several hours.

  I guess he’s running ahead of schedule.

  Rayne ducked into the study to avoid detection. He stood next to the open door, listening for sounds of the intruder. The footsteps in the foyer faded away as the individual stepped onto the plush rug in the living room.

  He could be anywhere now.

  Rayne reached into the back of his pants and pulled out the silenced pistol. He risked glancing around the corner of the door. He edged his head out and looked down the hallway toward the living room. All he saw was the side of one of the reclining chairs on the upper level. All traces of sound had ceased, but he assumed that someone was in the living room. Lifting his gun in front of him, he stepped cautiously into the hallway.

  Peter advanced down the hall with his gun drawn, listening for any sounds made by the suite’s legitimate occupant. He strained his ears, but still couldn’t hear anything.

  Where did he go? Is he in the lower level?

  Rayne’s right index finger lightly brushed the pistol trigger as he advanced. He moved like a person walking on a frozen pond covered with a thin layer of ice. He halted when he reached the entryway of the living room. Placing his back against the right wall, he peeked around the corner to get a better view. He could see down to the sunken level, but there were still blind spots.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” a voice shouted behind him.

  Rayne spun around to find a suited man leaving the bedroom. The businessman’s wide eyes glared at the gun in Peter’s hand.

  “W-what are you doing?” the man asked, his voice quavering.

  “Shut up,” Rayne said, pointing the gun in the man’s face.

  The man put his hands up in a “surrender” gesture, leaning away from the barrel of the gun.

  “Listen, if you’re one of the terrorists, I have a lot of money. I can pay you more than they’re paying you.”

  “I’m not getting paid,” Rayne said.

  “Not getting paid?” the businessman questioned, as if he couldn’t understand the concept. “Why are you here?”

  Peter remained silent. He concentrated all his willpower in an effort to pull the trigger and gun the man down.

  I can’t do it. I don’t see an enemy standing before me. All I see is a frightened man. He looks terrified.

  The businessman had wide, scared eyes like a deer caught in a car’s headlights. Sweat was beading on his forehead.

  How can I kill a defenseless human being?

  Rayne tried to imagine Campion glaring at him from behind her desk.

  Do it, Rayne, she would say. But how can I do it? This man has done nothing to me. I have nothing against him. Why kill him?

  The businessman seized the opportunity to back slowly down the hallway.

  “Hold it right there,” Rayne said, tightening his grip on the gun handle. Sweat was forming on his forehead.

  I have to do this and get it over with.

  “Look, pal, maybe we can talk about this,” the businessman said.

  “Shut up,” Rayne replied. His hand was starting to shake.

  I have to do it now. But I still can’t think of a single legitimate reason to shoot this guy. Maybe I can just tie him up and put him in the closet?

  “Look, obviously you don’t want to hurt anyone. So, why don’t you just put the gun down and we’ll talk about it. How about that?” the businessman asked in a more confident voice, keeping his hands lifted in a surrender position.

  Peter could feel his entire arm starting to tremble. He had to think of something to motivate him. His mind flashed back to the beginning of this whole adventure; encountering the parade of protestors in Inner City. He imagined himself walking down the sidewalk alongside Henry and Billy, looking at the lights of the protestors’ torches as they moved down the street toward them. His mind flashed forward to his friend, Henry, in the window of the limousine, firing down at the crowd. His mind jumped ahead to his friend being led down the aisle toward the electric chair.

  The man standing before me supports the corrupt system that ruthlessly executed my friend.

  A whirling rage took hold of Rayne. His forehead creased into a frown as he thought back to the horrific night he saw his friend fighting for his life on the sadistic television show, Monday Night Justice.

  The man standing in front of me, and others like him, make that sick show possible by supporting the corrupt government.

  Rayne allowed the rage to sweep through his mind like a tidal wave. He pulled the trigger. The businessman didn’t have time to scream as white fire flashed from the pistol’s silencer. A bloody red hole appeared in the center of his forehead as his eyes rolled up in his head. His legs gave out and he collapsed to the floor like a marionette abandoned by its puppeteer.

  I had to do it. For Henry.

  Rayne lowered the gun to his side when he realized he was still pointing it at the corpse’s face.

  I did it. I actually did it. I didn’t think I’d be able to. But, I had to do it. I had to do it.

  Peter repeated this thought over and over in an effort to assuage his guilt.

  It’s time to get back to business. What am I going to do with the body?

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the folded papers Campion’s agent had given him.

  She must have anticipated the problem with the body and written instructions for me.

  Rayne unfolded the papers and placed the businessman’s picture in the back of the pile. He read the note:

  Rayne,

  You really fucked up. But, that’s okay. We can adapt. We have a new mission for you. This is your chance to redeem yourself. Don’t fuck it up again. You have the rare opportunity to turn the tide of this insane war and end it once and for all. If you can bring down New Washington’s defenses, I will have a fleet of choppers ready to go. You have to get into the bunker. This is the perfect opportunity. As Malcom Getty, you can gain access to anywhere on the island if you use skill and ingenuity. Blend into your environment. Play the part. You are now a wealthy businessman. You’re an important person, a VIP. Act like it. Find a way into the bunker. I don’t care if it takes a week or
a month. Just do it. Don’t let me down, Rayne. A lot of people are counting on you.

  The first step is easy. Kill Getty when he arrives in the suite. Trust me, this guy is a real son-of-a-bitch. Plenty of workers have died in his third-world factories because of unsafe working conditions. Many of them have been worked to death. He’s scum. He deserves it. He wouldn’t throw you a band-aid if you were lying in a puddle of blood. Kill him. You have to do it.

  Next, you have to get rid of the body. Not an easy task. Now is the time to be strong. You have to overcome your squeamishness for our organization and country. I realize this part of the job will be abhorrent to you. It would be abhorrent for any normal human being. Unfortunately, it has to be done or this mission is over before it’s started.

  First, put the body in the bathtub. You have to dismember the corpse. Use state-of-the-art laser knives from the kitchen. You’ll have to use elbow grease to get them to work, but they will. They’re designed to cut meat. When one of them wears out, use another. When you use them up, move to a steak knife if you have to. Break up the body into small pieces and put them in double-ply trash bags. Make sure the hallway is clear and bring the bags to the trash chute at the end of the corridor. Deposit the bags in the chute and the hard part of your job is done.

  The next part will be challenging, but it should also be interesting and informative. The key is to relax and enjoy it. You have to get it into your head; you are one of the most powerful men in the country. Your father is a personal friend of the President. You will be waited on hand and foot in the Presidential Tower. You’ll experience luxury unlike anything you’ve ever seen. Enjoy it. Consider it payback for all those years you slaved away in the warehouse. You’re a smart guy. Probably a lot smarter than the real Malcom Getty. I’m sure you took a few business courses in college as part of your core requirements. Use some intellect and finesse to blend in. You’re on the island for business.

  All the information you need should be in Getty’s pocket computer. His complete itinerary should be there. If you were able to crack the security code in Martin Prince’s pocket computer, you should not have any problem with Getty’s Code. Study the files in the computer. You will find elaborate files on every aspect of the Getty Business. Learn everything you can about the company and your assignment in the Frump Tower. Eventually, you will be meeting with the President. After all, that’s the primary purpose of Getty’s visit. Find out when the meeting takes place on the itinerary and prepare for it. Go into that meeting knowing the business from the inside out.