The Lancaster Rule - The Lancaster Trilogy Vol. I

by T. K. Toppin

  I heard a noise; the door opened with a hiss. A severe-looking red-haired man stood halfway in. His hands were thrust into his pockets and he wore an amused expression. He leaned against the doorjamb, cocked an eyebrow, and jerked his head outside the room. “This way then.”

  I hesitated, but put aside any petrified thoughts for the sake of relief, and obediently followed, only to be stopped before exiting by his firm grip on my arm. The red-haired man leaned in and calmly informed me that to think of fleeing was useless.

  Once my bladder was emptied, I splashed cold water on my face a few times and let the coolness soak into my hurting eyelids. I scrubbed my face dry with my shirt and looked at the reflection in the tiny mirror. My tired, pale face stared back at me. I looked like shit. With dread, I opened the door and reported back to the red-haired man, who escorted me straight back to the cell. Lancaster had returned. His back was to me; hands clasped there and head bowed. Turning at the sound of our approach, I noticed he looked tired as well.

  “I see you’ve met Simon,” Lancaster said.

  Tipping my head sideways, I glanced at the red-haired man. He was about the same height as Lancaster, same build, with a strong, deeply chiseled face, square and angular. Everything about Simon was straight and sharp. He had those strong bones and proud face, like a Viking. His head was topped with cropped red hair that looked like it might curl in thick ringlets if allowed to grow. Simon had suspicious, yet humorous, blue eyes framed in a paler shade of red lashes. Comparing the two in the small room, it seemed as if Simon was John Lancaster’s light, while he was the dark. Like Ying and Yang. Complete opposites.

  “Charmed,” Simon replied when I just stared up and down at him, returning the full inspection he’d given me earlier. Despite his friendlier approach, my insides clenched. I feared him more than I feared Lancaster. Maybe it was Simon’s too-good nature. Did it hide a sinister core? He gave a nod to Lancaster, and they exchanged a look. Lancaster inclined his head and Simon left the room. Something had passed between them. I’d seen it before, between two people who were close for a long time. A familiarity, an ease in posture and manner. I knew in an instant that the two were close friends.

  The World President prowled the room, head down, in deafening silence.

  I waited for him to speak, but judging by his scowl, he didn’t seem to have any plans of doing so. At least, not in any hurry.

  “When will I be freed?” I asked, growing tired of his manner. It was my turn to ask the questions. “What am I being charged with? You still haven’t told me. And can I at least call someone? Why don’t you tell me?”

  “I am not the police.” He seemed affronted—insulted.

  That was true enough. He wasn’t. He was the fucking president of nearly half the world. Like the kings and queens of old, his word was final. He could do whatever he wanted, and I, in a sense, was in fucking checkmate. I couldn’t move in any direction without exposing who I really was.

  “You are a pod-survivor.” It wasn’t a question.

  Did I gape? I stared back in surprise. “Um.” Tell him the truth, not all of it, but enough. “Yes.”

  Lancaster nodded, and continued watching me from under his brow. He’d calmed down enough that he no longer looked like he wanted to inflict me with pain. At least, not right now. He was reining back, I could tell, just by the way he clenched his jaw.

  “Why didn’t you say this before?” he asked in a hushed voice, loaded with lethal power and suspicion. One wrong answer and I’d be finished.

  “You wouldn’t have believed me,” I replied cautiously.

  “Why is that?”

  “I don’t know.” I glanced down at my feet. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react. I hear we’re not that…popular.”

  Lancaster squinted, studying my face. “You speak truthfully, but yet you’re still hiding something. Yes, some people abhor pod-survivors. Some pity them. I’m unburdened by it. At least, ever since one saved my life.”

  “Oh.”

  “Tell me.” He raised his voice a bit. “How long have you been involved with Wellesley?”

  I let out an angry sigh. “I told you already. And we’re not involved, not really.” I strode over to a corner and leaned on the wall, folding my arms over my chest. “I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to make me confess to something I know nothing about.”

  “And what confession would that be?”

  “About the bombing. About if Lorcan was involved, or if I’m a fucking terrorist as well.” My voice started to rise.

  Lancaster compressed his mouth, turning away. “You swear too much.”

  “So I’m told!” I shouted back. I couldn’t help it. I was scared, tired, angry, and fed up. And, I realized with some horror, very close to tears again. But I refused to cry in front this man. “When are you going to let me out of here? Again, don’t I get to speak to someone? A lawyer? A representative? Does Lorcan even know I’m here?”

  Oh, fuck me! A thought chilled me. Did they still even have lawyers to represent people? Did that still apply? It certainly didn’t look that way.

  Panic! Oh, shit, this wasn’t happening.

  “I’ve answered all your questions. What more do you want? This is so unfair.” My hands raked through my hair and I held them pressed to my skull, hoping to keep my brains from exploding.

  “You haven’t told me everything!” Lancaster retorted, his tone brutal and savage.

  “Oh, my God!” I wailed, and in a strong and clear voice that surprised me, yelled back. “And if I don’t? What are you going to do? Kill me? Silence me? Put me away in some dark hole, never to be heard from again? That’s what you do, isn’t it? Make people disappear!”

  It felt good to vent it all out. The tightness in my muscles and joints loosened, the heat in my blood warmed me. It felt really good. I aimed my eyes at him, hoping the fury would shoot out and pierce his face, which seemed to contract within itself. He regarded me with a shrewd, calculating look.

  “We do not make people disappear,” he hissed. “This is not the rule of my Grandfather.” He even said it like it had a capital G.

  “Bullshit!”

  He stormed straight toward me and grabbed my arm, clamping it with a vice-like grip. He gave me a forceful jerk. Surprise and pain made me cry out. With my free hand, I tried to pry his hand away, but he was too strong.

  “Let go of me, you fucking bastard!” I tried to kick at his shins, but in one swift move, he shoved me against the wall. My back thudded loudly, and my head knocked the wall with a resounding crack. I yelped in pain and froze, squeezing my eyes tight to still my shaking world.

  “Your mouth is like a vile sewer! You dare speak to me this way?” He paused for effect. “Then I should make you disappear. Flush you down the toilet like excrement.”

  “Fuck you!” I screamed with intense rage. I felt electrified, the anger charged through me. I struggled, trying to push him away. “Look at you! Just like a goddamned dictator! Do what I say or I’ll make you disappear. You’re a pompous, cowardly tyrant who wants things his own way, and if you can’t get it, you stamp your foot until you do. Big fucking deal, asshole! You’re not getting a thing out of me.” Enough of this. Enough! Every piece of shit seemed to be landing on me, and I was fucking tired of it.

  Lancaster roared in anger. He gave me another thump against the wall and glowered.

  As soon as my world stopped shaking, I matched his glare. “I won’t tell you anything.”

  “You will tell me, and you will do so now,” he hissed.

  “No!”

  “What are you hiding?”

  I clamped my mouth shut. The grip on my arm was painfully tight and starting to go numb.

  “Who are you protecting? Wellesley?”

  Silence.

  “It is, isn’t it? He’s behind all this. And you know what’s being planned next.”

  “Even if he were, I still won’t tell you anything because he’s a better man than you wi
ll ever hope to be. All you Lancasters are alike. And I will never say a word against him.”

  “Why?”

  With a determined shove, with a force that surprised me, I yanked myself loose. “Because he saved my life. What the fuck have you done?”

  Lancaster took a step back, blinking, distracted by my strength. He looked confused. It made me glad to see, so I smiled smugly.

  The staring match resumed once more.

  Before Lancaster could open his mouth to say anything more, Simon slipped into the room, whispered into his ear, and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. They both turned to leave, but just before Lancaster went through the door, he stopped, cutting a steely gaze at me.

  “I’m not finished with you, yet.”

  Chapter 16

  “Could this not have waited?”

  “Until what, John? You beat each other to a bloody pulp?” Simon snorted. “Don’t blame me if you can’t take a bit of criticism.” He sniggered quietly. “I quite like that bit about you stamping your foot to get what you want.”

  They were in a small room not far from the holding cells. It was late at night, and Simon had dismissed most of the guards on duty, leaving only a handful—non-humans. Tight security wasn’t needed where they were, deep in the bowels of a security command post beneath the Citadel. Only a select few held passes and codes to enter the six doors leading to this place. It was their old haunt; they’d practically lived here at one stage, and Simon had very nearly ended up divorced because of it.

  John yanked out a chair beside a desk and sat down with a scowl. “Show me.”

  Simon had managed to acquire the surveillance video of the bombing, a trying ordeal since the London authorities seemed to have misplaced it for several hours. It showed a mere ten seconds where Gina Mancuso strolled through the Shipping and Freight Division of the London Ministry of Trade, casually placing small, round objects as she went by. The video ended as soon as the bomb sensors went off, and all they glimpsed was a startled Mancuso, turning as if to run away.

  After a short pause, a new video played. This one had Mancuso dragging Josie through a shopping center, then through its front door and onto the street where more footage appeared from a different angle. The video ended with scratchy but distinct coverage of the scene in front the parking facility just prior to the explosion in the street.

  John pursed his lips, his frown deepening. He stood to pace the room, then slumped back into the chair.

  “Yes, you thought so too, then?” Simon’s mild voice roused John from his thoughts.

  “She was unwittingly involved. She’s been telling the truth.”

  So what now? John shifted in his seat. Something still didn’t feel right. The girl disturbed him—no, affected him. He was annoyed that he’d allowed her to get under his skin, and even more so that his cousin had died. If she wasn’t a terrorist in league with Mancuso, then who was she? What was she? Or was this all staged? The lengths people went to destroy a government, to make a statement, went beyond the normal realms of imagination.

  And what was Wellesley’s connection? Was he speaking truthfully that he’d no idea who Mancuso was? And what about Wellesley’s suspected activities? Just how closely was he related to these suspicions? And Josie—it was obvious they were involved. But what did she mean that he’d saved her life? How? Did he find her in a pod and help her rehabilitate? And just how old was she? Records from even fifty years ago would’ve come up with some traces of her, but it was as if she didn’t exist. Yes, some pod-survivors had erased their records on purpose, but still, a few random bits of their life remained. Everyone was traceable.

  But not her.

  Ghost.

  “What now, indeed.” Simon spoke his question aloud, reading John’s thoughts like he usually did.

  Through his swirling thoughts, John watched as Simon sent a message to his wife. A smidgeon of guilt crept in. He’d kept his friend away from his family. Again. “I don’t know.” He rubbed at his eyes. “It’s a puzzle. Can I keep her here longer?”

  “You can do whatever you please. You are, after all…” Simon mused with a smile, never taking his eyes off his personal unit while his fingers tapped away. “But make it quick, will you? I’m starved. And wifey’s getting…you know…homicidal.”

  “Is the guest room still in order?” He could hold her there instead, and there would be no question about whether or not she was being treated civilly, or if her rights were being abused. Furthermore, if she technically didn’t exist, then he wasn’t breaking any human rights laws. Unless Wellesley decided to hire a lawyer. But the engineer showed no indication he was inclined to do so. That, too, was odd.

  Simon rounded on him, meeting him square in the eye. “The guest room? What, may I ask, are you planning?”

  John twisted his face, smirking. “I want to see how this plays out. We’ll keep her here indefinitely, and see what the reaction will be. It just might force people to make a move. Or not.” But in any case, he wanted to know who was responsible for Lora’s death, and they would pay.

  “What? For it to reach out and bite you on the bum?”

  John gave Simon a nasty look. “You have eyes on Wellesley?”

  “Please, John. I’ve been doing this as long as you have. Now, if he’ll only just leave Switzerland and go back home, it’ll make things much easier. Can’t very well spy on the man in our own backyard, now can we?”

  “Has he done anything?”

  “Just made some calls to his colleagues, and yes, we’re checking them all out.” Simon jerked his head toward the door. “Make a move on, will you? It’s late. By the way, Wellesley’s not happy.”

  “I don’t care.” John stood, pressing his hands to his eyes. Back to the lion’s den…

  * * *

  John found Josie curled up on the floor in the corner under the ledge. The sight struck him, and a tweak of sympathy pulled at his chest. She looked like a scared puppy that had been beaten mercilessly. He remembered her sudden strength, not unlike a cornered animal that lashed out in one final act of savagery. But seeing her on the floor, John found it hard to recall how strong she was. Had it been that he let her push him away because she was scared and he was being rough? Or was it that she really did push him away by force? He would think on that some more, when he wasn’t so tired. But he couldn’t shake the wise words of his father, who’d said when a woman surpassed a man in strength and cunning, that was a woman to watch out for.

  He cleared his throat. She jerked as if she’d been sleeping and made an effort to stand. Crawling out, grimacing, she put a hand to her back. Her eyes were swollen from crying, her face sullen. A pang of guilt shot through John, making him pause. With force, he pushed the feeling down and, in his best effort to be civil and polite, made an attempt to smile. It didn’t work. It felt more like a flinch.

  “What now?” Her voice had gone hoarse and she cast her gaze down to her feet. The fight had left her.

  He’d expected another round of insults and more of the foul attitude. Never before had he been spoken to like that, except by Simon, who kept things in perspective in his brutally honest way. But that was Simon and it didn’t matter. But her, this impossible…

  He had no words describe her.

  John tipped his head and watched her in silence until, with obvious reluctance, she lifted her eyes. They were dark green now from the low lighting, like moss in the ocean. Dark and mysterious, fluid and cast adrift, they flitted across his face like the flight of a butterfly, unreadable in what thoughts they hid, yet open and curious like a child. Her mouth parted slightly, adding to the effect.

  “You’re being transferred.” John stepped closer, took her left arm, and brought it up. He felt a slight resistance that gave way quickly. “A guest room. I trust you will be more comfortable there.”

  She stared at him, eyes almost level with his. He moved in closer to speak into her ear. “You’ll be restricted to a small section of the Citadel. Within that sect
ion, you are free to move around as you please.”

  From his pocket, he took out a broad silver bracelet and snapped it securely onto her wrist. She jerked in reflex, but didn’t look down. He admired her restraint, conquering curiosity with common sense. And stubborn pride. Yes…that was it. He saw it now. Leaning closer, loose strands of her hair tickled his face. “Do not try to run, or this bracelet will stop you. It will securely attach itself to any metallic object, and I alone can deactivate it. Do we have an understanding?”

  He held her wrist, his thumb rhythmically kneading the back of her hand, threatening and dangerous as it dug into a pressure point. If anyone saw, it appeared they were holding hands. He knew it hurt, since her jaw tightened and eyes narrowed, but she refused to give in to the pain.

  She sucked in a breath and straightened, her voice steady. “Do I have a choice?”

  John smiled. “At the moment? No.”

  Chapter 17

  I was taken to a small, hotel-like room. The cheap kind. On entering, a single couch on the right greeted me. It sat facing a stingy terrace. Glancing out the glass doors to the terrace, I saw an outdoor area the size of table-tennis table, surrounded by a stone wall over fifteen feet tall. A single sparse shrub grew, and the grass looked artificial. And right in the middle stood a tiny wooden bench.

  Beyond the couch was a small kitchenette, with the bare essentials laid out in neat order. Against the far wall, a bed, a small bedside table, a chair by the foot of the bed, and a very small chest of drawers. A separate room on the right was the bathroom.

  The stern-faced guard who had escorted me said the kitchen fridge would dispense three meals a day with a choice of two items. Water, and a one-week supply of coffee or tea, were the only beverages provided. In the bathroom, I had a three-day supply of clothes: white cotton pants, white T-shirts like vests with elbow-length sleeves, white underwear, and something that resembled a sport bra. For soiled clothes, I had to place them in the side chute by the sink. These would then be laundered, pressed, and returned the next day by the automated attendant. Basic toiletries and accoutrements were in the drawer under the small countertop sink.