“Well, why didn’t you say so?” he grins, looking more like a pirate than ever. “You have a deal, Mrs Dane.”
“It’s Miss Davis,” I correct. “Or, better still, Rebecca.”
Jupiter both repulses and intrigues me, and now that we have a form of payment and he has agreed to help us, he is bursting with enthusiasm to show off his set-up. We pass numerous storage facilities, every one brimming with activity. Jupiter is fascinated by technology and has a number of projects on the go. Behind me, I can hear Reed and Kwan talking, and then Reed addresses Patrick.
“What did he do for you?” he asks, and I strain my ears to hear the answer over Jupiter’s endless, self-indulgent narrative. I am also curious about the red-headed man’s apparent fierce loyalty to Jupiter.
“Saved my sister’s life,” Patrick replies. “She was exiled by Eric Dane for speaking out against the sterilisation law. Jupiter enabled me to get her back. In return, I serve him.”
“And you?” Reed drawls at the second guard, but he remains stony-faced, staring straight ahead.
“Randall’s father didn’t make it back,” Patrick explains. Randall must have made the same deal with Jupiter – he was Gifted to enable him to rescue his exiled father, in return for a lifetime of service. Sadly, his father had not survived his exile in the barren lands, and yet Randall is still here serving Jupiter.
“A debt is a debt, I guess,” Reed mutters under his breath.
“And now,” Jupiter’s voice breaks my concentration and I refocus on him. The knowing look in his eyes leaves me in no doubt that, despite keeping up a running commentary, he heard every word of their conversation. “The pièce de résistance!” he declares, as Patrick and Randall step forward, using their combined strength to open a heavy metal door. As we step through it into open air and sunshine, Jupiter sweeps his arms before him dramatically and my jaw drops open. We have exited SubTropolis and emerged onto a massive paved yard nestled in the bluffs above the Missouri River and on the tarmac before us, magnificent in its rarity, is a commercial airliner.
Reed recovers first, and he starts to laugh, a hearty, genuine chuckle that comes from deep in his chest.
“Jupiter,” he remarks knowingly and I turn to him curiously. “In Roman mythology, Jupiter was the god of the sky,” he explains.
“And this is my queen,” Jupiter replies. “She’s a Boeing 747 – commonly known as Queen of the Skies.”
“Does it work?” I ask, still frozen in shock. “I mean, can it fly?”
“Not yet,” he replies ruefully, “but it will. Come and have a look.”
“What if NUSA finds it?” I ask as we cross the hot tarmac.
“How could they?” Jupiter replies. “The only way to see it would be from directly above, and NUSA isn’t airborne. Men in charge are frequently short-sighted,” he adds disdainfully. “With all the resources available, they are still focusing on weapons.” Jupiter must be remarkably well informed if he is already privy to the information that Kenneth Williams plans to bring back weapons engineering.
“But you’re in the States,” I persist. “What if they discover SubTropolis?”
“They won’t.” It is Reed who answers in his husky Southern drawl. “Williams is far more interested in his own projects to worry about further rebuilding for the community. He couldn’t care less about the pre-war zones, and he certainly wouldn’t expect any citizen of the States to venture near them. Besides, any additional resources he has will no doubt be scouring the Rebeldom searching for us. It’s a good plan,” he concedes, addressing Jupiter. “Hiding in plain sight.”
I cannot help but feel a thrill of anticipation as we climb the portable ladder and enter the airliner.
“Jupiter,” I ask as we enter what must have been the first class cabin, “where did you get it?”
When Eric had abolished air travel, what few planes remained within the States were destroyed. Hundreds had been damaged in the nuclear war, both in the air and on the ground, and those that were still operable were turned into scrap metal.
“Northwest Arkansas Regional Airport,” he answers proudly.
Jethro spins around. “You mean to tell me this plane came from outside the NUSA borders?”
“Yes.”
“But how did you . . .” I trail off as a tall, incredibly skinny black man boards the aircraft.
“Good morning, sir,” his voice is low and melodic. I recognise him instantly as the man who was trading with the guards last night at the Missouri boundary fence.
“What is it, Sam?” Jupiter asks kindly.
“The parts that you were waiting for have arrived. They passed through the border about an hour ago.”
“Marvellous.” Jupiter is visibly delighted. “Please go and intercept the delivery and make sure everything gets safely into the hangar.” Without another word, the tall man leaves.
“You smuggled an entire plane through the fences?” My disbelief is overshadowed by my respect for Jupiter, which has just increased exponentially. I feel a surge of excitement as a new possibility takes seed in my mind.
“I control the Missouri border,” Jupiter states haughtily. “The New United States is a vast country. Do you really think that those at the top can keep track of everything going on in the country? And, of course, let us not forget that men are motivated by greed,” he adds enigmatically.
“He bribes the guards?” Reed sneers. “That’s his big secret? What an anticlimax.” The four of us are huddled in a close group a few yards from the Boeing. Jupiter is standing near the doors to SubTropolis, speaking to a pretty brunette who called him from the plane only a few moments before. As with Sam, I recognise her as the other person from the SUV at the boundary fence.
“It’s simple and effective,” Kwan points out. “The Legion is driven by emotion and loyalty – but we can’t take for granted that the NUSA guards feel the same devotion for their leaders. Heath and his friends are proof that they aren’t all loyal to Williams, or any President before him.”
“Which is a good thing,” Jethro adds.
I recall painfully that Jethro’s own brother is fanatically loyal to Kenneth Williams, but I smile back, trying to reassure him.
“It would appear we have a deal, Miss Davis,” Jupiter calls as he approaches. The brunette beside him gives Reed an appraising once-over. “This is Lydia,” Jupiter adds, putting his arm around her shoulders. “So, when will you be delivering your father, along with the soldiers you would like me to enhance?”
“Actually,” I smile sweetly, “you’ll be bringing your lab to us.”
“He’s never going to go for it,” Reed repeats for the third time as the Carlisles’ apartment block comes into view.
I had not backed down on my condition that Jupiter would bring his technology to us, and not the other way around, but I had given him twenty-four hours to think about it. We would get an answer tomorrow, either way. There were two reasons I had issued the ultimatum; the first was that I knew how badly Jupiter wanted my father’s expertise and not only with regard to the lab itself, but for his passion for technology in general. Before the war of 2016 my father had been Undersecretary to the Secretary of Defence in the fields of Acquisition, Technology and Logistics – there was no one on earth who possessed his knowledge in various fields of engineering, air travel included. This was the carrot that I was dangling in front of Jupiter.
The second reason I had suggested that we conduct our transaction on my home turf was the fact that Jupiter had revealed that the Missouri boundary fences were under his control. There was no logistical reason why he couldn’t smuggle all his equipment out of the States and into the Rebeldom. I am sure that he is regretting his arrogant imparting of the information.
“He’ll go for it,” I say again to Reed.
“Good afternoon,” James greets us politely. The doorman has been f
ar more hospitable since Reed had Richard inform him that we would be staying for a few days as his special guests. With Reed’s arm around Lucy’s throat, Richard had been very believable.
When we enter the apartment all is well. Richard and Lucy are still tethered beside each other on one sofa, and Chase is spreadeagled on the other, watching television. Archer is sitting at the twelve-seater dining room table, cleaning his bow.
“Anything to report?” I ask him, deferring automatically to the oldest, most responsible member of the Legion in the house. Morgan is technically the most experienced member of the group, but she is nowhere to be seen.
“Nothing,” Archer doesn’t meet my eyes and I get the suspicious feeling he is hiding something from me.
“Where are they?” I ask, scanning the open plan room. Richard and Lucy Carlisle are pretending to watch the TV. Michael emerges from the bathroom in the hall and Morgan follows down the corridor a moment later, answering my question.
“How did it go?” Archer asks, changing the subject. I signal them to follow me through to the kitchen, out of earshot of the Carlisles.
“Good, I think. We’ll know soon enough.” I explain briefly what transpired this morning and then I head back to the sitting room.
Chase scrambles into a sitting position as I settle down on the couch beside him, opposite Richard and Lucy.
“Rebecca,” Richard speaks the moment I lift my legs on to the couch and lean back to relax. I open one eye and peer at him. I want nothing better than to catch up on some much needed sleep. Richard steels himself and continues, regardless of my less than welcoming response. “Chase says that there are ordinary people living out there, outside the borders?” Richard asks and I nod in confirmation. “They’re not sick, they’re not crazy?” he persists.
Heaving a sigh, I swing my legs off the couch and sit up to look at him. “No, they’re not sick. They are hungry and desperate, but not crazy. Not all of them,” I add, thinking of the Rados that are too far gone to be saved. “Most are just in need of a community, of education and having their basic needs met. NUSA’s border policy abandoned thousands of Americans, just like you and me.” Lucy meets this proclamation with an unconvinced sneer, but Richard looks pensive.
“I had a sister,” he muses, lost in thought. “She was travelling with my mother when the bombs hit. I never thought, well, Eric said that everything beyond the fences was a wasteland, and I believed him. But my sister . . . do you think she might be alive?”
My honest answer is a straight up ‘no’ although I keep this to myself. Billions of people died in the war that changed our world, and the chances that Richard’s sister had survived were slim to none. Only five per cent of the population had survived.
“Where was she?”
“New York. My mother had a conference to attend and she took my sister along to stay with our aunt. I was too young to go, so I stayed here with my dad.”
The eastern seaboard had been heavily targeted in the war, and it was common knowledge that almost everything from Maine to Virginia was destroyed. Of course, there had been survivors. My own father was testament to this fact, but he had been high up in the government and had therefore had access to a fallout shelter at the Pentagon, which was where he was when the bombs detonated. An ordinary young girl and her mother would not have been so lucky.
“I’m sorry, Richard, but in all likelihood, no. She wouldn’t have survived.” He looks crestfallen but accepting. “There are others, though,” I continue and he raises his head, “others just like her. People who, like your sister, were not within the borders of NUSA when the bombs went off. People who need our help.”
“Stop making yourself out to be a saviour,” Lucy intrudes furiously. “You’re nothing but a murderer.”
“Shut up, Lucy,” Richard snaps. “You’re hardly a saint.”
His words take me by surprise and I realise that Richard may not be as ignorant of his wife’s misdemeanours as she likes to think. Judging by the redness sweeping across Lucy’s pale cheeks, this has also just occurred to her, and she shuts her mouth.
“You did kill Eric?” Richard presses, and I nod. “Did he know? About the survivors? Did he know they were out there?” I nod again and he falls silent.
“Rebecca,” Reed calls softly from the kitchen. “A word?” I join him in the breezy room, away from prying ears.
“What are you going to do if Jupiter turns you down?”
“I don’t think he will,” I insist, “but if he does, we’ll just have to come up with a plan B.”
“I’ve been thinking,” he leans against the pale grey wall. “We’re only a few hundred miles from Chicago. Maybe we should just . . .”
“No,” I cut him short, knowing exactly what he is thinking. “Believe me, I would love nothing better than to get to Chicago and take Kenneth out. But he’ll be ready for it. We need information, we need soldiers. We need to prepare and plan our attack.”
Previously, when I had the means to dispose of Eric Dane, we had hesitated because we did not want to incite public outrage. The Resistance wanted to expose Eric for the tyrant he was and so we proceeded with caution, working behind the scenes. Now that we have seen how easily Kenneth has taken Eric’s place, we realise that the NUSA society is so conditioned to accepting what is foisted upon them, so accepting of their fate, that we can just as easily oust Kenneth and institute one of our own to take his place and bring about change. That is ultimately the plan, but I do not want to rush in blindly and attack Kenneth without any forethought or a concrete plan. There is too much at stake and Kenneth will be on high alert.
“You still sure about Adam?” Reed asks, reading my thoughts.
“Definitely,” I nod.
We had discussed this before I had been taken by Kenneth’s men, and my opinion hadn’t changed. Adam Vincent is the logical successor to Kenneth as President of the New United States. He is kind and compassionate, and he has dedicated his life to helping those in need. How much more could he do with the wealth of NUSA’s resources at his disposal.
“He’s certainly the best man for the job,” Reed has always agreed with me on this point, “but have you mentioned it to him yet?”
“No,” I grin. “Not yet.”
chapter 18
We set out for Jupiter’s “lair”, as Reed calls it, at the same time the following morning. Despite my outward conviction, I do expect Jupiter to try to negotiate, so no one is more surprised than I am when the first words out of his mouth are, “You win, Miss Davis. I will accompany you into the Rebeldom.”
I give Reed a discreet “I told you so” look as Jupiter continues. “I am making this concession as a gesture of good faith. I do, however, expect your father to come back with me at some point and assist me with my work here. Unless you expect me to transport an entire aircraft back to your base?” I resist the urge to remind him that he probably could.
“Understood. And, Jupiter, I know you don’t take sides but if you help me to defeat Kenneth Williams and take back the States, my father will help you build as many aeroplanes as your heart desires.”
Back at the Carlisles, Archer is again quiet and distant, but everything appears to be as it should. I put his sombre mood down to the fact that perhaps his courtship of Morgan is not going well. She, too, seems more pensive than usual, and more than once I catch her eyeing me thoughtfully.
“We leave tomorrow,” I say to the room at large, and Lucy Carlisle gives an exaggerated cry of relief. She is looking slightly the worse for wear – captivity doesn’t suit her. Her normally perfectly coiffed hair is a tousled mess, and she is wearing a slightly too baggy tracksuit. She would never survive the Rebeldom, I think bitterly.
“What do you mean, tomorrow?” Morgan sounds horrified. “You said we would be here at least a week.”
“Things have progressed much faster than I expected,”
I begin to explain and then I catch myself. “What’s it to you, anyway?”
“Nothing,” she seems to regret her outburst. “It’s nothing.”
“What’s going on, Archer?” I ask softly as she stalks out of the room.
“Nothing,” he echoes Morgan, but I get the feeling they are both hiding something from me.
“Rebecca,” Chase calls from the passage and I follow him into the nearest bedroom. He shuts the door behind us and turns to face me.
“She’s been going out,” he says bluntly. “Morgan. She was gone most of the day – yesterday too.”
“What?”
“I don’t know where,” he explains, “but she spoke with Archer and then she left. I don’t think he wants to mention it, he doesn’t want her in trouble, but he’s definitely not happy with it.”
I don’t wait to hear any more. I yank the door open and stride further down the passage.
“Morgan!” I yell, furious. All the bedrooms are empty, save for one. Kwan is lying on the neatly made bed.
“What’s going on?” he asks, getting to his feet.
“I’m going to kill that girl,” I mutter.
We search the entire house, but it’s no use. Morgan is gone.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me she was going out?” I am so angry I am shaking.
“She asked me not to. She said she just needed to be by herself for a while, she needed time to think.”
“Dammit, Archer! You have put all of us at risk! If she’s caught . . .”
“She won’t get caught!” he insists, as though trying to convince himself.
“She can’t have got far,” Kwan interrupts. “I’ll go and look for her.”
“Where?” I ask, hopelessly. “She could be anywhere, we can’t search the entire city.”
“You won’t need to,” Michael says, his voice low. “I know where she is. I didn’t think she was serious. I mean, yeah, she’s been saying stuff . . . about you,” he adds apologetically. “She kept saying that you don’t know what you’re doing and that this whole war is pointless. She thinks that you’re wrong about Kenneth Williams – she says that if he offered the Legion a place inside the boundaries, you had no right to turn him down on our behalf.”
The Legend Page 12
