Patriots & Tyrants (Rebels & Lies Trilogy Book 2)

by Cotton, Brian

  He shook his head at that awful thought and continued his preparations to give his briefing to his Board of Elders. They all seemed to get bent out of shape over some new attack on a USR complex just hours ago.

  Everything, and everyone, was under control.

  Caine turned his attention to the door into the Boardroom. The thirteen Elders began to file in and take their designated seats around the large table shaped like a football. Their dress was elegant. Each Elder in three piece suits from the finest foreign outfitters. Caine smirked as they looked at them filing in. It amused him so that they all tried to be like him. Dress like him. Copy his mannerisms. Some even tried to mimic Caine’s voice to sound like him. As if that would provide them with the mental capacity that he enjoyed. It was pathetic, truly, but they were a necessary evil so he tolerated the bastards.

  All the Elders lived in this high rise. Everyone under Caine lived two stories below him and their digs were not nearly as good as Caine’s penthouse. That was how it should be. They had to earn their right to be at his level, and as far as Caine could tell, none of them ever would.

  “Thank you all for attending,” Caine said once all the Elders took their seats. They all gave their full, undivided attention to their leader. “I’ll try and make this short.”

  “Well,” a middle aged man named Travis Johnson said. “We can start by going over that damned terrorist attack last night.”

  Caine pointed his finger. “I’m tired of telling you to not speak out of turn. Now, going on to that point, it was actually the reason for this meeting. I’ve heard some rumblings from some of you that you feel like this whole resistance thing is getting out of control.”

  Johnson raised his hand this time. When Caine pointed he said, “That’s because it is getting out of control. I knew from the get go that this whole ‘Committee’ idea was shit. We armed our enemies and…”

  “And, what?” Kerry Blake, Caine’s second in command, demanded. “What have they really accomplished? They’ve blow up a few buildings, sure. Maybe they have caused more damage than we anticipated. But, in the grand scheme of things, we have accomplished our goal. We have spread fear on the citizens and it is those Americans who have taken the blame.”

  Caine clapped his hands together. “Well spoken, Kerry. Gentlemen, everything is under control.”

  Johnson raised a hand again before talking. “You can’t be serious. We’ve got to take care of this problem. They’ve exposed our population control scheme. They’ve discovered each other and the different rebel groups we armed will one day band together…”

  “Enough from you,” Caine said with a sharp voice. “You have forfeited your right to speak.”

  Caine had to pause for a moment. This Johnson was inching closer and closer to his own very public execution. He never grew used to another person questioning his authority as much as Johnson did. There were times when Johnson did make a valid point. Not that it ever mattered anything to Caine. He could be dead wrong and he still expected the Elders to buy in. Lucky for them they never had to experience Caine being wrong. When he was a successful politician in the old days, and now during his time as supreme ruler of a country, nobody ever questioned him. If someone did, there were always dire consequences. He continued once he collected himself.

  “Now, yes, these terrorists have caused some damage. And, like was just said, they have gotten just a little bit out of control. And, yes, we will take care of the problem.”

  A younger Elder raised his hand and was given permission to speak. “How do you propose we deal with the problem?”

  Caine thought about it for a moment. Days like today reminded him of how much he hated the Elders. It pained him to realize that he did need them. Getting his teeth drilled on without numbing medication was more tolerable to him than this fact. If he lost even one of them, save Johnson who was too stupid to do anything about it, his sphere of influence would drop. To reassure them was vital. Their puny brains just couldn’t comprehend his plan. No matter how many times he told them, how many different ways he explained to them, they still couldn’t get past how the resistance doing damage was a good thing. It created chaos which the USR would come in and clean up. Fear that would be purged. Multiple opportunities to step in as the saviors. More ways to tighten their grip on the citizens below. But, as usual, most of the Elders were just too damn short sighted to see it.

  “We’ll let them run loose for a little bit longer. Then, we will break their spirit completely.” Caine responded.

  “What do you mean?” the young Elder asked.

  “They think they have an ace up their sleeves…”

  Johnson rose from his chair. “You are getting reckless, Caine! We might need that in the future!”

  “That’s it, Johnson!” Caine screamed. “Get him the fuck out of here. You are going to be charged with aiding the resistance. Enjoy your public execution!”

  Johnson’s jaw dropped to the floor. Caine reached under the table and pressed a red button. Instantly a group of five Agents entered. Silence took over the Boardroom. This type of thing was unprecedented. They watched as the Agents grabbed the scared shitless Johnson from underneath his arms and dragged the man out. Johnson started to yell obscenities and how Caine couldn’t do this. What Johnson didn’t understand was that Caine could do this.

  And, he took great pleasure in it.

  .03

  Kaspar searched frantically for Krys in the wide open empty field. His heart raced and the gun in his hand shook along with the trembles. She was just here a moment ago. Where the hell could she have gone? He ran through the empty fields and found her black Speed Triple parked against a dying tree. He investigated the area for any signs of her. There were no foot prints in the grass. He felt the bike, but it was cold, as if it hadn’t been ridden in years.

  “Krys!” Kaspar cried. “Where are you?!”

  But, he knew that she was gone.

  Kaspar opened his eyes and his head shot up from the pillow. He moved his frozen blue eyes from left to right and realized he was back in the tan colored tent that he shared with Krys. Their blankets and pillows damp from the wet grass beneath them. He looked over and found her next to him. She was still asleep in her black tank and panties. Kaspar reached over and pulled the green comforter over her. As he did, she rolled over and faced him. Her tired eyes opened and he was greeted with a smile.

  “Hey,” Krys said.

  “Hey.” Kaspar replied.

  Krys noticed the concerned look in Kaspar’s eyes. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, just had a nightmare.”

  To say that his dream had been a nightmare was an understatement. The last six months that Kaspar spent with Krys were the best of his life. During that time, apart from their battle with the USR, Krys had shown him love like he never experienced before. All those times Mother told him to find someone special and he brushed it off. He could see why she wanted this so bad for him. Without Krys, his heart would have that black hole again, but he swore once again that he would not lose her.

  Just like with everything else in Kaspar’s life he had been dealt a bad hand. She had that poison inside of her still. That drug which the USR dumped into the water supply in the hopes of wiping out a woman’s ability to bear children. It was a horrible evil committed by the USR that Kaspar would never understand. Not just to genetically alter the female population but to release it knowing the potential casualties.

  “Was I in it?” Krys asked, her smile gone.

  “No,” Kaspar lied. “I was stuck in a battle and couldn’t move. My voice was gone, too, so I couldn’t call for help.”

  Krys’s smile returned. “No Krys to save your ass again?”

  Kaspar moved his body closer to her. He loved the feel of her skin as he rubbed up and down her arms with a soft touch. Why couldn’t moments like these last forever? Kaspar moved his head down and kissed her on the forehead. Something on the back of her neck caught his eye while he played around with her b
lack hair. Kaspar went from stroking it soft to moving it out of the way. When he got a closer look he wished he was imagining things. He wasn’t imagining it at all. It was a small lesion with jagged edges. On the inside was a brownish yellow crust with cracks all around. Small droplets of blood leaked through them. The reality of their situation hit home once more.

  “Is it bad?” Krys asked, noticing Kaspar’s face.

  “It’s not too bad,” Kaspar lied again. “You in any kind of pain at all?”

  “Just a little bit here and there. Not enough to stop me, though. You know how it is. I have my good days and bad days.”

  Kaspar hoped that today wouldn’t be another bad day for her. Maybe she had started to lose track, or didn’t want to face the truth, but her bad days had begun to far outnumber the good ones.

  “We’re going to find that cure,” Kaspar replied.

  “We can’t even be for sure that there is one.”

  Kaspar rubbed his fingertips slow on her cheek. “There has to be one. They couldn’t have made a drug with this kind of an effect without a contingency plan. If all the women got sick, then there would be no one…”

  “Isn’t that the point?” Krys interrupted. “To save the world from over population? Look, I just want to live out the rest of my life as best I can. I want to spread the word to as many people who will listen. But, I don’t need to lie to myself with false hope. And, I don’t…”

  “There is a cure,” Kaspar’s turn to interrupt. “We just have to find it.”

  “Ryan, please.”

  Kaspar kissed Krys on her forehead once more and rolled over. She moved in close from behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He had to come to the conclusion, at some point, that maybe he was lying to himself as much as to Krys. No matter how many complexes they stormed not a shred of evidence even hinting at a cure were found. Kaspar just loved Krys so damn much that he didn’t want to lose hope.

  He was going to save her…somehow.

  ***

  While everyone else was gathered around for some breakfast chow, Kaspar stood beside Robert Clarke as he feverishly typed away at his military grade laptop. Clarke was such a fast reader, and so fast with typing and mouse moving, that Kaspar had a hard time keeping up. It was a battle within to not interrupt the computer nerd by asking what he saw prematurely. Kaspar had learned his lesson the hard way months ago: never interrupt Clarke while he’s doing his thing. The only thing to do was sit, wait, and try to keep up.

  Clarke still had the same scraggly, salt and pepper hair which never seemed to see a bottle of shampoo and conditioner. He was like a hermit. All that was missing was a long, scraggly beard to match the hair. For his part, Clarke took the constant ribbing he got from Kaspar and the others well enough, only occasionally taking offense to it. There was no fight in the leftover hacker even when he did. He would merely say he didn’t appreciate it. Then he would disappear somewhere with his computer. Truth be told, Kaspar grew a healthy respect for Clarke. He might not have been a warrior, but his role in this fight against the USR was one which Kaspar understood as vital.

  It had been Clarke who introduced Kaspar and Krys to this new rebel team. After the incident with the lab which left only the three of them, and Greg Boler who later disappeared without a trace, the Wizard (as Kaspar came to call him) hacked the databases of the USR to find out if there were others, like them, who had been used. That’s when he found out about Sam Harvey and his squad. They operated a few hours’ drive away from their old safe house. It didn’t take much to gain Harvey’s trust. Just the mere mention of the name John Paxton did the trick.

  It was finally safe to talk. Clarke shut the lid of the laptop and bit down on his lower lip. Kaspar paused before talking to him. He didn’t want to know the answer, but he needed to know. There was always this sense of hope after Clarke went through these USR documents. It was becoming more and more apparent, however, that that sense of hope was a false one.

  “Anything?” Kaspar asked, after taking a deep breath.

  “Nothing. All those documents you got from that hard drive were explaining how to assemble the new drug. How that drug would be dispersed. How that the new drug has been altered to get rid of the bugs from the older strain.” Clarke replied. He took off his glasses and rubbed a soft cotton cloth on the lenses.

  “You think this whole talk about a cure for the old drug is just wishful thinking?”

  “I don’t know what to believe to be honest. It wouldn’t be out of the question, given the nature of the USR, to not develop a cure and just let the women die off…”

  “But…”

  Clarke refitted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “But, I could also see them developing the cure so they could make themselves the saviors. The women would praise them, all the while unaware that they were still being used as guinea pigs. We’ve got to get our hands on it if it exists, though. Not just for Krys, either.”

  Here we go again, Kaspar thought. Clarke wanted to see her cured as much as he did, but Kaspar also knew that there were underlying political interests that he cared little about. The others wanted to get their hands on the cure to show that the resistance could be trusted. It was something that Clarke and Harvey always talked about. It wasn’t enough to broadcast about the experimentations the USR conducted. That could all be wiped out with propaganda by them. But, if they had their hands on a cure…

  “If there is a cure, how come none of the databases you’ve hacked say anything about it?”

  Clarke took a small sip of water. “If there is something out there, it would be of the highest security level. Only the cream of the crop within the USR would know about it. They wouldn’t want somebody like me finding out.”

  Kaspar smiled. “Anything useful on that thing at least?”

  “Not anything that we haven’t already discovered.”

  “Ain’t that some shit?”

  “How’s Krys doing?”

  He just had to go there. As much as Kaspar loved her, he knew that Clarke had known her longer and cared for Krys, too. Krys, she just loved everybody it seemed, and she made the computer nerd feel good about himself. Clarke’s personality, life style, and lack of social skills led to a life absent from female attention. But, this strong willed, attractive woman would actually give him the time of day and spend time talking to him. There was no sexual attraction between the two, of course, but there was a bond which grew stronger once it was learned that she had been infected with an experimental drug which was taking her life away.

  “Those lesions on her body are getting worse. She…doesn’t have much time.” Kaspar replied, the words almost too hard to say.

  “We’ll find it.” Clarke replied.

  “We better soon. If it exists…”

  .04

  William Sullivan sat as his desk, his fingers tapped in quick bursts on the keys in front of him, the sound reminiscent of rats running through a metal vent. Thanks to an endorsement from Captain Fitzpatrick he was able to find re-instatement into the department. If not for him he’d be on the street with Davie looking for work. While he was grateful to provide for his son, he found that being allowed back to work to be less fulfilling than ever. His arrest numbers went down, the new Consul up his and Fitzpatrick’s ass, and it wasn’t all because of the decrease in rebel activity.

  Now, he spent his days trying to find answers as to who was ultimately responsible for his wife’s death. The original hypothesis he thought up was that it was the resistance. He had gotten closer to them and in response they tried to kill him. They got his wife by mistake. But, then, that bizarre broadcast showed up on his television set out of nowhere. A leftover got on the air and claimed it was the USR who was behind a massive conspiracy to initiate population control. The USR fired back and claimed that it was merely a propaganda piece set up by the resistance. There was nothing to fear, they said, except for the resistance. Of course, that was right before there was an increase in female deaths all
across the Society.

  The truth, it seemed, would never be revealed to the one time hot shot Agent. Plunging deeper into the mystery only led to confusion and frustration. Despite his high clearance level, every so often he would be denied access, forcing him to practically beg Fitzpatrick for higher clearance levels. Even when his request was granted he would only see the security levels skyrocket on the files. Sometimes not minutes after getting a higher clearance. It was almost as if someone high up was watching.

  He remained steadfast in his efforts through it all. No matter what obstacle the USR would try and throw his way, he would learn the truth. There was still this strange sense of love that Sullivan felt for Julie. No matter how much she despised him in the end. Maybe it was because she had given him Davie. The most precious gift anyone could ever receive.

  He clicked his mouse and, once more, he got the same security clearance block. The screen flashed red while he cursed under his breath. Sullivan just wasn’t making any headway, which flustered him even more, because he rarely ran into any such roadblocks before. A light creaking sound came from his office door which stunned him at first. His heart rate jumped, making him light headed, and he clicked the little “X” on the top of the screen. When he looked up he saw his old boss Fitzpatrick walk in. A strong odor of alcohol stung at the nostrils.

  “Will,” Fitzpatrick said with a half drunken smile. “We got us one.”

  “Be right there,” Sullivan replied, not sharing the enthusiasm.

  “Get your ass in there right now.”

  Sullivan cursed under his breath again before he forced himself out of the chair.

  ***

  The interrogations that Sullivan conducted these days changed dramatically in intent over the past several months. Before, Sullivan was so desperate to find the resistance members that he would do anything to get the answers. Who they were, where they hid out, what their intents were, anything whatsoever. Now, he didn’t even know who he could trust anymore. When he first saw that message on the television, he didn’t take it seriously, who could? It seemed like a desperate ploy by the resistance to get attention for their cause. What shook him the most was the USR response. A rather large and expensive campaign was unleashed by them after the message got out. “You have nothing to fear” they said “Everything is under control”. If that were true then why were women still dying? Why hadn’t the USR done anything to prevent their deaths?