Go! - Hold On! Season 2

by Peter Darley

  “But Brandon was a military prisoner, and you helped him escape. You broke serious laws. Federal laws.”

  “That’s right, Dad. How could I do anything else? I was given the brass ring, and Brandon was tossed in the trash can. He fought to survive, and because he fought he was punished with a choice of prison or the army. The bastards then stripped him of his life by brainwashing him.”

  Charlton tilted his head as though he was trying to assimilate Tyler’s reasoning. “You’re doing this out of a sense of guilt over what you have?”

  “Not guilt, Dad. Duty. And love. I was spared for a reason. That’s what I believe.”

  Faraday took a step back, coming down from his anger. “You’re going after the girl now, right?”

  “It was only by chance that I learned about her when I was researching my adoption. I hired a private detective to find out where she is, but I still don’t even know what she looks like. I have no memory of her. All I know is nobody wanted her, and because of that, she’s spent her entire life in a goddamn—”

  “It’s not your fault, Tyler.”

  “But it’s my responsibility to put it right.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I was spared.”

  Charlton was silent, but after a few moments, he spoke again. “You know, when I lost my Sarah to cancer, I was robbed of the chance to have a child with the only woman I’d ever loved. You were brought to my attention at that orphanage, and my heart just melted.” He wept as he recalled the moment. “I loved you from the moment I saw you.”

  Tyler was more uncomfortable than ever seeing his father, a titan, so emotionally vulnerable. Tears and Charlton Faraday didn’t mix. “Dad, look, I didn’t wanna upset you, I just—”

  “I am so damn proud of you, Son.”

  “E-excuse me?”

  “You said it yourself. You have it all. And yet you’re willing to risk it for the sake of others. You’re a man of integrity. Far beyond wealth or vocational success, there is nothing more precious than that.”

  Stunned by his father’s words, Tyler looked vacantly into the ether. “Dad? What are you saying?”

  Charlton dried his eyes and pulled himself together. “I’m saying I was wrong, Son. You need to do what you need to do with this . . . agenda. No matter how much I’m gonna be worried sick about you.”

  Tyler threw his arms around him, and they held one another for a moment. “Thank you, Dad.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

  Tyler reached into his pocket and handed his father a cell phone. “Take this and keep it on you. It’s not registered to anyone. I’ve got the number, and I’ll call you on it, all right?”

  Charlton took the phone and nodded. Tyler turned and made his way toward the elevator.

  Charlton watched anxiously as the elevator doors closed.

  Ten

  Contact

  Brandon gnashed his teeth as he pulled his body weight up on an overhead support beam in the cabin’s living room. Four weeks had passed since his escape from Leavenworth. Despite his eagerness to get back in shape, the pain in his shoulder was still debilitating.

  “Eight—n-nine—oh, God—t-t-ten.” Dropping to the carpet, he fell to his knees grasping his shoulder.

  During the last week he’d begun the process of restoring his fitness by briskly scaling the ridge every morning before breakfast. However, his upper body muscularity was already going into atrophy. He was paranoid about becoming unfit, especially with the potential risks he faced when he finally left the cabin again. Regardless, this time he realized he’d been a little over-zealous.

  Tyler had stayed with him and Belinda to help with his care, and Tyler had successfully removed his stitches as Fleetwood instructed. Scar tissue formed across the entry and exit wounds, but Brandon knew he still required at least another two weeks rest before attempting anything strenuous. Impatience had got the better of his reason.

  Belinda stepped out of the bathroom with a bucket of cleaning materials. She’d comfortably taken to a life of domestic co-habitation. It was the happiest and most secure she’d ever felt.

  Concern overcame her as she saw Brandon wincing in pain, and hurried over to him. “What happened?”

  “Pull-ups,” he said.

  Kneeling down, she looked into his pained eyes. “Pull-ups? Are you out of your freaking mind?”

  He looked up at her with a sheepish grin.

  “It’s too soon, Brandon. You’re not well enough to put yourself through that kind of exertion.”

  “I didn’t hear you say that last night.” He winked at her painfully. “Or the night before.”

  After taking a deep breath, she quickly succumbed to laughter. Her fingers combed through his thick, ever-growing hair. “I love you. I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

  “I’ll be fine. I know I’m not ready to work on my lats, yet. Or my biceps. Or my chest. Oh, shit, I’m a goddamn invalid. If anything happens to an arm or shoulder, you can’t really do anything.” He looked away from her almost shamefully.

  “I don’t care what your body looks like. All I care about is you. Now, take it easy.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Stop kidding around, Brandon. This is serious.”

  “How’s the bathroom,” he said, changing the subject.

  “Sparkling.”

  “You didn’t have to do that, you know. I can clean up.”

  She laughed. “No, you can’t. When I first came here, it was a mess. You hadn’t even done the goddamn dishes.”

  Before he could respond, the sat-scrambler phone buzzed on the liquor cabinet. Brandon stood and answered it. “Hey, Ty. How’s it going, bro? What are you calling me on?”

  “It’s a burner phone, so quit worrying. I’m at the top of a ski-slope in Switzerland with a beautiful woman,” Tyler quipped. “You are so gonna love the hell outta me, buddy. I got your money invested in a top interest account in Bern yesterday. They didn’t ask any questions after they checked my history through the Faraday Corporation.”

  “Great,” Brandon said with a victoriously-clenched fist.

  “I went in with the one million, one-hundred-forty thousand, like you wanted.”

  “Yeah?”

  “So, let’s go back to the beginning. You started out with one million, two hundred gees, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Well, with this account I’ve put it in, you’re gonna have the forty-eight you blew on vans and shit, and the twelve grand you’ve held for living expenses, back within about twelve weeks.”

  Brandon was silent for a moment.

  “Hey, Brandon? Hello? You still there?”

  Brandon cried a deafening, jubilant cheer and noticed Belinda’s inquisitive, intrigued look. “How the hell did you do that?” he said gleefully.

  Tyler chuckled. “Hey, when it comes to investing money, I know what I’m doing. It was my favorite hobby when I was in preschool.”

  “You are the man, you know that?”

  “I have my moments. Anyway, how are you doing?”

  Brandon cringed. “Not as well as I’d hoped, unfortunately. I just had a little setback working out.”

  “Just take it easy. You’re rushing it, bro.”

  Brandon glanced at Belinda. “So my commanding officer keeps telling me.”

  “How’s Belinda doing?”

  “Great. We’re happy. Everything’s peaceful. It’s everything we ever wanted. But if I were you, Ty, I’d stay in Switzerland just a little while longer. I’m still not sure what your situation is with the authorities.”

  “Hey, don’t worry about me. I’m having myself a fine old time.”

  “I’m still worried about Emily,” Brandon said.

  “Well, I’ve got to admit, it’s not a life I would’ve chosen, but to each, their own.”

  Brandon’s lips pursed with moderate anger. “They took her in when she was a baby. I doubt she’s ever known the meaning of choice.” />
  “At least she’s safe for now. That’s all that counts.”

  Brandon looked over at Belinda again, this time with concern. “Don’t be so sure of that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Never mind. Just have yourself some fun, Ty. I’ll call you soon.”

  “All right. Take care, bro. I’m going for a ski.”

  Brandon put the phone down and sat in cold contemplation.

  Belinda walked over to him and placed her arm around his shoulder. “What was all that about? You were up and down like a roller coaster.”

  “Tyler invested Payne’s money. He says the sixty thousand dollars I took out will come back in interest within three months.”

  “Three months?”

  “You got it.”

  “So, why are you so glum?”

  He picked up a calling card Tyler had left behind on the cabinet and stared at it. “This has to end.”

  “You’re not actually thinking of making contact, are you?” she said.

  Without a word, he picked up the sat-scrambler again.

  ***

  “What was your general impression of Sergeant Drake during the time he was here?”

  Mike Johnson, an MOS 31E-grade army corrections specialist at Fort Leavenworth, pondered how he should respond to Agent Wilmot’s question. Sitting across him in one of the guardrooms, he didn’t want to seem biased. “Well, sir, I suppose I’d have to say he was a model prisoner. He did what he was told, he was popular with the other detainees, and a particularly good cook.”

  “A good cook?”

  “Yes, sir. That’s how he got assigned to kitchen duty.”

  “It’s also how he managed to break out, isn’t it?”

  “With all due respect, sir, I really don’t think that’s fair. We’ve analyzed his escape, and it’s become apparent he’d been working on this breakout since he arrived.”

  Wilmot leaned forward, his expression bearing all the signs of condescending sarcasm. “So, he gave you two damn years to figure out what he was up to, and you still blew it.”

  Johnson swallowed hard. “He was handling an early morning food delivery. Once the stock was in, the security locks would’ve secured him in the kitchen. After we thought the door was locked, he was left unattended for just a few minutes. It seems he’d found some way of messing with the electronics of the internal security system. He knocked out the security cameras and disabled the door lock.”

  “And?”

  “He apparently fixed a pre-prepared steel sheet to his back somehow, snuck out, and braced himself underneath the delivery truck with metallic straps. By the time we knew he was missing, the truck was already off the grounds. He then released the straps and fell onto the road.”

  “And you saw this happen?”

  “Yes, sir. I was on lookout duty that morning.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “Five of us went after him. I fired a warning shot, but he kept running. I had no choice but to shoot him.” The pangs of regret struck Johnson in a way he couldn’t disguise.

  Wilmot tilted his head derisively. “You’re kinda sympathetic toward this guy, aren’t you?”

  Johnson exhaled. In the two years he’d known Brandon Drake, he’d developed as close to a friendship with him as was possible with any inmate. It was clear that Agent Wilmot was a jerk, whose own sense of self-importance superseded his professionalism. Adherent to duty and honesty, Johnson had always strived to be an exemplary corrections specialist with a commitment to fairness. Occasionally, duty conflicted with his heart. “Sir, my own feelings had no bearing on the performance of my duties. I shot Sergeant Drake. Isn’t that enough?”

  “What happened after that?”

  “I shot him at a range of approximately two hundred yards. He’d made considerable headway before he dropped from the delivery truck. From there, he made it on foot into the residential area. By the time we got there, he’d disappeared.”

  “Mmmm. . . Those damn Ferraris sure can move, can’t they?”

  “I don’t know anything about that, sir.”

  Wilmot leaned closer to Johnson. “You’re absolutely sure Tyler Faraday hadn’t been anywhere near here for two weeks prior to Drake’s escape?”

  “Absolutely, sir. All records were thoroughly examined and submitted to Director Wolfe’s office on request.”

  “And all the time Drake was here, he never mentioned anything about a hideout? Where he planned to run to?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Nothing was overheard during conversations between Drake and Faraday?”

  “No, sir.”

  Wilmot sat back again, his eyes boring into Johnson’s. “OK, I think we’re done here for now. But I can assure you, Mr. MOS thirty-one-E, all personnel here are gonna be grilled repeatedly until we find out what the hell happened. A large section of this country is still celebrating the fact this place is an unforgivable failure, not to mention its history.”

  “History, sir?”

  “Grigware, Banghart, Jones, and now Drake. Not a good track record.”

  Johnson looked away in exasperation.

  As Wilmot stepped outside the guardroom, his cell phone rang, and he answered it. “Yes.”

  “This is Brandon Drake, and I wanna propose a deal to you.”

  Wilmot shivered with surprise and the effects of an extremely unpleasant flashback, having suffered a severe beating at Drake’s hands, two years earlier. That aside, they hadn’t been formally introduced. He knew there was no possibility of Drake knowing the agent he was talking to was the one he’d beaten up in Morgan, Wyoming. “I’m listening.”

  “I was to be released from Leavenworth if I surrendered the Turbo Swan back to the military. I’m willing to give it back to you . . . in return for my freedom.”

  Surprised by the call, Wilmot considered the particulars. Wolfe wanted Drake to help him with his investigation into the remnants of Treadwell’s operation, unaware that the inquest could lead to Wilmot himself. If Drake turned himself in and actually knew something, Wilmot could lose everything. He knew he had to dispose of Drake at all costs. “Done. You name the time and place.”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  The line went dead.

  Wilmot took the cell phone away from his ear, concerned he hadn’t responded in the most effective way. It was vital to his plans that he get to Drake before Wolfe did.

  ***

  Brandon put the sat-scrambler down. Belinda watched as he gazed aimlessly at the floor. “What did he say?” she said.

  He shook his head. “Something’s wrong. It was too easy. He assured my freedom, but he has no authorization to do that. They’re up to something. I just don’t know what.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “There’s nothing else I can do.” He looked up at her with conviction. “We go on as planned. We wait for Tyler. By that time, I should be back to full strength. But I really think you should stay here.”

  “No way.”

  “Coming to Nevada with us could not only be dangerous, it could be upsetting for you.”

  During the last four weeks, she’d decided she would stand by Brandon, regardless of her initial objections to what he was planning. He wasn’t the same person he’d been when they first met. His warm levity was notably diluted, but subconsciously she’d already expected that after everything he’d been through. She loved him more than she’d ever loved anyone, and where he went, she was determined to follow. “I can handle it.”

  As he turned away, his hand brushed a bottle of vodka on the cabinet. Belinda noticed the desiring look in his eyes.

  Eleven

  An Unknown Past

  After six weeks indulging himself in the Alps, Tyler braced himself for a return to prospects that were not so appealing. All of his travels had been accomplished with the use of Faraday Corps’ private jets, thereby enabling a more discreet and less-visible itinerary. However, there was no doubt t
he authorities would’ve been able to intercept him had they wanted to. His question remained—why hadn’t they?

  He closed the helicopter door, suitcase in hand. His apprehensive gaze settled on the tip of the ridge. Oh, shit. Here it comes again.

  Making his way forward, he prepared himself for the arduous descent.

  He was alerted to a strange humming sound coming from below. As it came higher, it changed pitch to the mild screech of a jet-engine. Or a turbo.

  For the first time, he bore witness to the electric-blue spectacle that had become a media legend. It rose up and hovered before his stunned eyes.

  The left side door rose upwards and Brandon leaned out slightly. “Hey bro. You want a lift?”

  Smiling with relief, Tyler hurried over to the right side of the Turbo Swan. Not only would it spare him a harrowing trek, but he was finally going to discover a unique and inimitable flying experience.

  Belinda opened the cabin door to a warm and elated reception from Tyler. Brandon followed.

  “Hey, Belinda. How’re you doing? I’ve got to say, you’re looking great.” Tyler hugged her and kissed her cheek. Dropping his suitcase, he removed his insulated hat, jacket, and snow-boots. “Well, I’ve heard about it, seen it, but I’d never experienced it The Turbo Swan is the most amazing aircraft I’ve ever imagined.”

  Belinda smiled. “I know. How far did you go in it?”

  “We just took it for a spin around the mountains. I can’t get over how small it is inside. It’s just a pod, but it’s so damn formidable. How the hell can it withstand grenades and all?”

  “It’s the alloy shell,” Brandon said. “The team who developed it had been working on the formula for years before I was assigned to Mach Industries. It took them a long time to make the metal so tough but lightweight.”