Deirdre understood. “It’s poison, not a flavoring.”
“It’s both.” She pointed at the bottle. “That’s a nice vintage wine. Similar poison. Pour it out and hand it around, offer a toast to the progress made in the elimination of the undesirable or whatever the Phoenix super elite might toast about. Just make sure you offer it to all of your targets at the same time, and do whatever you can to make sure all of them consume both.”
“Got it.”
“The poisons are designed to trigger when pulse and respiration rates are lowest, which means the poisons will trigger when your friends fall asleep. They’ll go to sleep and never wake up. Their deaths will be seen as accidents, some type of allergic reaction to something they all ate or drank in common.”
“How will anyone know that they all ate and drank the same thing right before they died?”
Miriam fixed Deirdre with a stare. “You will need to find the infirmary after the meal and tell them you ingested something that’s causing you to feel ill, and that you’ll need some type of emetic to free your body of the substance.”
Deirdre felt her blood chill.
They meant for her to eat and drink food and wine she knew to be poison. All to maintain the illusion.
Suicide.
She looked helplessly at Miriam.
“It takes time for the poison to act. Try to consume both late in the evening, then complain of fatigue and leave as soon after as you can. Remember, the poison will not trigger until you fall asleep; so long as you can use the emetic to remove the poison before you sleep, you will be fine.”
“What if they don’t have the medicine I need?”
“I am sure they have it.”
“But—”
“You will be fine, Deirdre. And if not, it is part of the risk of the work you’ve committed to. Each of us will go into a situation against a dangerous foe, and each of us will face the very real risk of death in the process of carrying out our assignments.”
“How many of you will be swallowing poison?” Deirdre snapped.
Miriam didn’t back down. “It is my belief and understanding that many of our targets—a dozen or more—are likely to be gathered together in one place. We will go to them, undoubtedly raising alarms that will leave our heavily armed and guarded enemies aware of our presence and intent. Your chances of survival are far higher than mine.”
Deirdre didn’t speak for a moment. They were all willing to risk death for a cause greater than themselves.
She finally nodded. “When do I leave?”
Miriam helped her load the supplies into the ground car. She gave a cursory overview of the navigation system—as previously inferred, Deirdre didn’t need much help with the operation—and showed Deirdre a collection of view-screen shows from “the days of the Golden Ages and before” Deirdre could watch during what would prove to be a long, boring journey with nothing to do but stare at the barren landscape rushing by.
They also walked through the secured communication system. The piece looked like jewelry, a not-unexpected accessory for someone like Deirdre. It would pick up sound and transmit audio back to the ground car, which would strip out quiet moments and background noise before shipping everything back to Miriam’s team for analysis. “Be sure to repeat things that are of use, for example, where other likely members of the Thirty might be, future plans, and so on. Don’t be obvious; just act like you thought you misheard and ask them to repeat themselves.”
“Understood.”
Deirdre climbed into the ground car and punched in the location for New Phoenix. The system plotted out the route, projecting arrival in just under forty hours. She glanced up at Miriam. “Thanks for trusting me.”
“Thanks for joining the cause. And Deirdre?”
“Yeah?”
“Good luck.”
“You, too, Miriam.”
Deirdre shut the door and accepted the navigation system’s route. The car moved slowly away from Miriam, who stood watching until the car entered the lift that would deposit Deirdre back on the barren land above them.
Two people emerged from the shadows. “Think she’ll follow through?”
“Did you put the implants in her?”
“Of course. Her will to resist your commands is virtually non-existent now. She’ll die before failing to carry out the executions.”
Miriam nodded. “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
And then she walked away, believing, despite what she’d said, that she’d never again see Deirdre Silver.
Chapter 12
The Island of Eden
Bright light erupted below them, illuminating the interior of the small shed with radiant light. They all jumped, startled, blinking, wondering what was happening.
Then the ship dropped, lurching down at first, then in a smooth, controlled manner. The brightness increased as they dropped, and then it seemed as if they’d passed the source of the light, watching as it rose above their heads.
The bright light snapped off.
Roddy looked around, senses on high alert. “What the hell just happened?”
Their surroundings had changed. Gone were the simple bland walls with the oversized panels they’d pushed to trigger the external transformation they’d just witnessed. They were instead inside a shed with glass walls. The ceiling above them looked to be constructed of a more substantial material in a rim around the perimeter. The interior of the ceiling was raised at least two feet above the edging. Small lights rimmed the perimeter. Roddy watched as the light continued growing darker and finally went out.
He looked around.
His jaw dropped.
The scenery outside the glass walls was, in a word, breathtaking. He’d thought the island where Mary, the kids, John, and Wesley had commandeered the giant yacht had been beautiful, surrounded by tranquil clear seas, but even that couldn’t compare to the sheer natural beauty he saw outside. He felt a strong urge to leave the ship, to burst through the walls, to go outside and breathe the air and explore the rolling hills, the river, the thick forests, the small hills and rocky mountains in the distance.
But logic triumphed, at least for the moment. They’d been on a small islet. They’d gone into a shed built on the surface of that little islet. Then they’d dropped further, at least twenty feet. By all accounts, they should be underwater.
But they weren’t.
Was this some kind of trap?
He glanced at Mary. Mary’s face was slightly contracted, lips pursed, forehead scrunched up, eyes unfocused, deep in thought. Roddy surmised that she, like he, was trying to figure out exactly what had happened in the shed at the coordinates provided by Micah.
Then Mary nodded. She glanced around. “It was a portal. He put a portal there on that island and built a shed around to hide it. The panels… the labeling would discourage the nearly improbable accidental visitor from triggering the portal.”
Wesley nodded. “Makes sense.” John added his assent.
Roddy looked around at the other three adults as the children swarmed their mother, begging to head outside. “What’s a portal?”
“Oh… sorry, forgot. You haven’t been through one yet.”
Roddy reddened slightly. “That doesn’t explain what it is, or what just happened.”
“Sorry,” Mary murmured. “We told you how we escaped the Ravager swarm on Micah’s island, right? His robot—the one Wesley is fixing—took us to a room with a lot of doors. Portals.”
“A door lets you enter or exist a room,” Roddy noted.
“These were different. Lots of lights and energy humming around them. There was a map of the planet. Dots with numbers in different places. The numbers were found on one of the doors. We opened one of the doors and walked through. Guess what happened?”
Roddy shrugged. “My guess would be that you came out on the other side, but I’m thinking that’s wrong.”
“We found ourselves in a shed on an island on the other side of the planet. Th
e island where we eventually stole the yacht. Just walked through a door and went from one part of the world to another.”
“Impossible.” But then he remembered: the robot, the one he’d salvaged after it told him his family had been saved by a portal. Was that what this had been? If it had happened before… then it could happen now. “Okay, maybe not impossible. But I’m still wondering… where are we? And are we safe?”
John shrugged. “I’d say we’re exactly where Micah intended us to be. If you think that’s a good thing, then I suggest we exit the ship and this room and search him out. If not…?” He shrugged again.
“John’s right,” Mary said. “Everything happened like Micah said it would, even if we didn’t really understand. He hinted that some things would be different than we would expect. I think this is where he is, along with the woman Wesley used to work with.”
“Sheila,” Wesley said by way of agreement.
Roddy paced the ship until he found the gun he’d used to shoot the shark. He picked it up, checked that it was loaded and safetied, and then stowed it in his waistband. “Fine. But I’m prepared for danger.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything else,” Mary said. Wesley rolled his eyes.
Roddy led the way, tailed by his eager children, and the sextet exited the ship—He then ran back in to grab the remote—before leaving the glass shed. He had expected to walk out, find it was an illusion, and drown under twenty feet of salty ocean water… but what they’d seen through the walls was quite real.
And the air… the air was pure and sweet and intoxicating. He let his guard down briefly, taking in deep breaths, feeling the tension knotting his muscles leave, relaxing him in a way he couldn’t have imagined moments earlier.
“We don’t really have to leave this place, do we?” Mary whispered.
He knew exactly what she meant. He watched as Jill pointed to something small and furry bustling through the brush growing around a nearby clump of trees, watched as Wesley dipped his hands into the crystal clear water of the modest river meandering through the terrain. He laughed as Wesley, sensing Jack sneaking up behind, whirled and splashed the boy with water, and the pair of them laughed.
“It’s almost… too perfect. How would you ever get anything productive done?”
“We must all do what we must do, Roddy.”
He whirled. Micah Jamison’s familiar form moved toward them. He watched as Wesley, laughing easily a moment earlier, sprang to his feet and snapped his hand in a sharp salute. John blinked a few times before he gripped one of his hands as if protecting it from injury.
Micah noted their reactions. “I apologize for my actions in our prior meeting, John. Had I known who they were, and realized you had dedicated yourself to their safety, I would most certainly have invited all of you to join me. Things might have turned out differently if I had.”
John offered a tense smile back. “I suppose pulling a gun on you wasn’t a great move given the circumstances.”
Micah nodded, eyes twinkling. “My training does tend to kick in instinctually in those cases.” He nodded. “How’s the hand?”
“Better. You’ll need to give me your workout routine.”
“It’s all in the genes, I fear.” He turned to the third man. “Good to see you again, Wesley.”
“Good to see you as well, sir. General Jamison, sir.”
“There is no Western Alliance any longer, and thus no military associated with it. I am no more a general than you are, so you are to treat me as you would any other man.”
“Of course, General. Sir.”
“Call me Micah.”
“Yes, sir. General Jamison. I mean—”
Mary patted Wesley’s shoulder. “Relax, Wesley. You’ll get it figured out.”
Wesley grinned sheepishly.
Micah nodded at the group. “Let’s move to an area more conducive to sharing information openly and deciding our next steps.”
* * *
When they reached the conference room, Wesley exchanged a cool handshake with the new-looking Sheila Clarke. He felt nothing from her, no sense of familiarity, no fearful tension in the presence of a man who, mentally damaged and controlled though he might have been, had still assaulted her with murderous intent in their last encounter.
“I apologize for everything, Sheila. What you saw wasn’t the real me, but… I should have fought it harder.”
“You should have. But you didn’t.” She watched him for a moment. “From everything I’ve been told of your history since our last meeting, the pain and control must have been horrific for that to be the case. I’ve had a near-death experience myself, suffered incredible pain, and I’m pretty sure that if I’d been offered the chance to avoid that pain in exchange for hurting someone else… I might very well have done just that.” She grimaced. “Look, Wesley. It may always be a bit awkward for us. But for the moment, we’re on the same team. Let’s work on eradicating those who’d kill millions to get a better bit of scenery for themselves and let the past work itself over time.”
Wesley nodded. “That’s… more than fair. Thanks. And… I like the new look.”
“Too bad. Once I heal up, I lose the wig and makeup and go back to looking like my old self.”
He offered a faint smile. “That’s a good look, too.”
“Wesley Cardinal, you’re not actually flirting with me, are you?”
He was saved from responding by the sound of Micah clearing his throat. “Much as I’d love to give everyone a tour of the facilities and surroundings, and much as I’m sure all of you would prefer to join the children in doing just that, the truth is that we are at war, and war does not provide us with the chance for such frivolities.” He’d brought out robots similar to Whiskey and commanded them to take the twins for a walk; the twins had argued until they understood that the adults would be doing boring things, like talking and planning, and had thus eagerly left the adults behind. “This is a war different than most in history, in which weaponry is trained upon the rank and file soldier and military assets, while those coordinating and pushing the fight sit sheltered. We do the opposite; we will avoid conflict and combat with all but those who have pushed humanity to its present state for their own selfish ends.”
Those sitting around the table nodded.
“Much work has been done in terms of gathering intelligence, both by those who knew what they were doing and by those who did not.” His eyes lingered upon Roddy as he spoke the latter part of the sentence before moving smoothly around the rest of the audience once more. “All indications are that there are an elite thirty, men and women alike, who drive and have driven everything that happens in the world. They have controlled politicians, business leaders, and other influencers in the fiction we have known of the world, of two competing military alliances fighting to protect their respective residents from the great threat posed by the other. Few realized that air travel was possible, for that would have enabled travel between lands and the realization that the only thing to fear from the other was exactly nothing.” He looked at Roddy again. “Even those in the military, the Special Forces members who attacked military targets in enemy territory, were never permitted to watch actual human moments in the enemy’s territory, and for the same reason.” He shook his head. “It has ever been thus, throughout human history, that fear of an enemy, seen or not, a threat or not, has been used by those in power to control the masses.”
His hand hit the table with a surprisingly loud thud, a thud that left a dent in the heavy wood. “That ends… now.”
The others pumped their fists. Roddy couldn’t speak for the others, but he was ready to run through walls—literally—after Micah’s speech. He raised his hand slightly, and Micah looked at him. “You mentioned gathering intel. I assume that means the collected data have helped us identify the actual Thirty, rather than those who only held positions of modest power in Phoenix.”
“You assume correctly, Roddy.” Micah glanced around. “For those n
ot clear, Roddy had his memory of his family erased and his body significantly altered in order to infiltrate the deepest ranks of Phoenix, achieving the position of personal pilot to Oswald Silver. Silver, in what I’m sure is the least shocking news of the evening, is not just one of the Thirty, but one of the more powerful even inside that cabal. Others of seeming power and influence, like the late James Delaney, are… annoying pests, relatively speaking. But they are not our targets.”
“Has this information—”
“I’ve been in near constant communication with your parents for quite some time, Roddy. We’ve processed the information you unknowingly gathered. My security monitoring detail masked audio bugs and hidden video cameras among senior military and political leadership, so while Wesley and Sheila watched for potential threats from the East—which were usually known by the West’s political leaders before the East would even plan actual maneuvers—I was able to spy on those who might provide additional insight.”
“How so?” Mary asked.
“Much of it is noting who spoke with or about others, and piecing together the complex network of relationships. What eventually came out was that certain high-ranking members of Phoenix never spoke directly to or about each other. It was an impossibility, unless…”
“Unless those individuals had a private network to mask their true intentions,” Sheila said.
Micah nodded. “What Sheila’s excursion to the space station confirmed is that the Elites do have just such a network, and through her efforts we gained control not only of the computer server used to direct the Ravagers in the West, but also a wired link directly into the Elites’ private communication network.”
Wesley punched a fist into the air. “Yes! Way to go, Sheila!”
The others gave him an odd look. Wesley bowed his head. “Sorry,” he muttered.
Micah offered a brief look of mild amusement before continuing. “We’ve been able to confirm a significant amount, though the network isn’t perfect in terms of intel gathering. Messages aren’t retained for long, and thus we’re only able to confirm what’s going on right now. But… communications analysis has confirmed not just the list of Thirty, but that our task is already somewhat lessened.”
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