Angels Mark (The Serena Wilcox Mysteries Dystopian Thriller Trilogy)

by Natalie Buske Thomas

  “I’ll go to the top,” said Serena.

  “He is the top,” said Clyde.

  “You’re forgetting about President Kinji. She has just as much power as Williams,” said Serena.

  “Theoretically,” said Clyde with contempt.

  “The police are here,” said Tom.

  “What are you going to do? Press charges? You’ll kill us all. William’s people will find us,” said Paul.

  “The police are already at the door,” said Serena.

  14

  Bryce chuckled to himself. What an idiot Clyde was. He was as stupid as he was ugly. Not only did he not restrain Bryce, but he also didn’t think to strip him of his cell phone, which had been on the entire time. Bryce used it now to call his security detail. They could pick him up, no problem. There was a GPS tracker on the phone, which was a good thing since Bryce had no idea where he was, just some country road in the boonies, they all looked the same after a while. He swatted at a deer fly. The sooner he got back to the Windy City the better.

  The sound of multiple cars speeding down a nearby gravel road caught his attention. Wow, that was fast. How did they find him already? They must have sent local law enforcement to pick him up. No matter, just as well. He needed a restroom and after that some water, and some food. A good night’s sleep sounded good too.

  The cars reached him, three government-issue sedans total. It sure looked like secret service detail. But how did they reach him so fast? It had only been about five minutes. Four car doors opened simultaneously: one hulk of a man each from two of the vehicles, and two bureaucratic looking individuals, one male and one female, from the third vehicle.

  “Hey guys, how did you get here so fast?” Bryce smiled full wattage, his social smile, not a trace of wolf. He was taken aback when no one responded. One of the beefy men yanked his right arm, another grabbed his left. They steered him toward the nearest sedan. “Hey! What’s going on?” Bryce protested. No one answered. “You’re taking me to the President? You are, right?”

  “Yes, she’s waiting for you,” said the female bureaucrat.

  “She?” Bryce hoped he had heard wrong.

  “President Kinji. She’s waiting for you. Get in the car.”

  The convoy, with Bryce pouting in the backseat of one of the sedans, made its way to its next pick-up, about four miles away. Their tires crunched on a long gravel road and then rolled to a stop. Doors opened and shut. The driver of the sedan carrying Bryce did not get out.

  “Where are we?” asked Bryce.

  The driver looked at Bryce through the mirror but said nothing.

  “What is this place?” he tried again.

  Still no answer.

  “Hey! I know them! What is going on?” Bryce tapped on his window. “Open this up!”

  The driver ignored Bryce. Bryce was forced to watch silently from his backseat point of view as four familiar figures were escorted to the other two vehicles. Clyde, his flesh wound bandaged and his arm in a sling, and Paul were led to the sedan behind the vehicle holding Bryce. Serena and Tom, stripped of his gun, which was bagged and tagged, were led to the sedan in front of him. Bryce couldn’t hear what they were saying. Completely baffled, he tried to puzzle out what was happening.

  Serena spoke to the female bureaucrat, Nancy. “Our kids are still in the car.”

  “No, they are already with us. They’re fine,” said Nancy.

  “Where are they?” asked Tom.

  “We’re right here,” called Carrie, leaning out the open door of the sleek government vehicle.

  “Please get in,” said Nancy, gesturing to the generous seating space that her children occupied. Nonetheless, five people made the backseat uncomfortable. No one dared to complain though. After the Meadows were settled in, Nancy shut the door to the backseat, walked to the front passenger’s side door, and got in.

  “You aren’t the police. FBI?” asked Tom.

  “No. We are President Kinji’s detail,” said Nancy.

  Her partner Rick started the vehicle and pulled away, leading the convoy of three. “Where are we going?” asked Serena.

  Nancy exchanged a look with Rick, who returned her question with a shrug. Nancy hesitated, but then answered Serena’s question, “Chicago.”

  “Chicago!” Serena exclaimed.

  “Isn’t that a whole day’s drive? I need to go to the restroom,” said Carrie.

  “Do you need to make a rest stop now?” asked Nancy.

  “YES!” said the kids and Tom in unison.

  “Why are we going to Chicago?” asked Serena.

  “President Kinji wants to see you.”

  “We get to meet the President!” Carrie said. More quietly, addressed to her family, she said, “Had I known, I would have worn something else today.”

  “Why does she want to see us?” asked Samuel, who had been quiet during all of the excitement. All three kids had kept themselves nearly invisible, but they heard everything that happened within their earshot, and hung on every word. Earbuds or no, when something exciting was happening, they managed to listen.

  Nancy shut down the conversation with a firm, “You’ll have to ask her that. I am not authorized to brief you. We’ll be stopping shortly for a quick restroom break.” With that, she pressed the divider button. The Meadows were alone in the backseat, where they quickly took up chatting. The past few harrowing days had renewed their appreciation for each other and suddenly they all had so much to say.

  It was far from happy family chatter in the sedan carrying the two brothers. Clyde was seething. “We need a plan,” he hissed.

  Paul recoiled from Clyde’s breath. He couldn’t quite define the stench. It was a revolting mix of garlic, coffee, and long-trapped odors from years of plaque build-up, Clyde’s own special blend. “I don’t know what we can do, Clyde. We might as well hope for the best. At least they aren’t taking us to John. Kinji might have a heart and put us in witness relocation.”

  “Where they will find us and kill us, you know that. At their level, they can ferret out witnesses, protected or not.”

  “I don’t see any solution. I also doubt we’re having a private conversation right now.”

  Clyde snickered. “Of course we aren’t, they’re listening to everything we say.”

  “Then I don’t know what you expect to plan.”

  “You’re right, we might as well admit defeat,” said Clyde. Then he slyly winked at Paul and said, “Just like when we were kids and we were losing at kickball against the Keller kids.”

  Paul nodded, aware of where Clyde was going with this, and hoping he remembered their secret language. “Yes, who could forget Groin Or Toe Injuries Too?”

  Clyde smiled approvingly. Paul did remember: invent a sentence that, when taking the first letter of each word, spells a phrase. Paul had said, “Got it.” Just like when they were kids. The code was easier to speak and comprehend with practice, and being brothers, they could practically read each other’s minds anyway, so it was easier for them to follow than it would be for most people.

  Clyde said, “How Are Children Kickball Enthusiasts? Really Stupid.” He felt in his pocket for his cell phone. Yes, there it was, all charged up and everything. Yes, they would know he had used the phone, but it would take them awhile to puzzle out what he used it for. He sent a quick text to one of the kids on his team, the new kid, who wasn’t listed on the roster yet. “Activate Clyde. Urgent.”

  Clyde put his hand behind his back, feigning to massage a painful lower back, while discretely slipping his thumb under the waistband of his jeans until he could feel the elastic band of his briefs. Yes, it was still there: a tiny microphone. Obviously this could be problematic if Clyde had intestinal problems, but it was a good solution to the problem of: what if they forced him to strip down? He figured they were unlikely to make him take off his underwear. He knew Nick would have it up and running before they reached Kinji’s office.

  “Wacky Happy Youth,” said Paul.

>   Clyde, struggling to come up with a word for each letter, stumbled through the next few sentences at an agonizingly slow pace: “People Let All Youth, Alone. Now Nobody, Just Opens Homes. Neighbors, All Get Annoyed -- Is Never Safe To, Ever Allow Children Home, Outside Their Homes. Everyone’s Reality.”

  Paul traced the beginning letters on his hand until he could piece together what Clyde was saying: Play Ann, John against each other. He nodded, ending their tedious conversation. He stared at the divider wall between their seats and the ones occupied by the Muscle. Were they listening? Probably. Paul’s mind raced. Clyde’s plan was idealistic: he assumed they would be released, free to put the plan in motion. Bring the recordings to both political camps, work a deal.

  But Paul had his doubts that either of them would ever be free men. He didn’t expect to be alive much longer either. But what was reality to Clyde? Paul’s heart sank the more he realized that Clyde had always been crazy, he simply hadn’t seen it. He had been caught up in Clyde’s plans and schemes for his entire life – could Paul have lived a normal upstanding life had it not been for being raised by an insane brother? Sadly, he would never know the answer. Nor would he have an opportunity to live his life differently.

  While Clyde plotted and planned his next move, and Paul sulked, Kinji’s surveillance team back in Chicago was cracking up, having figured out the brother’s secret code in a matter of seconds. One man laughed so hard that he shot water out of his nose. “We can’t make this stuff up,” he said, after he recovered.

  “I thought they’d break into Klingon,” said another.

  “Should we send this to Morey in Encrypton?”

  “Only if you want your head snapped off.”

  “Seriously though,” said a third, “What do you think they meant by ‘play Ann and John against each other’? What are they up to?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” said the first. “They won’t be going anywhere.”

  “It’s not like President Kinji is going to waterboard them. There’s nothing to hide.”

  “John has reason to fear a bug.”

  “Doesn’t matter, they won’t see him.”

  “Yes, they will. He’ll be there.”

  “Seriously? What’s going down?”

  “I don’t know. We share the building, it’s not that surprising.”

  “I hope he rots.”

  “Think these two idiots have something on him?”

  “Maybe. If they do, we’ll be the first to hear it.”

  The team continued to monitor the activity in the three sedans, analyzing the feed the mobile team was uploading to them; there wasn’t anything else that caught their attention. The Meadow’s family was still chatting, but none of what they were saying was of interest to the team. Bryce was silent, as were Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, who the team had dubbed “The Double D’s”, for Dee and Dum, or “Dumb and Dumber”. The rest of the journey went by uneventfully for both the team and the eight passengers they were keeping an ear to.

  When the sedans slowed to circle the post-Big-War White House, in the queue to enter the three-mile descent to the underground secured parking area, Serena thought to ask about the third sedan. She had seen Clyde and Paul enter the second vehicle, but what about the third? She knocked on the divider window.

  Nancy responded right away with an open window and an invitation, “Yes?”

  “Who is in that third car?” asked Serena.

  “Not sure you’d know him, but you can see for yourself, he’s getting out,” said Nancy.

  As their own vehicle came to a stop, the other two sedans pulled up alongside them, flanking their car. Paul and Clyde were in the car on their right, so Serena and Tom kept their attention focused on their left, waiting to see who would emerge. They saw the top of his head first, a familiar blond wave, that ridiculous surfer-Prince Charming-frat boy look. Could it be? No, surely not. But it was.

  “Why is Bryce here?” asked Serena, panic in her voice.

  Nancy’s tone revealed nothing. “That’s Bryce Otto, one of President William’s staff. I don’t know why he’s here.”

  “Otto is his last name,” muttered Tom.

  “Please get out of the car,” said the driver of their sedan.

  The other two sedans were now empty. The Meadows were slow to get out of the vehicle. “Where are we going?” asked Tom. He and Serena did not move. The three kids looked at their parents for guidance. Rick held the door open for them, but the family didn’t budge, unsure of what to do.

  “You are not in any trouble, Ma’am, the President just wants to speak with you,” said Rick.

  “Please come with us now, “ said Nancy.

  Tom and Serena exited the backseat, taking hold of their children’s hands, even though Carrie was a young adult. The five of them looked ready to break into a musical number as they walked hand-in-hand into the White House. It was only after they had been walking down one corridor after another for several minutes that they relaxed enough to release their grip.

  The unlikely procession was headed up by Nancy and the Meadows family, followed by Rick escorting Paul, Clyde, and Bryce. The massive drivers of the other two vehicles brought up the rear, sporting ear pieces and ready to tackle anyone who looked at them wrong. They trudged along silently, all of them brooding over what would happen next.

  15

  President Ann Kinji waited in her office for the unlikely cast of characters to arrive. She was briefed on each individual and was intrigued by them all. Sensing that at least one of them was certifiably nuts, she requested that a team of psychiatric experts be on hand in the conference room. Each of her guests would have a private meeting in that room before seeing Ann. Those evaluations were now finished and the indicator light on her screen flashed.

  Dr. Malik’s face appeared in the primary frame. “Madam President, I examined each individual as requested. I found tendencies toward narcissism in both Bryce Otto and Paul Tracy. Both are also prone to delusional, grandiose visions of themselves.”

  “Are they dangerous?” Ann asked.

  “Not usually, not alone. They are easily manipulated and can be dangerous when paired with someone else who is.”

  “Is that what we are dealing with here?”

  “Yes, quite likely so. Clyde Tracy pulls Paul’s puppet strings. Clyde, as we already knew from background investigation reports, has sociopathic behavior. He gave us confirmation, tentative of course without further testing, that he is indeed a sociopath.”

  “He is dangerous?”

  “Yes, probably so.”

  “And Bryce? Who is his puppeteer?”

  “President John Williams, Madam President.” There was a long silence that Dr. Malik broke by clearing his throat and adding, “I make no political statement. I am merely reporting my findings.”

  “I understand.”

  “Tom and Serena Wilcox and the children are all cleared. We found no reason to suspect mental health issues in any of the five.”

  “The children? Why are children here?” Ann was alarmed. She’d had no idea that children might be caught up in all of this.

  “I don’t know the answer to that.”

  “I want the children moved to a secure location, set them up with pizza and movies, anything they want. Get Breyana on that. Send the others in after President Williams arrives. You can babysit them until then?”

  “Yes, of course, Madam President.”

  “Dr. Malik, thank you and your team for your service. It should go without saying, but this is confidential.”

  “Of course, Madam President.”

  “Of course,” whispered John from the Listening Room his secret staffers had set up for him. He sounded the alarm. Within minutes he had five covert professionals staring back at him. He didn’t know where they came from, or who they were – he didn’t need to know. His people handled all of that. Whoever these men were, they operated completely off any records. He wasn’t sure they were even fully human.

&n
bsp; John’s phone lit up. “Yes? No, I’m unavailable. I don’t care what you tell her. I was available, and now I’m not.”

  Breyana brought that message to her boss. “He says he’s not available. He’s not coming.”

  Ann felt shivers running down her spine. Something seemed off about this, what could it be? Could he know what was going on? If so, how did he know? She gasped. He was listening. She was sure of it. The more that horrible thought sank in, the more she realized that she never felt alone in her office, even when she was alone. That had to be it. Bugs.

  “Madam President?” Breyana looked worried.

  Ann scrambled for a pen and paper, hard to find these days, since she seldom wrote anything with real paper. She managed to find a notepad with her Presidential seal on it. She scribbled: “Be careful what you say. Bugs in here.”

  Breyana’s eyes flew open wide. She nodded. “Do you need for me to reschedule your appointments now that President Williams can no longer make it?”

  Aloud Ann said, “Yes, please postpone the meetings until the President can make it.” Silently, she wrote: “Get them out NOW. Undisclosed location, secret service.”

  Breyana nodded. Aloud she said, “I’ll move those appointments around after I check in with President William’s staff.” Then she grabbed Ann’s notepad and wrote: “You too?”

  Ann nodded. “Thank you, Breyana,” And because she couldn’t resist, and knew he was listening, she added, “I hope that John isn’t ill. I don’t know how we’d do without him.”

  Breyana paused at the door, but Ann waved her to go. It took only ten minutes for Breyana to get the message to the secret service detail, and another ten minutes for the group to be loaded back up in the three sedans.

  All passengers were seated comfortably, all but Bryce, who was instructed to lie down in the backseat, even though the windows were tinted, should he be seen through special ops glasses. Hiding Bryce from prying eyes was successful, but the twenty minutes it took to move the group was too long. Deep in the pit of the White House parking catacombs lurked five hulking men.