Betrayal

by J. D. Cunegan

  Jill scowled. "And now?"

  "This is merely... the logical extension of the available technology," Dr. Lo explained. "Science has been tackling the idea of reanimating dead cells for decades. To have this technology, the ability to augment, enhance, or otherwise repair human bone, muscle, and tissue with robotics... scientists would be derelict in their duties if they didn't ask the question if reanimation was possible."

  McDermott shook his head. "You were so preoccupied with whether you could, you didn't stop to think if you should."

  Grabbing a fistful of Dr. Lo's shirt, Jill slammed him back-first into the wall again. She fought the smile tickling the corners of her mouth when the doctor grunted in pain, again getting in his face. "Who's paying for all this? Is it Gregor?"

  Dr. Lo's eyes widened, then immediately returned to their normal state. He didn't answer verbally, his mouth seemingly stuck open, but he had already given Jill the answer she needed. Letting go of him, Jill marched to the other side of the room, tossing the medical gown over her head and tossing it aside before reaching for the uniform folded into a pile next to the bed. After taking a few moments to patch up her reopened wound, Jill grabbed her armor and put it back on, piece by piece, before slowly stepping into her leather bodysuit and zipping it all the way to her neck.

  Then she put her combat boots and elbow-length gloves back on, making sure they were tight on her fingers before fetching her katana from against the wall and slinging it over her shoulder. She could already feel the wound starting to close on its own, refusing to so much as cringe when she turned around and approached the doctor again.

  This time, McDermott stepped in front of her.

  "That's enough, Agent."

  "We're going back to Baltimore," she said, lifting her chin.

  "Not until you're fully healed."

  "I'm close enough." Jill's human eye flickered over McDermott's shoulder, staring at a cowering Dr. Lo. "If The Collective has its hands on Project Fusion, that ties them to David Gregor. Which means we have even less time than before."

  "You're assuming such a link exists." McDermott shook his head. "David Gregor doesn't have his hand in every dirty pie."

  Jill got in McDermott's face. "You brought me on to this task force specifically to bring him down." She narrowed her human eye. "You know better than everyone just how connected he is. His hands were all over Project Fusion years ago, and apparently, he's gotten nostalgic. And if he's linked to The Collective somehow, then this might be the chance we need."

  "Yeah, but—"

  "You said so yourself, I'm gonna run head-on into this no matter what. Now, you can either come with me, or you can hide out here with Dr. Frankenstein."

  Jill turned and marched out of the room without waiting for a reply, letting the heavy door slam shut behind her. The sound echoed throughout the room, McDermott and Dr. Lo standing in awkward silence for several moments. McDermott's phone buzzing interrupted the quiet, and his breath caught in the back of his throat when he read the text.

  New Collective video. You won't believe who the next target is.

  CHAPTER 27

  The days since David Gregor's visit to Dr. Lo had been the longest of his life, far more painful than he had anticipated. Though in hindsight, Gregor shouldn't have been surprised; after all, a man of his age undergoing such an invasive procedure was bound to take time to heal. Maybe Dr. Lo had been right when he said Gregor was lucky to still be alive.

  Still, as Gregor struggled to step off his private jet, fumbling with a wooden cane on his way down the steps, he gritted his teeth and bit back a curse. The worst of the pain had passed in the twelve hours after he regained consciousness, but certain ways Gregor moved still brought with them unpleasant twinges.

  For the first time, he really felt every one of his sixty-three years. Patience, already one of his weaknesses, was in incredibly short supply of late.

  "Home sweet home," he muttered under his breath once his loafers found pavement. A light breeze ruffled his white hair, and were he wearing a tie, it would be fluttering as well. A polo shirt and loose-fitting slacks were the attire of the day, by far the most casual Gregor would ever let himself be in view of others. But these clothes didn't constantly brush up against his scars. They had faded more than he had expected, but they were still there, and they still bothered him.

  Now they were itching like crazy. As great as the pain pills Dr. Lo had given him were, they did nothing for the itch. Gregor squeezed the ball on the end of his cane, clenching his jaw in an effort to fight the urge to scratch. The last thing he needed was for one of those scars to break open again. Just because his suits were blood red, that didn't mean Gregor wanted to actually wear his own blood.

  Returning to Baltimore was normally enough to bring a smile to Gregor's face, but the discomfort of his recovery—combined with knowledge of what had gone on in his absence—weighed on him. He nodded in greeting at his driver before managing to fold himself into the back seat of the black limo that had been waiting for him. The driver had reached for Gregor's shoulder to help, but he waved him off.

  David Gregor did not need to be coddled.

  The door shut, enveloping Gregor in darkness—the windows were tinted just as dark as the sheet metal. The driver, a man named Pablo who had served Gregor for almost two full decades, knew better than to say anything. He already knew where they were going, so why bother with chit-chat?

  Gregor sighed, glad to let go of the cane for a moment. He flexed his fingers before grabbing the smartphone buried in his pocket. Far too many emails were begging to be read, but Gregor ignored them in favor to catching up on the headlines on his news app. He wasn't expecting an update on Lori Taylor, who was in prison on murder charges—committing one, conspiring to commit another. Her impulsive nature and hatred had ultimately won out over Gregor's carefully laid plan before he had left for Paris.

  Perhaps it would have been better to keep her in the dark.

  Even so, Lori probably would have let him down some other way. Clearly, she could not be trusted as much as he had thought.

  Gregor's phone chimed, a breaking news alert grabbing his attention.

  BREAKING: New video from The Collective

  Gregor pursed his lips. The Collective? What else had he missed in the nearly two weeks he had been overseas?

  With a swipe of his thumb, Gregor flipped the phone sideways. The screen went black, a low static at first the only indication that the video was playing. A light bulb overhead flipped on, showing a man standing in front of the camera in camouflage pants, an olive green long-sleeve tee, and a black ski mask. An AR-15 slung over the man's shoulder.

  Gregor rolled his eyes and shook his head.

  "Greetings, fine citizens of Baltimore," the man began, his voice digitally masked. "It has come to our attention that our native son has returned. Welcome home, David Gregor."

  Gregor's blood ran cold and his entire body went stiff. He glanced over his shoulder, despite knowing he was the only one sitting in the back of the limo. In fact, aside from the pilot and the limo driver, Gregor hadn't encountered anyone since leaving Dr. Lo's care.

  But Gregor had been on the ground for, what, five minutes? Whoever this Collective was, he wanted them all dead. He didn't care what they said or what they wanted.

  "You've missed quite the show, Mr. Gregor. In fact, let us bring you up to speed. You see, this city is at a crossroads, and you're to blame for a lot of that. The people we trust to look after us, to protect us, are instead profiting from our misfortune and stabbing us in the back. The police are killing citizens. Baltimoreans are gunning each other down for nothing more than a synthetic high. The well of debt runs so deep that for many, that high is all they have to look forward to... all because their leaders have failed them. Their heroes have failed them."

  Again, Gregor rolled his eyes. Oh, how the self-righteous loved to hear themselves talk.

  "This is not a case of simply changing the faces at the t
op. No, the cancer runs far too deep for that. Such a poisonous malignancy must be completely eradicated. Voting will not suffice. Subpoenas and court orders and corruption charges will not be enough. Standing trial is pointless. No... in order for Baltimore to reach its true potential, to once again become the great city we all love, the tumor must be cut out. Destroyed. Completely."

  Far from the first time Gregor had heard such talk, but something told him the masked man lecturing him through the screen actually meant business. For one thing, the shirt was soaked in blood. For another... whereas most zealots became more animated, more excited as they talked, this man was calm throughout. Each word was calculated, carefully enunciated. The masked man's gaze never wavered, as the few movements he made were small, purposeful.

  "Blood must be spilled. What we did to Councilman Franco, to Officer Weir, to Commissioner Saunders... that was but prologue."

  Gregor's stomach lurched. He paused the video and leaned forward as much as the scar in his chest allowed. Cringing, he tapped on the black window that separated him from Pablo. A soft whirr accompanied the lowering of the window.

  "Yes, Mr. Gregor?"

  "What happened to the police commissioner?" he asked, staring into the rearview mirror.

  Pablo glanced out the windshield and he visibly paled. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, and Pablo wet his lips with his tongue. "He... he was murdered, sir. These thugs lopped off his head, broadcast the whole thing."

  "Jesus," Gregor whispered, sinking back into his seat and shaking his head. He stared at the masked man, frozen on his screen, wondering if the blood on his shirt was the commissioner's. Jackson Saunders had always been a shark at the poker table, relentless on the racquetball court, but in Gregor's experience, he had been a wise and fair steward of the police department—even if Gregor had done his best to undercut that department. Thankfully, Saunders had often looked the other way.

  The commissioner had always been... pragmatic.

  Despite the churning in his gut, Gregor tapped the screen again to resume the video.

  "No one is safe from The Collective. Not even you, Mr. Gregor."

  Gregor pocketed his phone without a word, staring out the driver’s-side window at the city streaming by. The zealots were nothing if not predictable; this was not the first time someone had threatened Gregor in such a manner, and with any luck, it wouldn't be the last. Self-righteous simpletons who didn't know how things worked in this city, convinced they could do what others before them had failed. Only it was not always failure. Sometimes, they saw the reality of things and accepted it.

  These Collective freaks would not see the error of their ways. They would all die first.

  Which Gregor would love a front row seat for.

  "Where would you like to go, sir?" Pablo asked over his shoulder.

  "Hm?" Gregor straightened and turned to glance into the rearview mirror again. "As scheduled, Pablo. Nothing changes."

  CHAPTER 28

  "Good morning, Mr. Bernard."

  David Gregor put on as genial a smile as he could muster, despite the dull pain in his side. The cane helped with his mobility, but the occasional step still caused the stitches in his side to pull. He gripped his cane a little tighter and lifted his chin; he longed for the day he’d no longer need the damn thing. If nothing else, it was a reminder of his mortality, and that was the last thing Gregor wanted on his mind. He would harbor no thoughts of death. As far as he was concerned, such a day would never come. Sure, his body would wither and rot, but with any luck, the things he put in place would live on for centuries after they put him in the ground.

  The guard manning the station in front of the visitors' wing of the Baltimore City Correctional Center was a young fellow, probably someone fresh out of the academy if the smile on his face was any indication. Someone with decades in law enforcement of any sort would have had that smile wiped off their face about ten, fifteen years ago. The young were seldom jaded in this profession, but sometimes they were the most impressionable. If for no other reason than they often had debts they wanted to escape.

  That was easy to take advantage of.

  "I trust my client is being treated well," Gregor said, adjusting his black tie. He had few aliases, which made slipping into them easier. He enjoyed the ruse, treating it like a play session of sorts. Gregor didn’t get to relax as often as he would like, given all the plates he had spinning, so strutting about as someone else was a pressure release of sorts.

  His suit was far more subdued than his normal attire, because a blood-red suit wasn't becoming of a mild-mannered defense attorney. It was the same reason Gregor had shaved off the goatee and donned a brown wig, in addition to a pair of black-rimmed glasses. They sat awkwardly on his nose, and the glare in the lenses bothered him, but if it helped with his cover, he'd put up with it.

  "Ms. Taylor has been a model prisoner," the guard, whose name tag read Duvall, said as he led Gregor down a narrow, dimly-lit hallway. "Don't even realize she's around half the time. I'm just surprised we didn't see you sooner, Mr. Bernard."

  "Unfortunately, I had other business to attend to that required me to be out of state."

  A loud buzz announced their presence near a heavy door, a red light near the ceiling blinking three times. The buzz was followed by a click and the door slid open. Duvall nodded once, adjusting the bill of his cap. "Straight through there, Mr. Bernard. Your client's in the third booth to the right."

  "Thank you, Officer."

  As prisons went, this facility was surprisingly well-maintained. The walls were drab, some sleep-inducing combination of gray and a shade of green with a name Gregor couldn’t pronounce, but they weren't stained and worn out. The floors were shiny, even under the harsh light, and the bars—when Gregor had seen them—looked as if they had recently been repainted. But the visitors' area was as pristine as any other. Brand-new panes of glass separated the prisoners from their visitors. Wooden chairs were furnished with mahogany cushions, and windows on the far side of the room let in more sunlight than any other part of the facility.

  Gregor took the seat third from the right, the only empty chair on the visitors' side of the room. He picked up the black receiver hanging on the wall and pursed his lips. "Hello, Lori."

  The black-haired woman was staring at the floor, not paying Gregor any mind. The bags under her eyes were heavy. Her shoulders were hunched, and orange clearly wasn't her color. With a sigh, Gregor lifted his cane and tapped the glass twice with it.

  She flinched, her eyes widening when she looked up and saw the man sitting across from her. Her heart fluttered the way it always did whenever she laid eyes on David Gregor—and even with his disguise, she knew without a doubt it was him. Mostly because she couldn't think of anyone who would care enough to visit her in this hellhole. But even as she took in the sight of the man she loved, momentarily buoyed by his presence, dread sat heavy in the pit of her stomach.

  Something told her this wouldn't be a pleasant visit.

  With a shaking hand, she grabbed her receiver and brought it to her ear. "David."

  "I would say you look well, but that would be a lie."

  "But you do." Lori sat up a little straighter, glancing over her shoulder. "Better than I thought you would after seeing Dr. Lo."

  "Modern medicine is a wonderful thing." Gregor cleared his throat and set his cane aside, letting it rest against the corner of his booth. "Unfortunately, there doesn't seem to be anything I can do to help with the situation you've put yourself in."

  Again, Lori's eyes went to the floor. "I know. I'm—"

  "I'm not interested in apologies, Lori. Right now, I need to make sure your stupidity doesn't send everything else toppling down on my head."

  "David—"

  "Shut up." Gregor leaned forward, glancing to either side of himself before pursing his lips. "Do you know what you've done? Do you have... any idea the kind of trouble you've heaped upon not only yourself, but possibly me as well?"

>   Clutching her receiver so hard her knuckles turned white, Lori looked everywhere except the man sitting across the glass from her. As handsome as he was, especially without a goatee, the anger and the disappointment in his eyes was too much for her to bear. Lori had hoped Gregor would simply let her rot in her cell when he discovered what she had done. Having him here, reading her the proverbial riot act, was worse than being ignored. If nothing else, she knew what fate would likely follow.

  But no punishment would hurt as much as knowing she might have cost him everything.

  And for what? A grudge?

  "My instructions were clear and specific," Gregor continued. "Joel Freeman was to remain in your custody until my return. The two vigilantes were to take care of each other. Only upon my return were we to set things in motion again. What on Earth could have possessed you to act out on your own like that?"

  Lori stared at her free hand resting on the table. "I thought—"

  "No, you didn't." Gregor clenched his jaw. "Yours were not the actions of someone thinking rationally."

  As he spoke, Gregor's eyes danced around the visitors' area. None of the other visitors were paying them any mind, for which he was thankful. It was why he had bothered with this get-up in the first place, and it was why he was taking pains to keep his anger in check. He hated blending in, but sometimes, it was the prudent course of action. Besides, he didn't need brute force or physical strength to intimidate Lori or get his point across. There were so many avenues at Gregor's disposal, including ones she didn't know about.

  "Jonas was sloppy," he added. "Letting yourself be recorded while talking with Piotr... but if that was all that happened, I could let it slide. That Russian thug is gone, which is all I care about. But Lori... killing Freeman? In my house?! In full view of the security camera? Not even my lawyers could dig you out of this hole. Nor should they try."