Betrayal

by J. D. Cunegan

  If nothing else, the resources at Jill's disposal here put what she had back at the Seventh to shame. So even if McDermott did wind up being someone she couldn't trust, Jill liked her position here far better.

  "This man wants to you appoint him to a position that would require him to uphold and enforce this city—this state's—laws. Yet for months, possibly years, he has looked the other way as a member of his own family has spat on those very laws. Being District Attorney means you have to enforce every law, regardless of whether you agree with them or not. Those laws are there for society's benefit, not your personal convenience."

  Jill was already set on doing everything she could to bring down The Collective. They represented everything she stood against, and their methods were beyond abhorrent. Anyone willing to execute someone on live television, for the world to see, deserved what was coming to them. Not that Commissioner Saunders had been an angel, or nearly as heroic as the medals on his blazer had hinted, but he deserved better than what these thugs had given him. So did Officer Weir and Councilman Franco.

  Even David Gregor didn't deserve such a fate.

  Jill hadn’t even gotten to the fact that these jackals had stabbed her. With her own sword, no less. If nothing else, an insult of that magnitude could not go unanswered. Her own pride was at stake, on top of the lives of everyone in Baltimore who dared call themselves a hero.

  But now that The Collective was making this personal... Jill didn't know what she was capable of now, and that thought scared her far more than she wanted to admit.

  "This is a man who not only does not deserve your vote... we argue that he is no longer entitled to the very breath he draws."

  Jill swallowed, ignoring her partner staring at her. The last thing she needed was a scene. It was why she used every ounce of inner strength she had to keep her bottom lip from quivering, to keep the burning in her right eye at bay. She would give in to the anger and the revulsion and the shock later, in private. Right now, surrounded by her best friend and her new colleagues? Jill was in full-on agent mode—too busy trying to figure out who these monsters were and what their next move would be to think about anything else.

  Of course, she already knew what The Collective's next move was. She had known what they were leading up to before watching this video for the first time.

  The Collective was many things; subtle wasn't one of them.

  "Brian Andersen, your time is up. The Collective will have its retribution."

  CHAPTER 32

  "I don't know who The Collective thinks I am."

  Even as he spoke, careful to maintain eye contact with the small red light several feet in front of him, Brian Andersen had his heart in his throat. He felt the bead of sweat trickling down his temple. He held onto his wheelchair with such a grip that he could feel his pulse in his fingertips. He understood that running for office meant being in the public eye, occasionally speaking on camera, dealing with the media—but being the target of a murderous cult, and everyone knowing it, was its own brand of stress.

  He would never wish this on anyone.

  "But clearly, they do not know my family," he continued. "We Andersens are many things. Quitters and cowards are not among them."

  Bullheaded. Stubborn. Foolish. All of those were Andersen family traits. But so were such virtues as passion, bravery, and conviction. Even with everything Brian had endured in his life, even he had to admit the fact that he was still here was due in no small part to his own resilience. He might not have had his sister's cool costume or indestructible skeleton, but Brian was strong in his own right.

  And if he was going to serve as Baltimore's next full-time district attorney, he had to make sure his fellow citizens saw that. Cowering because some masked man growled his name in a spooky tone in front of a camera wouldn't get that point across. This whole fiasco was shocking and confusing, but Brian couldn't focus on that. Not with this race, and not with his sister firmly in the crosshairs as well.

  He also had to level with the public when it came to Bounty. Lannigan had already hit him over the head with it once, because it was a smart tactic. The job was to enforce the law, and in this one instance, Brian hadn’t been doing that. He absolutely deserved to be questioned over it.

  But like Lannigan, The Collective was making it personal.

  Or would it have been personal no matter what, since the vigilante in question was his sister?

  "It's true I didn't pursue charges against my sister when I discovered she was Bounty," he continued, swallowing back the lump as best he could. It barely moved. Clearing his throat fared no better. "And if you decide to hold that inaction against me, I can't—and won't—argue the point.

  "But... I think we all can identify with the desire to do what we can for our family. It's no secret that Jill is the only family I have left." Brian paused and sucked in a deep breath, determined that his voice would not waver. Not on live television. Not with The Collective watching. They wanted him scared to the point of soiling himself. He had to show them they had failed.

  "There is nothing I won't do to help my sister, to protect her." Brian chuckled. "Not that she needs it. But let's not forget... legal does not always necessarily mean right. Sometimes, doing the right thing means making that distinction.

  "By the letter of the law, I should have filed charges against Jill. But doing so would have taken Bounty off the streets, would have negated all the good she has done and shown this town's citizens that good deeds are not appreciated. They already don't trust the police, City Council, any of us... The Collective knows that, and they are feeding into that mistrust."

  It was a tactic as old as the world itself: tap into humanity's worst instincts, stoke them until that spark ignited. Flames reaching high into the night, resulting in hatred and bloodshed and paranoia that fed a neverending cycle. But whereas authoritarians throughout history had been content to let the masses do the dirty work, The Collective relished in not just fanning the flames, but pouring gasoline on them. Every murder they committed, those flames reached ever higher.

  "This city needs heroes it can trust. I hope to one day be one of those heroes. But for the time being, my sister wears that mantle. She doesn't do it because she wants to; she does it because it's necessary. Because it's right. Corruption and greed must be fought at every turn, but doing so by spilling blood and publicly targeting others, regardless of their actual guilt, does nothing but make things worse.

  "That's not justice. That's head-hunting."

  Had Brian been a carefully groomed career politician, he might not have been sitting here saying these things. Instead, he would likely be holed up in a fourth-story office surrounded by half-empty take-out boxes, carefully crafting a half-assed statement that would tiptoe around the real issues because tackling something head-on would potentially offend half the electorate. Frankly, Brian didn't have the patience for that sort of calculation and cynicism. He preferred talking directly to the people. Whether they voted for him was their call.

  "The Collective will not scare me. They will not run me off. I am not dropping out of this race, I am not going into hiding, and I will never stop doing everything I can to make sure this city is as safe and peaceful as it can be.

  "If that makes me a target, fine. Come get me."

  CHAPTER 33

  "That's it." Jill pushed past her partner, their shoulders colliding harder than she'd hoped. "Enough of this."

  "Jill?"

  The look in Jill's eyes—and the tone of her voice—sent alarm bells going off in Ramon's head. He fell in step with her, both of them weaving their way through the bullpen that called Operation: Flashlight home. Agents whose names neither of them knew kept their distance, watching with wide eyes and questioning whispers. Ramon's hip caught the corner of the one of the desks, but he regained his footing, practically on Jill's back when she yanked open one of the countless nondescript doors.

  "Jill!"

  Had Ramon not put his hands up in front of himse
lf, that same door would have slammed him in face.

  As it was, when Jill whirled around and noticed Ramon had followed her, the glare she gave him had him wishing he had stayed behind.

  "Jill, I don't know what you've got—"

  "My brother is a target now, Ramon. My brother." Jill shook her head and paced back and forth, running her fingers through her hair. Ramon ducked his head, pretending he didn't notice them shaking. "No. No, this can't—" Jill sighed, stopping in her tracks. "This ends now. Tonight."

  "How?" Ramon, emboldened by nothing more than the years he and Jill had known each other, closed the distance between them and placed his hands on her shoulders. He shook when Jill looked away, bringing her eyes back to his. "Jill... we don't know who these guys are. We don't even know where they are. What, exactly, are you hoping to accomplish?"

  "I'll draw them out," she said. "And when they crawl out of their hole, I'm stomp them out. No matter how many of them there are."

  "Without backup?" Ramon arched a brow. "Not to mention, you already tried that, and all you got for your efforts was a stab wound and a worried partner."

  "Oh, no." Jill pushed Ramon's hands off her shoulders and turned her back. "I'm not putting you in the line of fire like that."

  "The hell you're not." Ramon got in Jill's face again. "Need I remind you, Jill, I'm your partner, and last I checked, this was our case?"

  "Which would be an issue, if I was doing this with a badge on my hip."

  Ah... so that was what Jill was playing at. Ramon took a step back and stared at the floor. He wasn’t surprised. Not really. He had long ago made peace with the fact that his partner was as much a superhero as a cop. He understood there were times where the badge only went but so far, but even in knowing that, he still hated the thought of her going out there on her own.

  Maybe it was the opponent they faced. Maybe it was the fact that they'd already gotten the best of her once before. Or maybe Ramon hated the fact that they seemingly weren't as inseparable as they once were—was that circumstance, or was that because of her?

  Or him?

  Or was it because of their boss? Ramon couldn’t quite place it, but in light of all this, Richard McDermott rubbed him the wrong way. And if that was how this sort of thing always was, then maybe being a federal agent wasn’t for Ramon.

  But if McDermott was duplicitous... then what did that say?

  "And what makes this time different?"

  Jill glared off into the distance, peeling off the skin graft hiding her eyeplate. "This time, I'll get the jump on them."

  "How?"

  "By putting someone else on a platter for them."

  CHAPTER 34

  The irony of all this wasn't lost on Jill. After all, every other time she had set foot inside the Transamerica Tower, she had knock-down, drag-out fist fights. Sometimes with David Gregor, but more often with whoever were his henchmen at the time. One even tossed her out a window once. Any desires she once had of skydiving had died that night—freefall was not her friend, even with the supposed security of a parachute.

  But this trip had a different purpose.

  With any luck, Jill wouldn't be throwing any punches. At least, not at her nemesis. Gregor was to be, for lack of a better word, bait. He didn't realize it, but if everything went according to plan, Jill would be able to use the billionaire as an excuse to draw The Collective out from wherever it was hiding, and she could bring them down once and for all. Law enforcement wasn't getting anywhere, and the longer this went on, the more people were in danger. Not the least of which was her younger brother. Brian was a good man, one who didn't deserve any of the drama that had fallen into his lap over the years.

  He certainly didn't deserve any of this.

  As far as Jill was concerned, using Gregor as bait was a win-win. If he really was a target and had nothing to do with them, then at least Jill's suspicion would be proven incorrect. If he was involved with them, as she feared, then bringing them down would mean bringing him down. Either way, people needed to stop dying.

  On the thirty-eighth floor, two stories below Gregor's penthouse suite, Jill pressed her back against the wall and tightened her grip on her weapon. The katana was still surprisingly light in her grasp, the blade pristine even though she had bled all over it a few nights ago. Someone had cleaned it while she recuperated, for which she was thankful. She didn’t plan on soiling the blade again any time soon; more often than not, the sword was a symbol more than anything, but it was nice to have it just in case something went down.

  The conference room where she had first confronted Gregor long ago sat at the end of the hall. It was pitch black, in stark contrast to the dim lights of the hallway. Pursing her lips, Jill slid along the wall, careful to ensure each step was made in silence. The carpet beneath her combat boots made that easier than expected, but even as the seconds ticked along, she kept her guard up. There was no telling what surprises awaited.

  The lights in the conference room sprung to life. The wooden double doors swung open, and David Gregor stood before her. He had shed his blazer and tie, and his white dress shirt was rolled up past his elbows. It was the look of a man who had designs on getting his hands dirty—which was the exact opposite of everything Jill knew about the man.

  He had never known an honest day's work in his life, and what little of David Gregor was on file told of a man who loved throwing his money around for the express purpose of getting others to do the work for him.

  Her late father being Exhibit A.

  "Well, well." The ghost of a smile crept onto Gregor's face, and something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "Right on time."

  CHAPTER 35

  Gregor lifted his chin, the way a king might look down upon his worthless subjects. "I suppose this is the part where you demand to know my connection to The Collective, letting me know in no uncertain terms that you'll beat the information out of me?"

  "Trust me, it's tempting." Jill cast a quick glance over her shoulder. Satisfied, for the moment, that she and Gregor were alone, she lowered her weapon. But she didn't put it back in its sheath. Every impulse told Jill to be on the attack, to pulverize the man standing in front of her with every ounce of strength she had. It was a familiar feeling, one she experienced every time she saw Gregor's face. It was a feeling decades in the making, knowing this man was almost singlehandedly responsible for everything that had gone wrong in her family. Jill liked to think she would never be capable of willingly taking another life, but Gregor tested that conviction.

  Far more than she would ever admit.

  "And what if I told you have I nothing to do with those jackals? I am, after all, one of their targets."

  "I'd say that better be true," Jill countered, "because if it's not, you'll be on the business end of this sword."

  "You wouldn't." Gregor practically towered over Jill, even though he was only a couple inches taller than her. But the way he carried himself, the way his shoulders squared, made him seem even taller. Above everything, even the muck he was undoubtedly elbows-deep in. "You don't have it in you."

  "Well, if I'm lucky, these... 'jackals' will take care of that for me."

  "Then why are you here?" Gregor arched a brow and eyed the sword in Jill's hand. "If you're not here to beat me to a pulp, and I know you're not here to kill me... then what?"

  Before Jill could open her mouth, the flat screen on the far end of the conference room came to life. Her heart skipped a beat when the masked man in the fatigues appeared on-camera, bloody machete seemingly attached to his shoulder.

  "It would seem our message has fallen on deaf ears. Not surprising. Hard truths take a while to sink in."

  THE MASKED MAN TOSSED the machete in his grasp, twirling the weapon end over end before it landed in his hand again.

  "I had forgotten how... stubborn some in this town can be. The bleating simpletons, clinging to their righteousness and their misguided belief that humanity will overcome. Humanity will not overcome, because it c
annot. This is what humanity is. This is what humanity has always been. We have been destined to slaughter each other, over and over again, since the beginning of time. Since Cain killed his brother.

  "Actually, it predates even that. Humanity has been its own worst enemy since Eve bit into that apple."

  With a grunt, the masked man tossed the machete to the floor. With a dull shunk, the blade dug into the aged wood. Particles scattered inches from the floor before settling. Stepping on the hilt, the masked man shoved the weapon all the way into the floor before regarding the camera again. Eyes cast to the left, then to the right. It was as if the man had no need for the red light shining back at him. He lifted the mask just enough to scratch an itch on the bottom of his chin.

  A week's worth of stubble scraped against his fingers.

  Those fingers then dug into the seam of the mask, hitting a button to deactivate the voice mask.

  "Regardless, our methods clearly have not worked to this point. This town is in more desperate need of a wakeup call than we thought. So, what say we get started, hm? Just rip that band aid right off." Both hands now held the mask, lifting it above the man's chin. "The Collective is done hiding."

  Paul Andersen ripped the mask the rest of the way off, glaring directly into the camera.

  "Hello, Jill. Happy to see me?"

  "WELL, ISN'T THAT INTERESTING?"

  David Gregor's voice didn't register at first. Nothing did—not with the sight of Jill's father smiling to the camera, alive and well almost a full year after she had been told he died. Executed by the state, a needle jabbed in his arm and poison shot into his veins. And yet, the image on the flat screen was unmistakable. Paul Andersen was alive. And he was involved with The Collective. He was smiling into the camera, having just called Jill out, by name.