Patriots & Tyrants (Rebels & Lies Trilogy Book 2) (22 page)

When it came to
waiting to protect his own life, X had the patience of Job. The booby traps
around the door to his apartment were already rigged. The poor son of a bitch
that opened the door would be in for a hell of a surprise. The thought of
running had crossed his mind, but he decided that he was safer here in his
apartment than getting caught outside with his pants down.

X held the twelve
gauge shotgun in his hands. The barrel was pointed at the front door. All the
lights in the place were turned out. The only light in the room was that which
penetrated the drapes over his windows. He had been waiting in this position
ever since he got the call from Reed that the USR was onto them and sending in
troops to kill them all off.

For a moment, he
thought for sure that it was that Agent who was talking to Reed who tipped off
the USR. However, according to Reed, it was Sullivan who tipped off his
one-time friend that they were coming. If it was him, why would he do that? He
wouldn’t, X reasoned, so maybe he really was on their side. If not on their
side, he definitely wasn’t on the USR’s side. That much was made clear by now.

In the moments waiting
for the eventual ambush, a sense of guilt started to bellow up inside of him.
When he first approached Reed about starting up a small resistance group to aid
the others, their relationship was built on trust. He should have trusted his
friend more when it came to the Agent. He should have known that Reed wouldn’t
have steered them in the wrong direction. It was mainly his own desires to
defeat the USR that caused the mistrust. X didn’t want anything to go wrong and
at the first sign of trouble, he relegated back to his old ways. He just hoped
that Reed made it out okay with his family.

Outside the doors, he
could hear footsteps on the old wood. Being Catholic, X went north, south,
west, east with his right hand. After the ritual was complete, his grip on the
shotgun returned. There was no fear now. If this was his time, it was his time
to go. That’s how he always lived his life. During the fast times of being a
gang member, death was always right around the corner. X learned not to fear
it, but to embrace it, and that made him a dangerous man. He hoped that the
dangerous man would return for this firefight. The old X would be needed to get
through this.

The door handle
started to jiggle a little bit. Whoever was messing around with it was shocked
to find that the door was unlocked. Would he fall for the trap? The answer soon
became yes. The USR soldier swung the door open. The ax, which rested above the
door frame, was turned loose. The red end of the silver blade cut right through
the soldier’s face. It was an instant death and his body hung with the ax
firmly entrenched in his skull. The other soldiers took a step back for a
moment. They looked in shock as their comrade hung by his tip toes outside the
door.

X cracked a smile as
he waited by the door. Eventually, the soldiers pushed aside their fallen squad
mate and entered the apartment. At the sight of the first soldier, X pulled the
trigger on the twelve gauge. The soldier took the buck shot to the side and
fell, bleeding out on the floor. X did the same to the second man who tried to
enter. When the second one fell, he raced from his seated position to behind
the couch, which faced the door. Automatic gunfire now filled the room.

X used the shoulder
strap of the shotgun to hang the weapon against his back. His Colt .45 rested
in his hip holster. He gripped the weapon then held it in his hands. He popped
up from his cover and took out another soldier with a five quick squeezes of
the trigger. The other soldiers were quick to return fire. X ducked back down.
The count of men left was four.

One solider gripped a
grenade attached to his flak jacket. At the sound of the pin falling, X quickly
dove to the right. The grenade went off almost as soon as it hit the ground
next to him. He could feel the heat of the explosion against his legs as he
finished his dive. He rested his back against the recliner with his Colt held
steady in both hands. The automatic rounds from the USR’s assault rifles ripped
through his beloved chair.

X moved his body
towards the side of the recliner. He aimed the Colt at one of the soldiers and
pulled the trigger several times. The rounds penetrated the soldier’s armor and
he fell. Three more to go.

The three soldiers
that remained started to move around the apartment. The dim light in the room
didn’t allow X to fully see what was going on. Instead, he was now relying on
his ears. Through his ears, he could hear one move around to where his couch
used to be. X pointed the Colt in that direction and squeezed the trigger
twice. When the body hit the floor he continued the countdown. Two.

X stood now. With his
head held low, he made a run for the bedroom. The two remaining soldiers fired
their assault rifles in that direction. The rounds tore through the drywall
beside X. One got through and hit him in the back of his right thigh. X fell to
the ground in pain. He crawled the rest of the way and took cover against the
wall by the door frame. He could hear one of the soldiers get a little too
antsy and move in on his position. X pointed the Colt in the direction of the
noise and pulled the trigger twice. He heard the body hit the ground. One.

The last soldier moved
back and took cover by the recliner. X got on his belly and used his elbows to
pull his body forward. The chamber on his Colt was empty. With the press of his
thumb, he released the empty mag and replaced it with a fresh one.

“You’re a dead man!”
the soldier cried out.

X ignored the man. All
his focus was on how he would kill the last one. He could hear the soldier
outside take slow, deliberate steps towards the bedroom door. In the darkness,
the soldier had no idea what was sitting on the top of the door frame. It was a
nifty little device that X had stolen from the factory. It took him a while,
but eventually, he was able to sneak home all the parts he needed. The thing
was still in development so there were still bugs in its programing. Now was a
good time to find out if it actually worked. All that was left now was to
activate it.

The switch was under
the bed. X reached under and flipped it. In an instant, the turret became
active. The motion detectors didn’t pick up on the soldier’s movements like
they were supposed to. The turret sprayed automatic rounds at random. Still,
the spray was good enough, and more than few rounds shredded the man’s body armor.
X flipped the switch off. 

Now came the hard
part, as if what he just did was easy. He forced his body upward and tried to
ignore the pain of his now blood soaked thigh. He limped out of the apartment,
pushing aside the body of the poor bastard that blocked his exit.

In the hallway, there
were the looks of the terrified tenants who came out of their units once the
gunfire had ceased. They all knew X. They knew he was a good man and they all
had distressed looks on their faces. He repeatedly denied any help from them.
When one man offered to call an ambulance, X told him absolutely not in very
colorful language.

Once outside, he made
it to his truck. Inside the truck, he placed the Colt into the concealed
holster on the right side of the driver’s seat. He turned the key and ignited
the engine. The blood from his thigh now soaked through the seat. X ripped off
his shirt then tied it tight around the wound in an attempt to ease off the
bleeding. He knew where he had to go next.

He just hoped that he
didn’t bleed to death on the way.

Sullivan kept his head
low behind the bushes. The Captain would no doubt be home soon, after a long,
hard day of trying to catch the resistance. Sure enough, moments later,
headlights from off in the distance could be seen. At the sight of them,
Sullivan reached into his hip holster and pulled out his Glock. Those pesky
second thoughts were already creeping their way from the back of his mind to
the forefront. He still felt a little bit of hope that maybe he could talk to
Fitzpatrick and get this heat off of him. The two still respected each other.
At least there was still respect on Sullivan’s end.

He shook his head.
There was no going back now. The USR had already sent a spy in after him. His
employers no doubt felt the same way. The once great Agent had become a
liability now. Being a liability, in this world, was not something a citizen
wanted to be. Those people weren’t simply shunned away, they were executed.
Sullivan already got lucky once with Little. It was up to him to make his own
luck now.

The car parallel
parked against the sidewalk. Sullivan took a deep breath and made his move. He
kept his upper body low, beneath the trunk level of the car to stay hidden.
Just as the engine was cut off, he grabbed the door handle to the back driver’s
side seat. With swiftness, he had his gun in Fitzpatrick’s neck before his
superior even knew what was going on. When the cold steel of the Glock touched
Fitzpatrick’s skin, Sullivan could hear the old man let out a gasp.

“Give me your gun.”
Sullivan ordered.

“Will, what the hell
are you doing?” Fitzpatrick demanded.

Sullivan applied more
pressure. “I said give me your weapon. Slowly.”

Fitzpatrick obeyed. He
grabbed the gun from his shoulder holster and then deliberately held it in the
air. Sullivan then ordered for him to toss it to the back seat. Again, the
Captain obeyed and let loose of the gun. It hit the floor board next to
Sullivan.

“Do you realize what
you’re doing?” Fitzpatrick ordered once more.

“Yes, sir, I do.”
Sullivan replied. “I’m done, you hear me?”

“Done? What happened?
Why not just give me a call?”

“Because, you sent a
spy to my home to execute me, you son of a bitch.”

“I have no idea…”

Sullivan pressed the
gun even further into Fitzpatrick’s neck. Again, the Captain gasped and his
breathing quickened. Sullivan felt a wave of satisfaction at the sounds of the
frightened man. He thought about how many times he had to point a gun at a
suspect, not knowing whether or not that suspect was guilty of anything. The
man in the front seat, he was guilty, as was the man in the back seat who held
the gun. Deep inside, Sullivan knew that he was doing the right thing. He just
needed to carry it out.

“Don’t lie to me, you
understand? I’m the one with the gun, don’t you forget that.” Sullivan replied.

“What happened?”

“That Kevin Little,
the man who you said was rookie, well, he wasn’t a rookie after all. He was a
Goddamn USR spy!”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Don’t play dumb with
me. I know that you played some role in all this.”

Fitzpatrick’s eyes
started to dart from left to right. Sullivan could see them through the rear
view mirror.

“Nobody’s coming to
save you.” Sullivan said.

“Just, let me think
for a minute.”

“No, there’s no time
for thinking. I came here to tell you something and to give you a warning.”

“A warning? Will, is
this really…”

“Really what?
Necessary? Of course it’s necessary.”

“We can talk…”

“Shut up!” Sullivan
cried. “Now, you listen to me, and listen closely. I’m done with your games.
You tell your boys, whoever they are, to stay the hell away from me. This is
your warning: if you come near my son, I’ll…”

Fitzpatrick sighed.
“Your son? He’s already been taken.”

In that instant,
nothing but rage filled Sullivan’s insides. They had already taken his wife
with their experiments, now they had his son? It took everything in him to not
pull the trigger…prematurely. Instead, he pressed the gun so hard against
Fitzpatrick’s neck and that it caused the old man’s head to shift to the left.

“What are you talking
about?” Sullivan demanded.

“I called in to the
Consul, told him that I was concerned about your performance. I didn’t know
they would go this far, but they called me back and told me that you were
beyond salvage. They were going to kill you and take your orphan son to one of
the schools to raise him right.”

“I knew it,” Sullivan
said. “You set me up and now my son is gone. Which school?”

“I don’t know. It’s
classified. All I can tell you is that it’s not in this city. They are
transporting him now.”

“I’m not playing!
Where?!”

“I don’t know! If you
want to kill me, go on ahead, but either way, you’ll never know where he is!”

Sullivan’s heart began
to sink as he eased the pressure of the barrel against Fitzpatrick’s neck. He
couldn’t believe how terrible of a father he was. All the missions and side
missions he was involved were a priority over his family. In all the scrambling
around, trying to gather the troops, his son was in the background. All he
wanted to do was make this a better place for him. A lot of good that did him. Now,
Davie was with the enemy and there was nothing Sullivan could do about it.

“How can you tell me
you didn’t know this would happen?” Sullivan demanded. “You know how our system
works.”

“You can blame me all
you want,” Fitzpatrick said. “But, you know who is at fault here. You’ve been
getting way too close to the enemy, letting them cloud your thinking. I don’t
even know why I let you back on the force in the first place. If you want to
kill me, go on ahead.”

Sullivan really wanted
to kill Fitzpatrick. His finger shook against the trigger so violently that he
almost accidently discharged his weapon into him. Killing Fitzpatrick, though,
wouldn’t solve anything. There was enough blood on his hands as it were.
Instead, he gave two hard blows against the side of the Captain’s head: once
for knocking him out, the other for making sure.

With Fitzpatrick out
cold, Sullivan exited the vehicle then ran straight for his car. He resisted
the temptation to drive straight to Mary’s house to verify if Fitzpatrick was
full of shit or not. The risk was too great. They would be waiting for him
there and that wouldn’t bring Sullivan any closer to his son. He couldn’t save
him if he was dead.

The guilt inside swept
over him. He should’ve been there more for his son but he wasn’t. The horror
that filled inside was that he now would never have another chance to be with
him. To teach him how to be a good man, to raise him right in an insane world.
He didn’t even know what time he was abducted which hurt the most. It was in
that realization that Sullivan discovered how distant he was. How could he let
this happen? How could he not know?

As the tears flowed
down his cheeks, he went straight for the meeting place that he told Reed to
meet. He hoped that the others got the message. There was no longer any access
to USR computer systems, he would have to try and figure this all out on his
own.

Davie, forgive me.