Rebels & Lies (Rebels & Lies Trilogy Book 1) (16 page)

“He did.”

Krys played around with her hair. “So, what then?”

“It doesn’t make any sense.”

“It doesn’t have to make sense,” Krys replied. “It’s just the way
it is.”

The back of the van remained silent until it screeched to a halt
in front of the safe house. The team filed out and headed for the front porch.
Kaspar started to walk through the front yard before that damned death grip
returned to his right arm. He turned to face Paxton, who stared deep into his
eyes.

“What the fuck was that?” Paxton demanded.

“I already told the others,” Kaspar shook his arm loose. “I was
going to save those people in there. Maybe bring some actual justice to them.”

“You just get something straight, you little bastard: we don’t
have time for loose cannons on this team. I thought I went over this with you
before. Do you get me?”

“John…”

“You will address me as ‘sir’, soldier, now answer the question.”

“The USR took my mother from me, so please forgive me if I…”

“Let’s get another thing straight,” Paxton said. He pointed his
index finger in Kaspar’s face. “We, all of us, have lost something in this war.
It’s not just you, not just your mother, and you need to get that in your head.
Now, do you get me?”

“Yes, sir.”

Paxton nodded, lowered his finger, and aimed it at the front of
the house. “Good, now go inside and think about what could’ve happened had we
been caught.”

How much more of this could he take? Kaspar told Paxton the day
that they met what his true intentions were and the old veteran let him in
anyway. Now, all of a sudden, he was made to look like the bad guy when he
tried to exact some small amount of revenge. The more he got to know Paxton,
the more he grew to hate him. He had long since passed the dislike stage. Where
was all this help that Paxton promised…and why did he let him in the first
place?

He felt anger towards himself, too. Who knows, maybe that squad
that raided the church was the same one that killed Mother. He would never know
now, all because he was too chicken shit to go in there and do the right thing.

“Were you really going to shoot me?” Kaspar asked.

“No,” Paxton replied. “But, maybe I should have considered it. Get
some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“What’s going to happen to them? The ones who stayed behind, I
mean.”

Paxton looked straight down. “They are not our responsibility any
longer.”

“Bullshit they’re not. They are going to die, right? And we just
left them there.”

Paxton looked up and smirked. “You know, individual free will was
one of the first things they took from us. I wasn’t about to take that from
them. They wanted to stay so I let them stay. You have a problem with that?
Fine. Just don’t ask me to apologize for it.”

“No, sir.”

“Now, go get some sleep.”

Paxton walked past Kaspar and ran his right hand through his thinning
hair. He yelled out an inaudible curse before he threw the front door open,
which slammed behind him. Kaspar stood outside so he could try and slow down
his racing mind. He felt the cool, light breeze brush against his cheeks. He
closed his eyes…

I’m sorry, Mother, but I’ll get them next time. I promise.

Sullivan walked through the glass doors of the USR precinct and
let them shut on their own. He wished he could object to coming in during his
off time, but it wasn’t like he left in the middle of a loving dinner with the
family. He spent the nights alone in his office, played around with his son a
little bit, but his time was consumed with trying to figure out who the
resistance members were. The lack of disappointment from his wife when he had
to go back in messed with Sullivan’s emotions…but he grew used to it by now.

Despite not having a true relationship with Julie, he began to
feel concern for her. The vomiting attacks worsened, but she still refused to
go to the hospital. He just hoped that it would all go away soon. He lied to
himself and pinned the blame of her attitude on her not feeling well. What was
wrong, anyway? With the advancements of USR medicine, these types of illnesses
were almost non-existent: especially given his standing within the population.

Sullivan found Fitzpatrick’s office and swung the door open. His
boss sat behind his desk and quickly put away the smuggled liquor. The look of
surprise went away when he realized it was only Sullivan and not someone above
him. He pushed his paper work to the end of the desk for Sullivan to read.

“What is so urgent?” Sullivan asked. He sat down and began to look
through the papers.

“CA made quite the find this evening.” Fitzpatrick replied, he
grabbed the bottle of liquor once more and took a swig.

“An underground church, right? What of it?”

“They captured the leader, ah, Mr. Francis. He’s with George and
DeMarcus right now.”

Sullivan rubbed at his brow. “What are they doing to him?”

“Interrogating, what else?”

“That’s not what I was wondering…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Fitzpatrick leaned back in his chair. “What
does matter is the information this man can provide.”

“What kind of useful information can this leftover provide for
us?”

Fitzpatrick leaned forward, “There were five vehicles in front of
the house. Guess how many were inside?”

“Less than five?”

“Exactly. Three men to be precise.”

“What’s your point?”

“They had help. Someone must’ve moved in and escorted the rest out
of there.”

“The resistance?”

“Had to have been.”

“Did the Agents find anything? See anybody?”

“No,” Fitzpatrick replied before he took another swig. He offered
some to Sullivan who waved his hand in protest. “They had to kill two of the
men, but were able to keep Francis alive…for now.”

“That’s good news, I guess.”

“We need to find out who helped them. See if this Francis
character saw anything or heard any names.”

Sullivan pondered on his boss’s words. The resistance, it had to
be presumed, helped to rescue some illegal worshippers. But, why leave the
three behind? Did this Francis and the two others really want to die this bad?
He shook his head at the thought. Deep down, he knew this Francis would not
have anything of use. The resistance was too good at eluding capture to leave
any evidence behind…especially if they left people behind to die. It would be
nothing but a waste of time.

Suddenly, a light bulb went off.

“The resistance must have a mole inside CA.” Sullivan thought out
loud.

“I’m sure they have several moles,” Fitzpatrick replied.
“That’s news to no one.”

“Give me a list of everyone inside CA. We need to start
questioning them.”

“We’ll do so first thing in the morning.

“Good.”

“I need you,” Fitzpatrick said. He took a swig and his lips
puckered. “To go in there and see what your two partners were able to gather.”

“Very little, I presume.”

“Just go.”

“Right on it.”

Sullivan stood from his chair and walked out of the office. He
walked through the empty hallways of the precinct. Most of the staff was at
home…home enjoying a nice family meal, no doubt. Home…where he should be right
now, trying to patch together his failed marriage. To let little Davie know how
much he loved him. No, he was stuck here, but that came with the job. He
approached the interrogation room.

“Has he said anything of use, yet?” Sullivan demanded.

“No, not yet.” Mason replied.

Mason stood outside, a glass of water in hand. He stared through
the double sided mirror and watched. Wilcox’s shouting could be heard through
the speakers on the ceiling. Sullivan looked inside the double mirror, as well.
The dip shit inside looked to be enjoying his time alone with Francis. All
Wilcox managed to get done was hearing his own voice yell obscenities and
questions that the little old man couldn’t answer. Each non-answer was met with
another back hand across the face. Sullivan approached the edge of the mirror.
He pressed the little red button.

“DeMarcus,” Sullivan said into the intercom, “come on out of
there. Let the man breath for a moment.”

“Right on it, boss.” Wilcox replied.

Wilcox held up the back of his hand in front of Francis’s face
once more. The little man braced himself for another blow. The Agent lowered
his hand, laughed, and called him a pussy before he walked out. Sullivan looked
into his partner’s focused eyes; he saw nothing but rage and bad intentions.

“Nice of you to join us, Sully.” Wilcox said.

“Well, it’s a real pleasure to spend my evening here, with you
fellas.”

“You might want to consider watching that mouth of yours.”

“You might want to consider conducting an actual interrogation
yourself, Mr. Wilcox.” Sullivan replied.

“You want to talk to him?” Mason asked. “Soften him up for us?”

“Just let me through.”

“I’m sure you’ll get some great Intel, Sully.” Wilcox said. “Let’s
just see if this one implicates you, too. Then, we’ve got another issue
entirely on our hands.”

“He won’t,” Sullivan breathed in deep. “Because I’m not. Did you
get anything out of him?”

“Just getting warmed up.” Wilcox replied.

“I’m sure you are. Wait out here.”

Sullivan walked over to the water cooler in the far corner. He
took one of the small plastic, bio-degradable cups and filled it to the top
with cool water. He opened the heavy metal door to the interrogation room with
his free hand. Inside, he caught a glimpse of Francis, who looked to the ground
in silence. When he did look up, he had the look of a man in pain…yet, there
was not an ounce of fear in his eyes. He was another one of those damn
idealists, ready to die for a cause, no matter how futile it might be. Sullivan
placed the cup of water in front of him before he undid the chains around the
wrists. There would be no threat for the tired, beaten old man of trying
anything. Besides, he was a religious man, too weakened by his Bible reading to
do anything anyway. Francis grabbed the cup and drank the whole thing in one
large gulp.

“Listen,” Sullivan said. He took hold of the metal chair at the
far end and dragged it against the floor to the front. “I don’t want to waste
each other’s time. I’ve got my family at home, eating dinner alone. And,
you’ve…got other things on your schedule.”

“Do you love your family?” Francis asked.

“What kind of question is that?”

“Have you taught them about their Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ?”

“We don’t have time for this,” Sullivan replied. “Like I said,
let’s be polite enough not to waste each other’s.”

“Fair enough.”

“All right, first things first, I suppose. How many citizens meet
with you for worship every week?”

“I like how you say that,” Francis said. “Citizens? You can’t
refer to us as just people, can you?”

Sullivan squinted his eyes, “Just answer the question.”

“Well, I would say…anywhere between…seven to ten
people
meet
with us for worship.”

“Same place?”

Francis smiled, “Same Christ time, yes.”

“Don’t get cute with me, leftover. I was pulled from home so I
could talk to you.”

“Pulled from home? From the same family that you love so much, yet
haven’t taught how to reach God’s Kingdom?”

There he goes again. Sullivan knew at this rate, they wouldn’t get
anywhere if this prick kept trying to convert him to weakness. He didn’t need a
crutch, not now. He could handle his own problems with the brain that nature
provided.

“I don’t want to be rude,” Sullivan said. “You know and I know
that worshipping any kind of god, especially your god, is illegal. Let’s cut
the bullshit and get to business, okay? Did seven to ten citizens…”

“People.”

“Whatever…did ten people meet up for worship tonight?”

“No, it was just the three of us. But…your boys already took care
of them, didn’t they?”

Sullivan smirked, “I’m sure they were hostile.”

“You know that’s a lie,” Francis replied with a pointed index
finger. This little man might have some fight in him after all.

“Really? I’d be shocked. We’ve got such great young men in our
department.”

“Great men? They shot one of my brothers in the back, killed the
other one while he was on his knees, begging for his life. Made him denounce…”
Francis stopped and bowed his head once more.

“I see. But, we both know that there were more than just the three
of you there tonight.”

“No, I’m not lying to you.”

“Ha,” Sullivan chuckled, “isn’t one of your commandments ‘Thou
shall not lie?’”

“I see you’ve studied the Word of God.” Francis replied.

“I’ve only studied that book so that I can know my enemy.”

“How are we your enemies? We are peaceful practitioners of our
faith.”

“I don’t doubt that. You certainly don’t have the look of a man
who would harm any living being. But, do we really have to go over your
history?”

Francis went on the defensive. “The history where we donated money
to starving children in Africa? The history where Christ Jesus died for our
sins?”

“No, Mr. Francis, actual history. Remember the crusades?”

“I won’t disagree that that was immoral. But, you can’t pin that
on us.”

“Just imagine if there never was a religion,” Sullivan said. “No
Jews, Christians, Catholics, Muslims…whatever. All of the atrocities of
history’s past would not have occurred.”

“Yes, they would have, because we have fallen short of the glory…”

“Enough!” Sullivan slammed his fist on the metal table. “I didn’t
come here to be preached to. We found five cars outside that house.”

“So?”

“So, did two of the cars drive there themselves?” Sullivan
demanded.

“They were abandoned there. They’ve been sitting out there for
decades.”

“Ninth Commandment, Mr. Francis.”

“How about pleading the Fifth, then?” Francis asked with a laugh.

Sullivan joined in on the laughter. For a man about to be killed,
tortured first in all likelihood, at least he still kept his humor intact. It
was too bad, Sullivan thought, that they could not have met under better
circumstances. He might have liked this old fellow. Even if he believed some
bullshit book written centuries ago, Sullivan couldn’t help but admire the man’s
courage. He believed in something…that was more than anyone could say about
Sullivan.

“I’m afraid,” Sullivan continued, “that that piece of trash
document has been proven false, as well. No pleading the fifth for you. Now,
how many cit…people were at your little get together?”

“You are right about one thing,” Francis said. He cleared his
throat, “I cannot give false testimony. There were ten brothers and sisters
with us tonight.”

“Very good, now we are getting somewhere. Where did they all go, I
mean, if we only found the three of you there?”

“They managed to escape.”

“How? They could have no way of knowing we were even coming.”

“We had help,” Francis replied.

“Who helped you?”

“I don’t…I don’t know any names. I can’t even tell you what they
looked like.”

“Why not?”

“They all had on these…black things over their faces. Even had
their eyes covered. I tell you, they looked like phantoms, they did.”

“Phantoms,” Sullivan leaned forward, “they are evil. Just like
those men were.”

“How can you say they are evil? Look at me…look at the two
innocent brothers who were murdered by your boys.”

“You and the people who died tonight are not innocent, you get
that straight.”

Francis sighed, “None of us really are.”

“And, they are evil because they are spreading lies and dangerous
beliefs…kind of like what you do, actually.”