Rebels & Lies (Rebels & Lies Trilogy Book 1) (17 page)

“So it seems.”

“Now, if you can’t tell me names or descriptions, then that’s
fine. They wore a disguise, fair enough. But, could you tell me how many there
were?”

“I counted four, but I know they were talking to someone over the
radio. The leader, he kept touching his throat and talking into something. They
were getting help from the outside.”

“Any kind of description of them that would help us?” Sullivan
asked.

“One was a woman. That’s about all I can tell you.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m a man of God,” Francis replied with a red face. “But, even my
eyes go places they shouldn’t.”

“Is there anything else you would like to add?”

“Like what?”

“Like,” Sullivan replied. He pulled out a legal pad. “The names
and addresses of your fellow worshippers. You can’t ID the resistance, but I
know you can ID them.”

“No, you cannot ask me to do that.”

“I can and I am. Who are they? Where do they live? And, if you
don’t mind, where are the other underground churches located?”

“I will not.” Francis replied.

“Okay,” Sullivan said as he stood. “Just remember when my two
colleagues walk back in here that I gave you the chance to save yourself.”

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will
fear no one. For thou art with me.”

“You better hope he is. I’ll be seeing you.”

“No,” Francis replied. “I’m afraid you won’t. But, I’ll pray for
you all the same.”

Sullivan walked out of the interrogation room and eye balled his
two partners. He thought about it for a second before he motioned with his head
for them to move in. The sound of cracked knuckles and the sight of the smiles
sent a chill down Sullivan’s back.

They opened the door and Francis cried out in terror.

Consul Williamson stood in front of the podium while the
television cameras filmed his every move. He looked down at the crowd and
smiled. The cameramen panned the audience as they chanted his name. Some held
up signs that spoke out against organized religion. Others held up Bible’s with
the words “EVIL DOCTRINE” tapped over the covers. Williamson held up his hands
and motioned for the crowd to quiet down.

“We have witnessed yet again the rebellion’s love of wickedness
and evil. This United States of America founded itself on Christian principles.
Thankfully, we are no longer a Christian nation, or a Muslim nation, or a
Jewish nation, but we are a nation of non-believers and we are more powerful
for it!”

Williamson held up his fists and the crowd screamed in acceptance
of their great leader. They called out saying ‘Religion is evil’ and other
chants of that nature. Williamson held up his hands again to quiet the crowd.
He looked back into the camera in front of him.

“This rebellion just saved a religious group who spread their
wickedness to an untold amount of people.” Williamson said. The crowd booed and
Williamson held up his hands again to quiet them. “They want us to live by the
Bible, but what Bible are they reading?

“Perhaps we should live by Leviticus, which tells us slavery is
okay? Or, how about Deuteronomy, which suggests stoning your children? Maybe we
should stick by the radical Sermon on the Mount, whose application will lead to
our enemies destroying our great nation? I don’t think these fanatics have been
reading their Bibles. Or, the scary version is that they are.”

“ARREST THEM ALL, ARREST THEM ALL!!!” the crowd cried in front of
Williamson.

Williamson smiled and held up his hands once again. The crowd grew
restless and continued the chant for several moments before Williamson was able
to quiet them down. Williamson stood in silence for a moment and looked down at
his followers.

“We will. We will catch them as we have caught one of their
leaders today. Let it be known, once more, that anyone who is caught harboring
these fools or practicing their radical religion will be caught and given
justice. We know that the evil rebellion, which represents that weak nation we
suppressed, helped some of their members to escape. We need you, all of you, to
find them and bring them to us. That is all. Long live the USR.”

***

Sullivan sat at his desk and awaited the next Agent from Civilian
Affairs to walk in. He had the next man’s file opened at his desk: Greg Boler.
Boler, according to the file, became an Agent five months upon graduation from
one of the schools two years ago. He went through the Academy and passed
everything with flying colors. After showing great progress and conviction he
was transferred to the CA two months ago. Boler carried with him an immaculate
record: no citations, write ups, or anything of the sort on his file. The guy
was squeaky clean…and that scared Sullivan.

“Afternoon, Detective,” Boler said through the open door. “You
wanted to see me?”

“That’s right, Greg.” Sullivan said, he closed the file and set it
aside. “Come on in, have a seat.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sullivan.”

“It’s Will.”

“Thank you, Will.” Boler replied as he sat. “How can I be of
service to you?”

“I’ll get straight to point.” Sullivan took a breath and then
leaned forward. “You see that thing about the underground church on the news?”

“Saw it this morning, just got briefed on it, too. Why?”

Sullivan studied his subject. Boler just sat there, looked him
straight in the eye, acted like everything was just natural. He didn’t look to
be worried, nervous, or anything. Much different than the other Agents that
Sullivan interviewed during this long, boring process. Something didn’t add up,
though. Then again, maybe this guy was just good under pressure. A little too
good?

“Well,” Sullivan continued, “it appears that there were actually
more than just the three men we found there. More like ten.”

“Okay. How’d you find this out?” Boler asked.

“We questioned the leader. He calls himself Father Francis or some
bullshit. He confirmed, with me, that there were more than three.”

“So, how did the others get away?”

“You tell me.” Sullivan replied. He studied Boler’s eyes the whole
time.

His subject looked away for a moment, the first sign of
nervousness. Sullivan kept his gaze on him, he noticed Boler’s forehead
starting to show signs of perspiration. He watched as Boler reached up with is
right hand to wipe away the sweat.

“You need a tissue?” Sullivan asked.

“No,” Boler replied. “It’s just hot in here.”

“Feels fine to me, Agent.”

“It’s your office, I would hope so.”

“Let’s just stop dodging the question.” Sullivan said. “How do you
think they go out?”

“They heard the sirens coming?” Boler replied.

Sullivan shook his head. “No way. They were long gone by the time
SWAT showed up.”

“They got help, then, right?”

“That’s right. They got help from the resistance. At least some of
them.”

“Did this Francis give you any details at all? Any identifiable
marks or anything?”

“No, they were wearing masks. Nothing distinguishable, save the
breasts of some woman.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but what does this got to do with me?” Boler
asked.

Now, we’re getting somewhere, Sullivan thought. Boler’s sweating
continued, he tried to play it off like it was hot or something. Sullivan
almost laughed at the thought. He kept his office at a chilly sixty-five
degrees. Still, though, nothing definitive. The other Agents, after all, did
the same routine. They blamed their sweating on how hot the room was or that
their wives made them bad food and they felt sick. None would fess up to the
fact that they were nervous, which they had every right to be. They knew what
would happen if they were accused of something like aiding the resistance.
Sullivan knew all too well what it was like. It made a man want to kill himself
before the USR could finish the job.

Boler kept his eye contact, though. He didn’t look away like most
of the others. He swallowed a few more times than usual, too.

“Everything,” Sullivan replied. “You’re in CA, your department knew
about the church, knew the times they met, knew what day the raid would take
place, everything. So, when our SWAT guys move in, and the resistance already
had the room cleared out, it raises questions.”

“Are you accusing me?” Boler asked.

“No, not at all, just wanted to make you aware of what’s going on.
Do you know of anybody we should suspect?”

“I can’t think of anybody right off the top of my head, but I’ll
sure keep my eyes open.”

“Make sure that you do. You come to me first if you see or hear anything
out there, you got that?”

“Yeah, of course, sir.”

“Good. Be sure to watch out for yourself, too.” Sullivan said.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

Sullivan rubbed at his forehead as he leaned back in his chair. “I
mean, I’d hate for you to end up in the hands of a guy like Travis Forte. He
works with me inside of my unit, you hear of this guy?”

“I know the name, but that’s it, why?”

“Well, if we find somebody, who we think might be working for
them, we turn to Forte. He’s really, really good at getting answers out of
people. You see, what he does is, and this is fucked up, by the way. He lines
up their fingers and takes out his knife. You know what he does?”

“What’s that sir?” Boler asked, his eyes wide and voice shaken.
“He cut their fingers off?”

“Close, but not quite, he goes after the fingernails. He digs the
knife in and snaps the nail right off. We got some bastard who’s noble and
won’t talk…well, let’s just say that after two or three nails, they start
talking. Works every time.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Is there anything you want to tell me?”

“No, sir. But, my eyes and ears are open…wide open.”

Boler stood and saluted Sullivan. Sullivan returned the gesture.
He kept eye contact with his subject. Now, without a doubt, Boler knew he meant
business. Sullivan sat back in his chair and breathed in a deep breath. This
was the fifth Agent to see him today, the fifth different story he told about
the horrors of a high ranking Agent, as well. The feeling of boredom
intensified with each one. He knew it was necessary, but all he wanted was to
be out of this damn office and out there, on the streets, hunting down them
down. Instead, he sat in his office and was lied to by who knew how many men.
Fitzpatrick and the others were convinced that there was only one rat, but for
all Sullivan knew, the whole department was compromised.

He reached down for the next file and
read the name aloud before he picked up his phone.

Paxton looked into Boler’s eyes and saw a look of fear he never
saw before. His mole had always suffered from anxiety, but there was something
different this time. Maybe the USR finally caught onto him? Nonsense, Boler
probably got spooked by something that shouldn’t spook him. His face was a mess
of perspiration, he kept looking around, his hands looked like they were
convulsing.

The anxiety attack started to get to Paxton, as well. When Traci
placed her soft hand on his shoulder to take his order, he grabbed her skinny
wrist with applied pressure. She looked down at him in shock, but didn’t say
anything: she still thought he was an Agent. Once he realized who it was, his
thoughts of snapping the wrist passed. He apologized before Boler mumbled his
order to her. She turned with hesitation to Paxton.

“And…for you, sir?” Traci asked.

“The usual,” Paxton replied. “Sorry again.”

“It’s okay, I’m sure that being an Agent is stressful.”

Their food arrived minutes later and Boler still had said nothing
to Paxton. The old veteran played around with his food. He entertained thoughts
about actually eating some of it this time, but again, thought better of it.
For Boler’s part, he seemed to be in a hungry mood, taking in spoonful after
spoonful of his soup. Paxton placed his fork down and peered into the mole’s
eyes.

“Greg,” Paxton said, “I appreciate you coming out here and
everything, but if we don’t have anything to talk about…”

“Look, man,” Boler blurted out, “they know.”

“What?”

“The church you guys saved, they know someone inside CA tipped you
off.”

“How do they know that?” Paxton asked. He took a bite from his
bitter salad.

Boler started to look around, again. Paxton reached up and touched
him on the shoulder which Boler promptly brushed off. For the first time, a bit
of sympathy over putting the kid through this swept over. There were other
times before when he would feel sorry for his rat, but never sympathy. Back
when Boler first agreed to this job, he was so overwhelmed with excitement
about being on the inside. He must have felt like top dog amongst the
resistance. Now, he was a pitiful man who wanted nothing more than to go home.

“You said to be patient,” Boler replied. “But, I can’t wait any
longer.”

“Listen, Greg, just stay cool and you’ll make it through this.”

“No, you listen to me, now.” Greg dropped his spoon and wiped the
sweat from his brow. “I’m done, all right? I asked you to get me out of this
and all you said was to be patient, but I can’t do this anymore. I don’t even
know why I’m meeting with you right now.”

“I’m sorry for any trouble I’ve caused…”

“Sorry? Sorry’s not going to cut it this time, they are onto me!”

The lunch crowd inside the diner looked directly at Boler. He
looked straight down and it was Paxton’s turn to grow nervous. Paxton held up
his right index finger over his lips. What he wanted to do was smack Boler over
the head. How stupid can one be? It would be one thing to think the USR was
onto you, but a simple phone call would have been fine. Instead, the silly son
of a bitch wants to meet face to face. He grabbed his cup of water, took a large
gulp, and placed it back down in front of him.

“Okay,” Paxton said in a low voice. “You want out? You’re out.
We’ll figure something out, but you can’t join with us again. Not right now,
anyways.”

“What am I supposed to do, then?”

“Pack up your things and get out of here.”

“What? That’s it.”

“That’s all we can do right now. You’ve been saving your credits,
right?”

“Yeah.”

“Pull them out of whatever bank you have, they’re going to freeze
your accounts once they realize you’ve skipped town.”

Boler leaned forward. “Fine, that’s great, just skip town, then
they’ll know for sure?”

“You can’t stay here. You know what they would do to you?”

“Yeah, they’d rip out my finger nails with an Army knife till I
spilled my guts.”

Paxton’s curiosity piqued. He sat up straight in his chair. “What
are you saying?”

“It was something they told me today…what I wanted to tell you.”

“What’s that?”

“They’ve got this guy named Travis Forte. He works in the RU.
Apparently, he takes his combat knife and rips out his suspect’s finger nails,
one by one, until they tell him what he wants to know.”

Those bastards, Paxton thought. The scowl on his face scared even
Boler a little bit. Of all the tactics to use, this was one of them? Torture…it
had its place, but it was to be reserved for the truly evil, not innocent men
and women. He made a mental note of Forte’s name. He must have been a prominent
Agent within the RU. Forte would have a wealth of knowledge that the team could
use. Paxton turned his attention back to Boler.

“Do they know anything, Greg?” Paxton asked.

“No, they don’t. Not from what I was told, anyway.”

“Who was this guy who questioned you?”

“William Sullivan, from the RU.”

“You got anything on this Forte guy?” Paxton wondered.

“Sure, I looked into his file. You know they keep detailed records
on all their people right?”

“Yeah, it’s a good thing Clarke’s got you covered.”

Boler nodded. “Right. He eats lunch at the same place every day, a
place downtown called The Red Horse.”

“The Red Horse?”

“Yeah, that’s where he’d be most vulnerable. Take him then.” Boler
said.

“We’ll get him, what about you?”

“I’m out of town today, as soon as my shift is over, if I can make
it till then.”

Paxton patted Boler’s shoulders again. “You’ll make it, just keep
your eyes peeled and don’t act suspicious.”

“They are going to know for sure it was me when you guys take out
Forte.”

Paxton sighed, “I know.”

“I wish I could help you guys out more…I really do.”

“You’ve help out enough…probably more than you should have. I’m
sorry again.”

“The best of luck to you guys. I mean that.”

“I’m going to make this up to you, I swear to God I will.” Paxton
lowered his head and rubbed at his hair. “I don’t know how, but when this is
all over, look me up.”

“When this is over?” Boler said with a hint of laugh. “How much
longer do you think you can keep going like this? How do you expect to take
them all out?”

“I don’t…I don’t know, yet. But, once people become more
informed…”

“Yeah, good luck with that. The public, they hate you. Why keep going?”

“Because…it’s the right thing to do.”

“The right thing to do? Do you still believe that?” Boler
demanded.

“With all that is within me…yes. You don’t know what it was like
before…you don’t know how much the USR has taken from you. All you know is what
I’ve told you, you’ve never experienced it for yourself. If you did, then you’d
know what I’m talking about.”

“Well,” Boler stood. “I hope you’re right.”

“I am.”

***

Kaspar sat on the back porch. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it
with his Zippo lighter. He stared off into the distance, breathed in the smoke,
and wondered what to do next. The smoke escaped his mouth. He had already
fired enough rounds at paper targets to the point where he no longer felt the
need nor the want to. Paxton left without saying anything. Clarke sat around at
his computer like always, Krys waxed her bike for the umpteenth time, and
Kilbourne seemed like an asshole.

Li, well he was a nice enough guy, but not very interesting, apart
from that trippy meditation thing. The look on Mother’s face when she shook her
head “no” began to wear at Kaspar’s mind. Just like her eyes the day he found
her dead. The longer he thought about it, the more he came to realize that
there were only two explanations for it: either she was saying it was not his
time to join her or that Kaspar should forget about getting revenge for her.
Could there be any other explanation?

“I’m bored,” Krys said from behind.

Kaspar took a drag from his cigarette and looked back. Krys smiled
at him, Kaspar returned the favor. He took another drag.

“I see you are still into killing yourself.” Krys said.

“I see you’re still into riding my ass.” Kaspar replied.

Krys winked, “You wish.”

The two of them fixed their gaze into the distance without saying
anything. Kaspar took several puffs on his cigarette before offering one to
Krys in a smart ass gesture. She reached down, grabbed the box, and crushed it
in her palm. Kaspar looked up at her in both shock and anger. She just smirked
back. What did she want, anyway?

“I was thinking about taking a ride on the bike, care to join?”
she asked.

“With the way you drive? No thanks.”

“I was going to go to the city…”

“What do you mean?” Kaspar wondered.

“I don’t know…grab a drink, have a conversation, maybe kick your
ass in pool…”

“Now who’s been spending time at the wishing well?”

“Is that a challenge, Mr. Kaspar?”

“No so much a challenge,” Kaspar replied as he let smoke escape
his mouth. “As stating the facts.”

“You think you can back up that talk, big boy?”

Kaspar took another drag and looked over at her. She smiled to him
and winked. He could not contain the smile on his face. Smiling, something that
Kaspar seemed to do more and more each day, each time he was with Krys. He
thought about what she was trying to do or not to do, but after a moment, he no
longer cared. What could it hurt? Maybe a little time away from this place
would do his mind some good.

“I thought going in without permission was forbidden.” Kaspar
said.

“It is. That’s why they call it ‘an adventure’.” Krys replied.

Self-doubt crept in. “I…don’t know…”

Krys’s posture and smile dropped. “Fine, you just stay here and
suck on that cancer stick. It
is
so much more entertaining out here.”

Krys stood and headed for the back door. Something inside of
Kaspar told him to wake his stupid ass up and follow her out. He took one last
drag and threw the remainder of the cigarette into the yard. He stood and
called for her to wait up.

“Get your ass ready,” Krys said when she turned. “I’m not going to
wait around forever.”

“Yes, your highness.” Kaspar replied with a bow.

“Just get ready, smartass.”

Kaspar ran up the stairs and into his bedroom. He switched his
loose sweatpants for pair of jeans, a gray tee, and his blue jacket. He noticed
Clarke eagerly typing away at his laptop computer on his way back out. Kaspar
tried to say hello, but Clarke did not acknowledge him at first. Something on
that screen captured his attention. Kaspar didn’t spend too much time trying to
figure out what it was.

What are you doing? Kaspar asked himself as he walked through the
opened garage and approached Krys’s bike. He walked up to the bike. Krys revved
the engine twice before she looked back. Someone began calling to them from
behind. It was a deep voice, fucking Ron Kilbourne’s deep voice.

“What are you two doing?” Kilbourne demanded.

“Just taking junior over there out for a spin.” Krys replied.

“You two just make sure you get back before Pax does.”

“No problem, Daddy.”

“I’m just looking out for you.” Kilbourne said.

Krys sighed, “I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry yourself about me.”

Kaspar looked back and nodded at Kilbourne, who acted like he
wasn’t there. Kilbourne turned and walked away, back to the weight room no
doubt. Kaspar ignored the apparent rudeness and approached the side of the
bike. Krys held out a black helmet for him. He took it and struggled to slip it
over his head. She played around with her hair a bit and then slipped her own
on.

“Sorry about that.” Krys said.

“About what?”

“Him, Ronnie. He treats me like I’m some kind of child or
something, I don’t know. Ever since I joined up, he’s always like, ‘Krys, don’t
do that’ or ‘Krys, stay away from that.’”

Kaspar still struggled with his helmet. He tried to get it as
comfortable as he could. What was with these things, anyway? He thought about
ditching the damn thing, but then remembered his last adventure on a motorcycle
with her. He gave up trying to be comfortable. He just hoped that if there was
to be a wreck, the discomfort would be worth it. Kaspar down, took a seat on
the bike, and then wrapped his arms around her waist. A strange feeling
overtook him as he did, though he was careful not to go too far up this time.
Krys revved the engine a couple of more times, all the while Kaspar could smell
something through his helmet. It smelled of lavender, and it was nice, really
nice in fact, to the nostrils.