Redemption (Enigma Black Trilogy Book #3) (14 page)

“That’s exactly what she’s saying,” the woman soldier answered. “I knew there was something not quite right. I always just thought that everyone was so well disciplined, always marching in unison, carrying out orders. They seemed so cohesive, a perfect unit ready to restore order. When I was recruited, I thought I was going to make a difference, protect our streets. But it’s all been nothing but bullshit.” Her eyes began to water, further angering her that much more.

“Recruited?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she answered. “Brooks is offering everyone who enlists a place to live outside the war zones, guaranteed safety and security, and their cost of living free of charge. People are enlisting in droves.”

“He’s building his own army,” Ian fumed.

“Please,” the woman soldier turned to address the rebels, “if you let us join you, you won’t be sorry. We’ll build an army of our own, replace those of you who were lost in battle at the address.”

The five rebels each looked at each other, conferring in silence, their facial expressions doing all the talking. “Okay,” Max spoke, “let’s take the soldiers to Marshall.”

“It’s Britta. And I’m no longer one of Brooks’ soldiers. I’m a rebel now.”

“I’m Tucker, and this is my brother, Gage,” one of the male soldiers introduced himself and his brother.

“Britta, Tucker, and Gage,” Max addressed them. “Follow us. Superheroes, freaks, whatever you are.” Max turned to face us, his disgust visibly evident.

“How about humans?” Ian said, sternly. “That’s what we are, after all. Human beings just like you.”

“Our names are Celaine and Ian,” I said, eyeing Ian. “If that helps.”

“Well, Ian and Celaine, I think we’re going to take you up on your offer and let Marshall decide what to do with you.” Max walked over to me, inspecting me thoughtfully. Beside me, Ian became rigid, even tense. “I think I’ll start with you.” Max patted me down head to toe thoroughly. A little too thoroughly.

“Don’t you think you’re getting a little handsy, there?” Ian asked, a warning present in his voice.

“Max,” one of the women rebellion members, warned.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Ian. I didn’t mean to make you jealous.” Max smirked, ignoring the warning. He then moved on to Ian, but not before shooting a wink at me to infuriate him even more. After an obvious quicker by comparison pat down of Ian, Max seemed satisfied with his inspection. “Okay, you two, turn around.”

Ian and I looked at each other, eventually complying with his request by turning around to face the empty street ahead of us. Almost immediately after I turned around, I felt something hard jab me in the back, its distinct circular shape clearly identifying it.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Ian shouted, whirling around to confront Max, who responded by turning the gun on Ian.

“Do you seriously think I’m going to allow you to walk freely down these streets with us without some sort of reassurance that you’re not going to turn on us like Brooks’ soldiers did? Just call this insurance. You see, I don’t know how you did things in your world, but in our world trust isn’t just given away willy-nilly like some cheap carnival prize. In our world, trust is earned from loyalty and a willingness to make the ultimate sacrifice for the greater good. Now, if you’ll kindly turn around, I’d like to get back to base before sunrise.”

“Turn left down the next alleyway,” Max ordered, shoving the barrel of his pistol harder into my shoulder blades. Though it was nearly morning, the streets seemed darker somehow, as though the night clung on for dear life, unwilling to allow the sun to shove it aside. In the darkness, I stumbled as my foot hit a pothole. Max caught me mid-fall, a nice gesture that quickly became overshadowed by the feeling of his gun pressed firmly against my back once more. “On your right you’ll come to a stack of cardboard. Stop there.”

Max ushered Ian and I off to the side, pointing the gun at both of us now instead of just me, while the other rebels moved the cardboard aside, revealing a hidden doorway. One of the women knocked on the door four times in rapid succession, paused, and then knocked again another seven times. Slowly, the door creaked open and she spoke quietly to the person on the other side, her mumbles hard to discern. In the next instant, she looked both in our and the former soldiers’ direction, lingering longer on Ian and I, and then gestured for everyone to follow her inside.

The smell of mold struck me as soon as I entered the darkened corridor. This building had clearly sat abandoned for a long time, gathering enough dust to put anyone with an allergy in a coma. I stretched out my arms. As I expected, the corridor was narrow, only wide enough for two people of average size to walk side by side. A part of me wondered what the darkness concealed in the hallway. Pictures of a long-forgotten era hanging on the wall? Wood paneling? The heads of those who dared to betray the sacred oath of the rebellion? I shuddered, deciding that the darkness may not be so bad after all.

In front of us, the faint light from a flashlight was the only source of illumination guiding everyone down the hallway. “What is this place?” I asked.

“An old bed and breakfast, built back in the eighteen hundreds,” Max answered, making it a point to press his gun to my back once more to let me know that neither he nor it were going anywhere.

We rounded a corner, which brought an abrupt end to the corridor and the sight of an impressively large lobby, dimly lit by several lanterns. As my eyes adjusted to the welcoming light, I looked around the rebels’ hideout. In the lobby sat several antiquated chairs and a loveseat all upholstered in a velvet-like fabric the deepest shade of blue I have ever seen. They were all strategically placed around a rustic fireplace that had long since served its intended purpose. On the walls, paintings of the Capitol were displayed, depicting scenes untouched by Brooks’ tyranny, a happier time few of us could remember.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here? Fresh meat?” I turned my head to see a young man, barely out of his teenage years, sitting at the check-in area, his feet propped up on the desk. He inspected the three former soldiers, his eyes widening when he noticed Ian and I in the back of the crowd. “Holy shit, no way,” he said, his feet betraying him by sliding off the desk, forcing him to catch himself before he fell out of his chair. “You brought
them
with you? Are they our prisoners? But, but, how—”

“They saved our lives after we were ambushed,” the rebel who had been held captive outside the warehouse said. “The two of them came with us willingly because they wanted to and are most certainly not our prisoners, no matter what Max may say.”

“That’s for Marshall to decide, not you, Jill,” Max muttered.

“Speaking of Marshall,” Jill said, ignoring Max, “is he here?”

“Yeah, he went to bed a couple of hours ago.”

“Will you wake him and have him come downstairs, please, Drake? Tell him we have a few important issues that we need to address sooner rather than later.”

“No problem.” Drake sprang up from behind the desk, still staring in awe at Ian and me as though taking his eyes off us would cause us to disappear like we’d never existed. His feet hurriedly thumped against the worn hardwood floors, the sound eventually disappearing altogether when he climbed the stairs, taking two at a time.

“Seriously, Max, you can drop the gun now. You may be our self-proclaimed leader on the streets, but that leadership expires the second we arrive back at base.”

“Oh, Jill, let the poor man feel like he’s important for once in his life,” the young woman rebel who Ian led out of the warehouse chimed in.

“Shut up, Cassie,” Max sneered.

From upstairs, the stirring of several pairs of feet hitting the floor made everyone’s eyes trail up toward the ceiling.

“Good Lord, Drake’s gone and woken up the whole joint,” Jill mused.

“Did you expect him not to?” Cassie, her face dotted with soot from the fire, rolled her eyes. “You would think they were the second coming of Christ with the way he kept staring at them.” She glanced over at Ian and smiled. “Though I guess in a way they were an answer to our prayers.”

“My, it is true,” a familiar voice said. I turned my head to see Marshall Leitner and two other men standing with him, one of whom I recognized as Brad, the soldier I’d spoken to at the address.

“Brad!” Britta squealed, running over to him and embracing him in her arms. “I thought you were dead, at least that’s what they told us at the briefing, that you had been among the casualties at the address.”

“I’m beginning to wonder whether we were told any truths at all,” Brad said. “But I guess that wasn’t a lie entirely. I suppose a part of me did die at the address—the prisoner being held captive by Brooks.” He looked up at me and smiled. “Thank you for that, by the way. I always hoped I’d be able to tell you that someday.” I nodded, smiling in return.

“Max,” Marshall admonished, “though I appreciate your devotion to the safety and security of us all, I am only going to tell you once to remove the gun from our guest’s back.” Reluctantly, Max lowered his gun and shoved it in his holster, letting out a sigh. “By the way, how are you doing, my dear?” Marshall asked me, visibly concerned. “You seem much better than the last time we met.”

“I am, thank you,” I answered him. “My wound has healed remarkably well.”

“Yeah, uh, sorry about that,” the other man who’d come downstairs with Marshall stammered.

“Oh, so you were the one who shot her,” Ian sneered. “Good to know.”

“Trust me, Bruce here felt terribly about our little misunderstanding.” Marshall glanced at Ian, trying to pacify him. Beside Marshall, Bruce seemed to shrink away from Ian’s glare.

“It’s okay.” I placed my hand on Ian’s back to calm him down. “I know it was all a big misunderstanding and I don’t blame Bruce at all. Actually, I probably would have done the same thing had our roles been reversed.” Bruce perked up a bit, but was still wary of Ian’s presence.

“Tell me,” Marshall began again, “what can I do for the two of you?”

“I think we need to be on an equal footing first,” I said. I unclasped my helmet and removed both it and my mask. Next to me, Ian followed my lead.

“My God, they’re nothing more than kids.” We all turned to see what was most likely everyone in the building gathered at the base of the stairs, staring at us. “I told you they were human,” a voice in the crowd said. “You owe me ten bucks, Ben.”

“My name is Celaine Stevens and this is my partner, Ian Grant. We’ve come here because, like the rest of you, we feel like we’ve been lied to. A year ago, we were both recruited by an organization that we thought was formed for the sole purpose of finding and apprehending The Man in Black. However, in recent months we’ve been forced to act as nothing more than puppets to Brooks. After I recovered from the wound I received at the address, we left, hoping to find you and join your fight. Because no matter how badly we want to take down The Man in Black, we know he isn’t the true villain in this story.”

Extending his hand toward us, Marshall smiled. “Then may I be the first to welcome you to the rebellion, Celaine and Ian.”

“Leave me,” President Brooks fumed to his aide, unable to take his eyes away from the screen in front of him.

The aide quickly rushed out of the room and locked the door behind him. On the screen, a video played, footage captured by a bystander who’d kept himself hidden in one of the many buildings near the warehouse where the skirmish between the rebels and the soldiers had taken place. Though the footage was grainy, decidedly dark and inaudible at times, what little it did show was clear. Infuriated, he picked up his phone.

“You and your operation are done, Victor,” he all but yelled into the receiver. “I don’t care how much of the video your little lap dog has been able to alter since it initially went online, enough people saw the real one already. Enough to make a huge difference in the way the rebellion and your superheroes may be viewed in the eyes of the public. Both you and your project have failed me miserably.”

“I am only going to ask you once to take your tone down a notch, Carver. You’ve obviously forgotten who helped get you where you are today. Without The Epicenter, The Man in Black, and my research, you would be nothing, and if you weren’t so blinded by tunnel vision, then you would be able to see this for what it could be. An opportunity. The only thing that video proves is that Celaine and Ian have defected, suckered in by the rebels. They’ve turned and are now a threat on the same level as The Man in Black. Do you have any idea what that will do to the country’s morale? Their hope will be all but gone, leaving only room for compliance with everything that comes out of your mouth. This turn of events, though maddening, can be used to our advantage with a little ingenuity.”

“You’ve always been able to talk your way out of situations, Victor. But this time the tightrope you’ve been balancing on so precariously these last few years is about to give way, and you will have no net to catch you when you fall.”

“I understand.”

“If what you’re proposing does not work and the people are not swayed, you’d better be prepared to face the consequences. Yes, I do owe you a great deal for what you’ve helped me achieve, but don’t forget that a great deal of my success has also come from my actions and only my actions, and I’m sincerely beginning to question whether or not there is a need for either you or The Man in Black anymore.”

“If you find a way to turn this into an opportunity rather than a setback, you will have the people eating out of your hands again, Carver. And as far as The Man in Black is concerned, I must say, I tend to agree with you. It is time that he is put to pasture, and he will be, but not before he’s given one last hurrah. A send-off unlike any our country has ever seen before.”

I awoke to light. The smallest of rays that had somehow found their way through the slats across the only window in the small, closet-like room assigned to Ian. They had originally assigned me to share with Jill, keeping the single occupants segregated by gender, but our protests had caused them to change their plans—and raise their eyebrows. With just over twenty rooms, housing anywhere from two to three occupants, the group hiding within the walls of the nondescript bed and breakfast was one of the larger organized groups of rebels in Washington, D.C., with several smaller and larger groups scattered around the city.