Shadow Fall (The Shadow Saga) (43 page)

The corporal was reluctant, but he would not refuse an order from an Admiral, much less the overseer of Specter. He bowed his head and gave Grace a suspicious look before departing back down the corridor. McCall watched her in silence until the dungeon door slammed shut, leaving them alone.

“You can drop the farce now, Commander Sawyer,” McCall said. “There are few places left in the palace without surveillance, but this is—ironically—one of them. That was a brave thing you did on that platform yesterday, but you didn’t do it to buy a few more hours for yourself. You did it to save him. You are a fool if you believe he will leave you here to die. The only question is what the manner of his return will be.”

“You were once a lieutenant commander in Silent Thunder,” Grace said, feeling a sudden need to regain the upper hand. At McCall’s wide eyes some of her anxiety left her, “I know things, too, Admiral.”

“I have no doubt of that,” he said, not as off-balance as she might have liked. “Your father told you then, did he? Did he also tell you how that phase of my life ended?”

“He told me you were the best man under his command, a good soldier and a loyal friend. Of all those who left Silent Thunder during the Sundering, yours was the betrayal that hurt him the most. Why did you go?”

McCall frowned with genuine regret, “One side favored reconciliation…the other, revenge. You will never know the world we came from, Commander, a world of prosperity and promise that was taken from us by the greed of the Persian warlords. Silent Thunder was sent overseas to neutralize the threat of nuclear war, but when we returned it was to find our cities pillaged and destroyed, our families depleted or gone, and the futures for which we had fought completely swept away. We rooted out the Persians who remained in our country after their empire’s fall, but it was not enough. I lost my wife, my two sons, their wives, and five grandchildren when the Persians invaded. I did not want peace. I did not want reconciliation. I wanted blood, and that put your father and I on opposite sides.

“I never dreamed it would come to the violent battle waged at the Sundering nor the personal war that followed. If I had I might have chosen differently.”

“Yet here you are, still serving the monster you helped to create,” Grace said coldly.

McCall smiled, “You disappoint me, Commander. I thought you said you knew things. I had hoped it to be true, so that you could assure me the Specter Captain won’t be returning at the head of the Phantom Army.”

“Our officers are smarter than that, Admiral,” Grace said. “An infantry strike on the palace would be suicide even for a force ten times what we are.”

“True,” McCall said. “But some men would be willing to follow a Charity against the very gates of Hell.”

Grace’s expression went slack and her face turned white. Flustered and unsure she had heard the admiral correctly, she shook her head, “I, uh…I don’t—”

McCall stepped up to the bars and broke in with a fervent whisper, “Relax, Commander. Despite what you may believe about me, I assure you that we are not enemies. I have known the Shadow Soldier’s secret for a long time…before you, before Crenshaw, in the days when the resistance was nothing more than a dream.”

“I don’t understand,” Grace said. “You are a System soldier…you trained Specter to fight us…”

“I have done what I must to be placed where I am,” he replied. “You were commander of Silent Thunder for three days. The rebellion has been back in the fight for three months. Your father was on board for two years, and Crenshaw four. But all of that,
everything
has been leading up to one day—
this
day—and I have been a part of that plan for the better part of a decade. Admiral James McCall is my mask, Commander Sawyer. You know the true man by another name.”

Grace’s fear and anxiety melted away, replaced by exhilaration and astonishment, “You’re him. You’re the Right Hand.”

McCall nodded, “I apologize that I could not make contact with you after your father’s death. He was a great man, and will be greatly missed. Truth be told, I did not expect you to hold Silent Thunder together long enough to complete the three-fold strike. For that you are to be commended.”

“But…how?” Grace asked, still trying to recover from her shock. “How can you have played both sides for so long?”

“When Jonathan destroyed the first Specter Spire there were only three of us left who had betrayed Silent Thunder,” McCall explained. “The Grand Admiral—Donalson’s predecessor—did not last the day, as he failed to bring proof of Elijah Charity’s demise. That left two of us. I was shipped off to an obscure assignment in Division Two, and for five years after Jonathan’s death I had ample time to realize how terrible was my betrayal. Napoleon Alexander’s order turned out to be the very authoritarianism that the Persians had sought to impose, though his policies reached further than even they intended to go. Information was limited, but I heard rumors from across the sea: viral warfare in Asia, genocide in Persia, the virtual obliteration of the populations of Russia and China when they refused to be assimilated into the World System…evils that no sane man could accept.

“So I began to seek out your father and General Crenshaw, not knowing if they were alive but hoping it was so, to come up with a way to use my position to bring Alexander down from the inside. But another man found me first. A powerful man…a dangerous man, who made me his Right Hand and set the resistance into motion. He helped me find Crenshaw, and then your father, adding layer upon layer to an operation centered around one incredible truth.”

“That Elijah Charity was alive, and you would make him the next MWR,” Grace finished.

“Yes,” McCall nodded. “I see Crenshaw has told you our endgame.”

“A game in which you have played God with men’s lives.”

“Perhaps,” he admitted. “But sometimes a lesser evil is necessary to conquer a greater.”

“No evil should be embraced, whatever the reason.”

“Something your father would say,” McCall said, lips thin with displeasure. “A noble but naïve vision, Commander. Nothing is ever so black and white. Hundreds if not thousands have died as a result of Grand Admiral Donalson’s purge—an event that would not have happened if Silent Thunder had never returned to the city. If you knew in the beginning that all those innocent people would die, would you still have fought this war?”

“I could not have known—”

“But if you
did
,” McCall said forcefully. “Would it have changed anything?”

“No,” she said. “But I did not make a conscious decision that led to that end! Your friends in the Republic have knowingly used all of us as pawns! How long have you known about Eli? What
else
might you have done to save him? And all the brave men who died in these three attacks…how many of them might have lived if they knew they were only pieces in your game?”

“We are all pieces in a game, Commander,” McCall said. “Civilization’s game, played over and over again from the dawn of time. The World System, the Republic, the Shadow Soldier, you, and me—we all have our place in that game, but at this moment yours and mine have come together for a chance to turn the tide.”

“How might we do that?”

“There are many reasons I kept my identity secret from your father and Crenshaw, but chief among them was the chance that my skills would one day land me back in Alexandria.”

“So why now?” Grace asked. “Why reveal your identity to me?”

“Because after today it will no longer matter,” McCall smiled. “As I said before, all of the plans of the last decade have been in preparation for
this
day. You see, Commander Sawyer: I have stood by as men have been used in this game of ours, I won’t deny that. But the difference between me and men like Napoleon Alexander is that I’m not afraid to be the one to make the sacrifice when my time comes.”

“So what is it that you want me to do?” she asked.

“I need you to provide a distraction in the Crown Section and draw the guards away from the MWR’s quarters where I am about to take you.”

“Why?”

“Because,” his eyes narrowed with fiery determination. “Today is the day I kill Napoleon Alexander.”

36

301
NODDED CASUALLY AT
the tower guard as he passed through the palace defense ring, continuing on foot into the courtyard for the last leg of his long walk. By now his face was recognizable to even the lowest Great Army soldier, so there were no questions as to where he had been or why. The tower commander had informed him of a summons from the MWR, which came as no surprise. With Grace in custody and him supposedly responsible, the MWR would want to congratulate him personally.

He declined to take a vehicle, as every few minutes he flashed back briefly to a memory of the past. Better that he stumble or fall on foot rather than wreck an armored car. The episodes would make him appear drunk to an onlooker, but he didn’t care. As he gazed up at the palace he could only think of two things: staying tethered to his present reality, and finding a way to get Grace out of there alive. He made his approach from the southwest, shadows of the gold spike on the southern arm and the gothic cathedral on the west stretching almost to the place where he walked. But if Grace still lived she would be in the dungeons beneath the Crown Section pillar, a structure he now looked upon with disdain. That his sweat and blood had been spent to preserve the home of his mother’s murderer in that pillar irked him to no end. One day Napoleon Alexander would pay…and pay dearly.

But first, Grace.

A vision of her blue green-eyes in the face of a young girl flashed before his eyes. He stumbled, but snapped back before he fell on his face. He shook it off and walked on, gritting his teeth and balling his hands into fists as if that might ward off the effects of defragmentation. But four strides later another came, this one new, of a man standing over him holding a Gladius with a crystal casing—just like the one he carried now at his back.

He froze, knowing who the man in that vision must be: his father, Jonathan Charity. It was the first time he had seen a memory of the man, and he couldn’t help but want more. He had regained a sense of his mother, but when it came to his father everything was still a blur. He continued walking, wishing that his father’s blade held some power with which he might free Grace. But
Pax Aeterna
was just a sword like any other, important only because of its history.

The only thing standing between Grace and certain death was the hope that he could manage some miracle to deliver her…but with every flash back to his past he feared that his mind might soon be overthrown. If he could only hold it together long enough to see her safely away, he didn’t really care what happened to him.
Everyone dies
, he thought.
I might as well go down for something I believe in.

But he would not go down alone. Whatever the outcome of this rescue attempt, those who stood against him would taste the fire of
Pax Aeterna
. And before all was said and done, the World System would bleed.

-X-

Grace walked down the hallways of the Crown Section with a firm countenance, her hands bound behind her back. Hateful stares followed her as she approached the doors to Napoleon Alexander’s chambers, but she refused to look downcast or defeated. She held her head high and even managed a confident smile for their entrance.

McCall played his part well in leading her to the gallows, as she knew he would. The man had managed to fool everyone in the World System for more than a decade, and would not falter now. She hoped he survived this ordeal long enough to be redeemed in the eyes of his former Silent Thunder comrades. Unfortunately, the chances of that—even if his mission succeeded—were slim.

The golden doors opened and he urged her forward, whispering low in her ear, “This is it, Commander. Remember the plan, and God be with you.”

And with you
, she wanted to say.

Napoleon Alexander sat up straight in his chair and flashed a victorious smile upon their entry, “Thank you, Admiral. I can take it from here.”

Grace looked back at him, encouraged by the concern she saw in his eyes. This, he had warned, would be the most difficult part for her. But Alexander must be lulled even further into a feeling of safety, for pride would be his only undoing. McCall gave her a barely noticeable nod, and departed. She felt sad as she watched him go; they would probably never see one another again in this life.

The doors clicked shut and she turned her attention to Napoleon Alexander, who rose slowly from his seat and eyed her with a lewd interest. “The spitting image of your mother,” he said, spitefully reminiscent. “Like the taste of something wonderfully bitter and sweet at the same time.” He walked casually around the desk to stand in front of her, words dripping with cruel sarcasm, “I was there the night she died giving birth to you, you know. Such a sad, sad night. As it so happens, that was the very same night I envisioned the World System and counted what it would cost to conquer a world.”

“Apparently you didn’t hold your soul in high regard.”

Alexander’s expression soured, “I see you are your father’s daughter…and is that a bit of Lauren Charity I sense as well? Tell me: how did it feel for you the day she died?”