The Alliance (34 page)

 

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins
Publishers

....................................

Chapter
95

My wife has left me, as if she could make that choice. The grand commander is furious. He fears that if she escapes the country foreigners will not understand our new way of life and send whatever armies they have inside to stop us. I have put all my efforts into finding her.

—­The journal of Isaac Ryland

Everything was in place for the wedding. Grant sat at his desk and twirled a pen in his hand. Things were looking up. His ascension to supreme leader was secure, he had the code to the Registry, and Amelia Morrissey was dead. But Grant knew those who supported her were still in the country. He pulled out his file on Amelia, the one Rex had wanted to steal. He flopped out the photographs. One of Andrew, one of Carter, one of Roderick, one of Alex, and one of Frank. Photos of Amelia's mother and sister were not necessary; they would be useless in any attempt to overthrow him. Grant was still missing the image of the redhead and the two agents who'd fled the burning orphanage.

He assumed the two unknown agents were part of Mia's secret society and trained fighters. The redhead was some sort of assassin and could not be underestimated. It made Grant uneasy that they were in his country and nobody was searching for them.

Still, there was nothing they could want directly from Grant except revenge. Grant had already requested the security at tomorrow night's event be tripled and didn't think he had a thing to worry about. As far as stopping the Registry, the only two ­people who knew the code were himself and Ian. If everything went according to plan soon only one person would know the code. A knock on his office door startled Grant. Before Grant could invite the person in, the door swung open. Ian walked into the room with a bottle of liquor and two glasses.

“I was delighted to accept your invitation,” Ian said. “I thought we could celebrate tonight. This is a reserve scotch from my private collection.”

He poured two glasses and handed one to Grant. This was the way it should be: Grant on the powerful side of the desk and Ian on the other. Grant asked Ian if he wanted a guest room at his house for the evening. With the running around going on tonight and in the morning, Grant insisted.

“I have some concerns,” Grant said. “About security. Will the Mission be guarded tomorrow night?”

“Of course,” Ian said. “Not everyone is invited to your wedding. Do you have reason to believe we need extra security?”

“A hunch,” Grant said. “There are those who wish us ill.”

“If that were the case they would be better off attacking your home,” Ian said. “The most important ­people in the country will be here. If anything happened to us it would be pandemonium out there.”

Grant smiled. Ian did have a point and calmed Grant's nerves. Taking out the master Registry was an impossibility. They were much more vulnerable here. Besides, as soon as Grant got Ian out of the way he would not have to explain the rationale behind his decisions.

“Let me show you to your room,” Grant said.

He picked up a file on the desk and led Ian out into the hallway. Two guards were at the door waiting to follow them.

“Gentlemen, please trust that I am as safe here as in my own home,” Ian said. “I do not need you to escort me.”

A smile crossed Grant's lips. The old man was making this easier for him.

 

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins
Publishers

....................................

Chapter
96

It has been three days and I still have not located my wife. I asked for satellite surveillance or any technology available. The grand commander refused my requests. He claims technological advances are what led to America's downfall. I must respect his wisdom.

—­The journal of Isaac Ryland

Ian's room was one of Grant's least favorite. The color scheme was yellow and gold. It was hard not to feel warm in the large suite, but it did not fit in with the rest of his home. Grant walked in first and went straight toward the bathroom door, dropping the file he was carrying on the bed. He flipped on the lights and went under the sink.

“I don't think I've ever seen this room before,” Ian said.

“I'm not as proud of it as the others,” Grant said from the bathroom.

He pulled out the bag he had hidden under there earlier and took out a syringe, an array of knives, and a yellow rain jacket. Grant put the jacket on first, then took the needle out, tucked the black canvas bag under his arm, and went back into the main room. Ian had picked up the file and started looking through it.

“What is all of this?” Ian asked.

Grant tried hard to hide his giddiness. If he laughed his ribs ached from the beating he had received yesterday morning. Ian looked over at Grant; his mouth hung open and his brow crunched down. Grant brought up his free hand and stuck the man in the neck with the solution Dr. Schaffer had prepared earlier. Ian started to fall and Grant made sure to push him onto the bed.

“I know you can still hear me,” Grant said. “Now, what question should I answer first?”

Grant turned Ian's face so he was staring at him. Even though the paralytic had made it impossible for Ian to move his facial features, Grant recognized the terror in his eyes and it sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine.

“I learned my lesson recently about getting clothing dirty,” Grant said. “Hence the raincoat.”

Ian's eyes strained to move, but Grant knew it wasn't possible.

“This file is your medical history,” Grant said. “I had my personal physician prepare it himself.”

Grant reached down and grabbed the file. He started to pull out the pieces of paper and hold them in front of Ian's face.

“As you can read, it says you have been suffering from severe depression,” Grant said. “An archaic disease that struck the mind. The doctor has prescribed you a variety of medications and urges you to step down from your position.”

Grant flipped through the pages.

“It describes how you confessed your desire to step down but feared the humiliation that would come along with it,” Grant said. “I won't bore you with the details.”

A single piece of paper was left. A small note. Grant waved it in front of the man's face.

“I'm not sure if you remember handing this to me,” Grant said. “But let me read it out loud for you: ‘Grant, Best of luck. Ian.' I know you meant that as encouragement when I was heading to check out the French disaster, but I think it makes a decent suicide note.”

Grant took the file and placed it in Ian's hand. Then he watched as it tumbled out onto the floor. Next Grant unrolled his knives. He made sure to take his time, picking up each of them and examining its sharpness.

“I have wanted to kill you since the third time we met,” Grant said.

He tapped the knife on his chin, as if he were struggling to remember some important detail.

“Or maybe it was the second,” Grant said. “I can't be sure.”

Grant put the knife down and picked up a plain kitchen knife.

“Ah,” Grant said. “This one will do the trick.”

He moved behind Ian and placed the knife into the man's right hand. Grant kept his fingers tight around Ian's hand, forcing the man to grip the instrument of death. He brought the blade to Ian's neck and pressed it down hard enough so blood started to pool.

“I suppose some last words are in order,” Grant said. “Since you can't speak I'll have to think of what you might say. I'll go with: ‘I am an outdated fool.' ”

As Grant pronounced the last L, he dragged the knife across Ian's throat in a slow motion. Ian's flesh splitting made an almost crunching sound. Once Grant had made it the entire way across he got up from the bed and moved in front of Ian. The man was still alive; Grant wasn't sure which would kill him first, exsanguination or drowning from choking on his own blood. Either way suited Grant's needs. He reached down to Ian's shirt and plucked off the pin the old man admired so much.

After picking up his knife set, Grant carefully removed the rain slicker. He turned off all of the lights and went into the hallway. He stopped in his room, hid the evidence of his crime to destroy later, and made sure no blood was on his clothing before heading down the steps. The grand commander's guards were posted at his front door.

“Ian was feeling a bit emotional,” Grant said. “He asked that we leave him for the evening and that someone wake him up by seven
A.M
.”

The two guards nodded and did not seem to take an interest in Grant's jovial mood. He made his way toward the banquet hall, thrilled that tomorrow would be not only his wedding, but the ceremony cementing his absolute power.

 

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins
Publishers

....................................

Chapter
97

The truck stopped for the fifth time and I had to get out. I needed to find water and food, but I couldn't risk it. So I laid my weak head down and continued on to my unknown destination.

—­The diary of Megan Jean

Mia did her best to untangle herself from Andrew's legs. She went to the closet and grabbed the first thing she got ahold of before heading into the hall. She was relieved nobody had made it to the shower before she did.

After Mia was done washing up she pulled on the blue-­and-­purple-­print dress she had grabbed in the dark. It had a square neckline and princess sleeves. Mia wished she had grabbed sweatpants but was happy to have clean clothes.

When Mia made it down the stairs Greg was serving breakfast. Riley was seated at the table. She was wearing the same black outfit Mia always saw her in.

“Do you have an unlimited number of tight black pants?” Mia asked.

“Black is my color,” Riley said. “Sit.”

“Are we going over everything again?” Mia asked.

“You know that's how I work,” Riley said.

Greg dropped a plate of pancakes off at the table.

“Grant's wedding starts at eight o'clock tonight,” Mia said. “Nothing will happen until close to then. We split up in our groups, and I explain my story on television once we get the go-­ahead that the Registry has been destroyed.”

“Corinna, Frank, Trent, and Alex will be with you the whole time,” Riley said.

“I'm not nervous,” Mia said. “Your group has the harder mission.”

“You should be nervous,” Zack said.

Mia hadn't even noticed he was downstairs. He held his phone in his hand; his body was stiff and Mia thought there was some sweat forming on his forehead.

“What is it?”

“Last night Grant murdered the grand commander,” Zack said. “He was wearing his American flag pin and Affinity has the whole thing recorded. They want you to introduce the video along with your speech.”

“Do you think showing a brutal murder on television will help our cause?” Mia asked. “We don't need it.”

“Some Americans may be sympathetic toward Grant if his only concern is with a runaway wife, but nobody will able to look the other way over killing the supreme leader,” Zack said. “Even if we fail at destroying the master server you are going on television to present this.”

“Will Affinity's hackers take out the online copies?” Riley asked.

“We need them to,” Zack said. “Or else someone will download it and another master list will be created, but if we take out the master at the same time the copies are destroyed, there is no backup. It would take years to gather all the information again and who knows how many ­people would deflect in the meantime? It will start a rebellion.”

“How long will it take to destroy the copies?” Mia asked.

“Not as long as you think,” Zack said. “Affinity has destroyed it before. But it will be useless without the destruction of the master list. Mia, your story and this video can start a revolution regardless.”

Mia knew Zack was passionate about stopping the Registry. His whole life revolved around bringing an end to the suffering in America.

“What if during this revolution you predict, another leader rises who wants to continue with the information they already have accessible, the Registry? It will just create a contest to see who gets there first,” Riley said.

“She's right,” Mia said. “Destroying the master needs to stay the top priority.”

“No,” Zack said. “Your speech is now more important. Affinity sent me a copy of what you're supposed to say.”

“Then stay with me,” Mia said. “Send someone in your place to plant the virus.”

“That might work better,” Riley said. “With your injured shoulder you're a liability.”

“You have an injured leg,” Zack said.

“A bullet grazed me,” Riley said. “I'm fine.” She stood up from her chair and started doing jumping jacks to drive her point home.

“Who will go in my place?” Zack asked.

As if on cue footsteps came down the hall. Mia turned to see a sleepy Trent Quillian walk into the room. He seemed oblivious to all the eyes on him.

“Do you have any coffee?” he asked.

“Andrew assures me we can trust him,” Mia said.

“Trust who?” Trent asked.

He took a cup of coffee from Greg and sat down next to where Riley was standing.

“What's your story, red, you got a husband?” Trent asked.

Riley brought her fist down into Trent's stomach. He dropped his cup of coffee and raised his hands to defend himself as he sprang up from the table.

“He'll do just fine,” Riley said.

“What was that all about?” Trent asked.

“We leave here at noon,” Greg said. “Someone better clean up that spilled coffee and broken mug before then.”