The Collection (4 page)

Chapter 7

GRANT MARSDEN TO MAKE FIRST PUBLIC APPEARANCE SINCE HIS LOSS; RUMORED TO BE DELIVERING IMPORTANT MESSAGE ON SAFETY FOR ALL FEMALES

—
American Gazette

“Welcome back. For those of you just joining in, tonight's guest is Mr. Grant Marsden. Mr. Marsden, you recently lost your young wife. How are you feeling?”

Frustrated
,
Grant thought. He would feel happy when she finally died.

“I feel a lot of pain,” Grant said. “Some anger too.”

“Absolutely,” Greg Finnegan replied.

The Greg Finnegan Show.
Grant couldn't believe this was his first television appearance. People swore by Greg, citing him as the most honest man in America. He gave the people their news Monday through Friday at seven
P.M
. Grant thought the man was a phony. Nobody is honest all the time. Sitting in the studio in another suit and tie, Grant was trying his hardest to play the grieving widower. Greg Finnegan wasn't doing much to help that portrayal by asking personal questions Grant wanted only to give impersonal responses to.

Grant smoothed out his tie; it was made of fine silk. The suit was from his collection and at least the fabric was to his standards. His hair was parted down the middle and gelled back. Grant made sure to flash his smile whenever possible. He was the new poster boy for America.

“Do you think you'll ever find love again?” Greg asked.

This was killing Grant. Love was a myth and not something Grant ever bothered trying to obtain. But that wasn't a response he could provide. He had to phrase his answer in a way that would allow him to keep the respect of the male population and the admiration of the females. It was like a logic puzzle.

“All relationships are unique,” Grant said. “I look forward to the day I am ready to start anew.”

Grant knew this interview was some form of a test. He was surprised none of the questions had been provided beforehand with the answers drafted by the capital. Now Grant had to figure out what the test was for.

“Well, if there are any young ladies out there watching I'm sure they're hoping your next choice is them,” Greg said.

Grant gave a small smile and a laugh.

“Is there anything else you would like the public to know?” Greg asked.

“Yes.” Grant turned his head so he could talk directly into the camera. “I want to speak to the young ladies out there who are watching. This was a tragedy. It is a dangerous world out there for girls. Remember to listen to your fathers and, when the time comes, your husbands. That's the only way to protect yourself.”

“Wonderful advice from a humble man,” Greg said. “Thanks to all our viewers for tuning in. See you tomorrow.”

“Cut,” the director yelled.

Greg Finnegan pulled off his microphone. Grant did the same.

“This will air in a few hours,” Greg said. “Your story is very compelling. Poor . . . Mina, was it?”

“The focus isn't on her death, it's on me and my recovery,” Grant said, ignoring Greg's question.

“Which, I might add, is remarkable,” Greg said. “Has it even been forty-eight hours?”

“Her funeral is tomorrow,” Grant said. “I am doing remarkably well.”

He didn't appreciate Greg's undertone.

“I'll be in attendance,” Greg said. His steely eyes belied his famous smile. “Don't worry. Everything will be edited and cut together. You'll show just the right balance of charm and mourning.”

Grant loosened his tie, stood up, and walked off the stage. He hoped this media parade wouldn't last too long. There were other, more pressing matters that required his attention.

Chapter 8

Four years of mandatory service isn't enough. Why, each man should serve ten before accessing the Registry.

—Opinion from the
American Gazette

A key slid into the lock. The turning metal broke Andrew from his trance. He jumped up from the ground and tried to brush the dirt off his white scrubs. There was nothing for Andrew to defend himself with, but the solitude was pushing his brain into overdrive and he welcomed any knowledge about his current situation.

Three men walked into the room, all dressed in camouflage fatigues. It was the uniform Andrew had spent most of his life coveting. The oldest of the three walked to the far side of the table and sat down. He was in his forties, with tanned skin and a cap covering his head. The two others were much younger. They carried rifles and stood on either side of the seated man.

“Please, Andrew, have a seat,” he said.

Looking for options and seeing only one, Andrew sat down.

“My name is General Bolivar,” the man said with a thick Spanish accent. “I'm here to welcome you and give you the orientation.”

The man expected Andrew to speak, but he didn't want to break the silence.

“Your friend Carter has a much different attitude than you,” General Bolivar said. “He was less responsive, had too many questions, howled at the door for release, and tried his hardest to attack my men. Why is it you two are so different?”

Andrew still didn't say anything.

“Maybe it is because he was raised in a loving home and you were tossed out by your country, forced to live on the streets.”

This wasn't good. Andrew tried to keep his features still, but he worried about what else Carter might have told them.

“We're going to give you a new country to fight for,” the general said. “A new cause to take up. I think you'll fit right in down here.”

“I don't need a new cause,” Andrew said.

“He speaks,” the general said. “In that case I'll shoot you dead on the spot. If you try to escape I'll shoot you. If you give less than one hundred percent I'll shoot you. If you cause any problems I'll shoot you. Do you understand?”

Andrew nodded. One escape attempt was all he had. Andrew knew he needed to plan wisely.

“By leaving your country prior to service in their armed forces you are guilty of treason. I say treason against a disgraceful nation is not a crime,” the general said. “You will join our cause. You will fight for us. You will belong and work as a team with your fellow soldiers.”

For some reason this man's words stung to the core. Treason. He was guilty of that. He had no intention of joining this brigade, but if he was going to fake it long enough to escape he needed some motivation.

“What am I fighting for here? If this service is against my will, isn't Mexico a disgraceful nation?”

The two men lifted their rifles and pointed them at Andrew. He had struck a nerve.

“Everyone has that idea at first,” General Bolivar said. “After your previous home invaded our country under the cover of stopping a war, they required the disbandment of the Mexican armed services. The militia is the only line of defense your new home has, and you will be a proud member.”

“A militia isn't an army,” Andrew said. “I saw maybe one hundred men training out there.”

“You saw three hundred men training here. And there are another four hundred training off base, along with five hundred more on missions,” General Bolivar said. “We are a new group and our numbers are growing.”

“What will I be?” Andrew asked.

“A militiaman,” General Bolivar said. “Your new name is Private Andrew Simpson. Your training starts today, Private Simpson.”

“I can shoot a gun,” Andrew said.

“And fly a helicopter,” he said. “But that doesn't mean you're going to get either of those here. Once you can be trusted we'll move you up to weapons training and see what you have. Now you start at the bottom. We break you down so we can build you up. Gentlemen, please escort Andrew to his new room.”

The two guards walked around the table and kept their guns pointed at Andrew the whole time. He rose from his chair and started into the hallway.
Break you down.
Andrew didn't like the sound of that. Now was the time for him to act strong. He couldn't show any weakness. The quicker he moved through this, the closer he would get to regaining his freedom and finding Mia.

Chapter 9

The world's efforts should be put into repairing the barren wastelands created during the Great War, not helping thriving nations.

—Comment from the
International Reporter

The day was spent playing too many matches for Mia to keep count. Riley was a skilled player and didn't take it easy on Mia. Some of their games only lasted two moves. Mia never got close to winning.

“Checkmate,” Riley said.

“Urg.” Mia started pulling on her hair. “I don't want to play anymore.”

“Why?” Riley asked, and she set up the board again.

“Because you keep winning,” Mia said. “It's not fun for me.”

“Well it's not fun for me either. You're not very good and there's no challenge here.”

Riley moved her pawn forward.

“Then why are we playing?” Mia said, making a move.

“It's the only way you'll get better,” Riley said. “The key to winning is guessing what my next move is. Staying one step ahead at all times.”

It was Mia's turn again. She moved her knight out.

“I knew you would do that,” Riley said. “Every fifth game you get bored with moving pawns and you move the knight. I also think it's your favorite piece because of its design. Guess my move,” Riley said.

Mia stared at the board. Riley would move her pawn another space forward. Mia nodded her head. Riley made the move Mia predicted she would. The shock on Mia's face must have been enough for Riley to know she'd guessed correctly.

“See?” Riley said. “You've learned more than you know. Think like that for all the moves. Plot a strategy in advance and go with it.”

Mia moved her knight back into place. Riley gave her a raised eyebrow. Mia thought she might have thrown her off.

“Want to make this interesting?” Riley said. “If you win this match I'll show you where I believe your friends are.”

“I don't think it's fair to bet on something like that,” Mia said.

“Use your head,” Riley replied. “If you can beat me, it shows me you learned something and are capable of formulating a plan and not running in and destroying everything I've worked for. Does that phrasing work better for you?”

Mia focused on the game. She wanted to see Andrew and Carter. She tried her hardest to tune out any distractions. She guessed Riley's moves and was right some of the time. Pieces were being captured right and left. Then Mia saw it. Her chance to win. Riley needed to make one more move, then Mia could take the game.

“Checkmate,” Riley said.

Mia stood up and let out a small scream. Riley smiled. Mia paced back and forth.

“Don't get so busy planning the win that you forget your defenses,” Riley said. “But much better that time.”

“Again,” Mia said.

Riley set up the board for another battle.

 

S
ix games later Mia still hadn't won. Between matches she was feeling less frustrated though. Almost winning was more rewarding than losing by a lot every time. This match was intense. They were down to the final moves, on the verge of determining a winner. Mia had Riley set up to lose. She was down to just her king. Mia moved her queen into place.

“Check,” Mia said.

Riley moved her king. Mia followed with her queen.

“Check,” Mia said.

Again the same moves followed.

“That's not fair,” Mia said. “This will go on forever. Making these same moves.”

Riley put her hands on her lap, leaving her king in place. “And that, my dear, is called a stalemate.”

“What's that mean?” Mia asked.

“There is no winner,” Riley said. “Or if you like it better, we're both winners.”

“Does that mean . . .”

“I'll show you where they're at,” Riley said.

Mia let out a sigh of relief. Riley stood up and walked over to her desk. She pulled out a large backpack and threw Mia a pair of black pants and a black tank top.

“My feet are larger than yours,” Riley said. “I'm going to stuff my spare shoes with socks. We have a long walk so make sure you're comfortable. Remember, nothing is going to happen tonight. I'm just going to give you a tour. Break this rule and I won't invite you back here with me.”

Mia nodded. She wished there was some way to let Andrew and Carter know she was all right. That she was alive. Mia turned her back and changed into the black outfit. She looked at the small window and saw the light was starting to disappear.

“It's that late?” Mia asked.

“Better to observe at night,” Riley said.

“How will we see anything?”

“I have some toys,” Riley said.

She grabbed a tiny backpack and put two water bottles inside before flinging it over her shoulders. Mia made sure the black sock-filled tennis shoes were tight. They were ready to head out. Riley handed Mia some dried meat.

“We'll eat on the way,” Riley said. “Let's go.”

“How far is the walk?” Mia asked.

“About ten kilometers,” Riley said. “Two to three hours.”

“You don't run there?” Mia asked.

“No,” Riley said. “I don't run unless I have to. It wastes energy and requires more water.”

Riley opened the door and the two were on their way. The sun was dropping fast but the sky seemed lighter than she expected.

“It's darker at night where I'm from,” Mia said.

“We're farther south here so the sun sets later,” Riley said. “Some rules: Nobody can see us. We don't have to worry too much right now because they only leave the area by car and we'll hear the motor in time to hide.”

The grass stopped and they started walking on a dirt road. They were along the coastline. Mia could hear the waves crashing. She guessed the tide was in again.

“Where would we hide?” Mia asked. “This is all open.”

“In the dark it's easy. Just drop,” Riley said. “Most people don't see what they're not looking for. I never head out in daytime.”

“But you found me in daytime,” Mia said.

“Special circumstances,” Riley said. “A helicopter crashed. Right about where we are now.”

“I was that close to you?”

Mia tried to look out into the ocean for remnants of the crash, but there was no sign of it.

“That's how I was able to get you home,” Riley said. “Flung you over my shoulder.”

“Can you tell me about where we're going?” Mia asked. “Where we're headed?”

“Puesta del Sol,” Riley said.

“What's that?” Mia asked.

“Sunset,” Riley said. “In Spanish.”

“The men who took Andrew and Carter, they spoke a different language.”

“Spanish was the official language of Mexico,” Riley said. “Now it's English, but most of the residents are bilingual.”

“Why did it change?” Mia asked.

“You want a history lesson?” Riley said. “Mexico was run by drug cartels. It was a very dangerous place. The government had no power or control and civilians were being murdered. They needed help, so they turned to their neighbor. America sent their army and crushed the cartels. Then they helped set up the new Mexican government, which supported English as a national language.”

“The people weren't mad?” Mia asked.

“Not at first,” Riley said. “They were happy the drug lords were gone. Time has passed though, and some rebels miss the old ways.”

“So the American services?” Mia asked. “They help people?”

“Oh yes,” Riley said. “The thugs of the world.”

“What do you mean?”

“Countries are always fighting other countries,” Riley said. “And sometimes they fight with themselves. Whichever side convinces America to help is the victor.”

“This is a bad thing?”

“Not always,” Riley said. “But the outcome is that America gets to do what it pleases. Even treat women like property and leave young boys to starve.”

Mia reflected on this for a moment. America was eager to help other nations so that none of them would step in and help the American people.

“You said Mexico was dangerous? It's not now?” Mia asked.

“Most of Mexico isn't dangerous,” Riley said. “This particular spot is. Puesta del Sol is off most maps. In a way you're lucky you landed here. Any other part of the country would have deported your gentleman companions back right away. But Puesta del Sol has another purpose for them.”

“Which is?” Mia asked.

“Soldiers,” Riley said. “They want your boys' bodies to enlist in their makeshift army. The two are part of the Collection.”

Mia let out a snort.

“Andrew and Carter would never do that,” Mia said. “They ran away from service.”

“Well, these men won't give them the choice,” Riley said. “And they specialize in brainwashing too.”

“So I'm going to have to break into an army base and smuggle two new recruits out?” Mia asked.

“That would be the end goal,” Riley said.

“How?” Mia asked.

“That's what I want you to tell me,” Riley said.

“And you think Nathan's there?”

“The last time Nathan was seen he had a gun to the back of his head and was being walked onto a plane. That was more than five months ago. I've followed every lead and there's a chance he is here,” Riley said.

“Then maybe we can make the plan together,” Mia said.

“First let's canvass the area,” Riley said. “Then we'll talk about plans.”

Mia turned inward for a moment. She pictured Andrew and Carter being forced to enlist in a second service. Riley had mentioned brainwashing, but Mia didn't think she had too much to worry about. There was no way her two friends would fall under the spell of another military regime when they had both walked away from one already.