The Collection (6 page)

Chapter 12

Being an American is a gift. Not appreciating that gift is a waste.

—
American Gazette

The sounds stopped—at least Andrew thought they did. His head was so fuzzy he couldn't be sure. If they hadn't stopped, then his brain had shut his hearing off; either way he was grateful. Andrew looked at Carter for confirmation. Carter wore a look of confusion as well.

“Did it stop?” Andrew asked.

His voice sounded foreign to him. The simple sentence echoed through his brain. Carter had a similar reaction and nodded his head. Someone opened the door to their room. Both Carter and Andrew stood up straight as the sergeant walked inside, followed by two escorts.

“Well, are you going to wish me good morning?” he asked.

“Good morning, sir,” Andrew said.

It was morning? Andrew had gone forty-eight hours without sleep or food. He didn't care at the moment, he was just grateful that the music had stopped. He looked over at Carter. If the other man didn't greet the sergeant with a “sir,” Andrew would punch him. That was the thought Andrew had spent the last several hours trying to focus on.

“Good morning, sir,” Carter said.

Andrew let out a sigh of relief.

“Very good,” the sergeant said. “Get changed.”

Carter and Andrew had spent a little bit of time trying to explore the room. Each of them had a chest filled with clothing. Andrew had thought about changing last night but didn't want to proceed without instructions.

“No breakfast today because you weren't in your uniforms this morning,” the sergeant said. “If you want to eat you will follow the rules.”

“Yes, sir,” Andrew and Carter said.

While this was an annoyance, Andrew was happy to forgo food as long as the music didn't turn back on. He assumed next would be some form of strength training. He hoped they would go outside. Andrew knew there was a reason he wanted to head out there but couldn't put his finger on it. He let out a yawn. He was tired and didn't think physical activity would do him much good today.

The boys were escorted down the hall. Andrew tried his best to keep up. Carter's eyes had heavy bags under them. Andrew was sure he looked the same, but he needed to show these men how strong he was. That was the way to get respect. Andrew wanted their respect so he could survive, so he could . . . escape. Andrew's eyes lit up. Mia, escape. That was why he needed to get outside. The music had clouded his mind so much he'd nearly forgotten.

The group stopped and another door was unlocked. It was a spotless, shining bathroom. The walls and floor were covered in white tile. There were three toilet stalls and a mirror with a sink.

“You two will clean this dirty room,” the sergeant said. “Once it is done we will start your training.”

Andrew saw the cleaning supplies on the sink, but he didn't know what the sergeant was talking about. This room was flawless. Andrew didn't think it had ever been used. The mirror didn't have a single spot; everything was perfect. Carter's mouth hung open and his forehead wrinkled.

“Get started,” the sergeant said.

“Where?” Carter asked.

“Call for me when it's done,” he said.

With that he walked out of the room and slammed the door. A lock was flipped over. Andrew didn't understand why a bathroom would lock from the outside. Then it hit him.

“Am I imagining this?” Carter asked.

“Don't talk,” Andrew said. “Don't do anything other than clean.”

“Clean what?” Carter asked.

“Shh!”

The lock was already turning back. Andrew winced when the door opened up again.

“Since you two want to stand around and talk instead of work, I guess I'll need to motivate you,” the sergeant said. “You'll work through lunch too.”

The door was closed and Andrew preemptively covered his ears. The same music from the night before blared into the bathroom, and just like in their room Andrew couldn't find any speakers or figure out where the noise was coming from. This was a training exercise, Andrew knew. They were trying to break him, and he was scared because it was working.

Chapter 13

Americans must go through the same citizenship standards as any immigrant. They shouldn't be classified as refugees. Countries should worry about their own people.

—Comment from the
Global Reporter
message board

Andrew was kissing Mia. She was wrapping her legs around his while the wind breezed over the bed of the truck. Their embrace was broken when Grant's helicopter slammed into the bed.

“Don't worry,” Andrew said. “I'll save you.”

“No, it's my turn,” Mia replied.

Then a knife whizzed past her head. Her eyes flew open. The knife was right in front of her eyes, sticking straight out of the wooden floor of Riley's cabin. This was it; the men who held Andrew hostage had discovered their location. Mia didn't think before shooting up and pulling the knife out of the wood. She readied it for her attacker, surprised to see Riley sitting in a chair with a grin on her face.

“That was pretty good,” Riley said.

Mia's heart raced. “A knife? You threw a knife at me?”

Riley was seated at her desk. She clicked a button on her computer and music started playing.

“And you reacted,” Riley said. “You didn't freeze up.”

“You could have killed me,” Mia said. “What were you thinking? Do you want me dead?”

“I was thinking I have great aim, and you want to save your friends,” Riley said. “That and it's almost noon.”

“I've only slept for seven hours,” Mia said with a groan.

“Not everyone is so lucky,” Riley said.

“I think I'm going to throw up,” Mia said.

She started breathing heavily and leaned toward the side.

“That's the adrenaline,” Riley said. “It kicked in with your wake-up call and got sucked out when the danger vanished. Don't get too comfortable. The danger is always around. Keep your body moving.”

Riley stood up and gave Mia a shove. Mia stood up straight, but the heavy feeling in her legs returned.

“Keep it going,” Riley said. “The more you stay still the worse you'll feel.”

She started bouncing back and forth on the floor. Mia tried to echo her movements. She started to feel better.

“There you go,” Riley said. “The color in your cheeks is coming back. Don't give in to the dread. Work through it. Now, when someone attacks you, remember this: If you give in to the fear you'll freeze. If you work through it you'll get some energy.”

As Mia bounced up and down she realized she was moving to the beat of the music. It was happy and catchy, unlike any noise she'd ever heard before. It spread through her like an infection.

“What is this?” Mia asked.

“Pop music,” Riley said. “An Irish band. If you can't think of a fight move, try and think of this song. It'll keep your body moving until an idea presents itself. Keep it quiet, like it is now, in the back of your mind until a move comes to you.”

With the last comment Riley raised her fist and threw it at Mia. Mia lifted her arm at the elbow and blocked the punch, just like Carter taught her. Riley grinned at Mia's defense.

“I told you in my long, rambling story,” Mia said. “Carter taught me some self-defense.”

“Had to see the skills in action myself,” Riley said. “Nice work.”

Riley pulled her fist back and stopped moving. Mia couldn't believe how good she felt. She wasn't scared at all, even though minutes ago a knife was staring her in the eyes. Riley moved over to the computer and stopped the music.

“You've never heard pop music?” Riley asked.

“None like that,” Mia said. “Mainly slow songs, some with twangs or classical music. I'm a terrible singer.”

“They don't want you girls to wiggle your bodies around too much up there, huh?”

Mia shrugged. She wasn't so sure of the motivations in her world. Some of the questions that had raced through her head during their initial meeting returned.

“Do you know why?”

“They want you to seem pure?” Riley asked.

“No,” Mia said. “I mean how the Registry came to be. Why America is the way it is.”

“Oh,” Riley said. “I know what everyone knows, not much more. America is a very private country.”

Mia looked at Riley with eager eyes.

“Don't you want to start on your friends' case?” Riley asked. “What do you have as a plan to rescue them so far?”

“Not this time,” Mia said. “You change the subject whenever you don't want to give an answer to something. I love those boys and I would do anything for them, but I need answers.”

“It's part of your past,” Riley said.

“But I can't move on unless I have some clues.”

Riley let the air rush between her lips and they flapped against each other.

“For the last two hundred years or so, I don't know, maybe since the beginning of time even, women have been fighting for equality,” Riley said. “All over the world, for the most part, they were seen as the weaker sex. Then about a century ago, maybe more, it started happening everywhere. Women were equals to men, including in America. Then there was a war.”

“The Great War,” Mia said.

“The Great War, World War III, the Great Conflict,” Riley said. “Lots of different names for it.”

“What was it about?” Mia asked.

“Does it matter?” Riley said. “America was important; they were late to join the fight and sided with the good guys. If America hadn't joined I can't imagine what kind of suffering would be in Ireland today. They were our saviors.”

“So we were the good guys?”

“Once the war was done the world was in ruins,” Riley said. “It wasn't fought on this continent. It was overseas, near my home, and in other places around the globe. We were too busy cleaning up, and then a few years later the Registry existed. America closed its borders but kept a huge armed force. They made it clear to the rest of the world they'd offer help in times of grave danger, and they still do.”

“That doesn't explain anything,” Mia said. “What caused the Registry to come into existence? How could everything change just like that?”

Riley looked away.

“Tell me,” Mia said.

“They don't teach American history in Irish schools.”

“You're an intelligence officer,” Mia said. “You know. Tell me.”

“Disease struck your homeland,” Riley said. “When the soldiers returned home there wasn't much of a home to come back to. People were sick and dying.”

“Didn't they get their shots?” Mia asked.

“Some,” Riley said. “Not like we have today.”

“No other country came and helped us?”

“They were all torn apart by the war,” Riley said.

“So America steps in to help your country and you turn your backs?” Mia asked. “You didn't mind when all women became slaves?”

“I hadn't been born,” Riley said.

“Why not step in and help now?” Mia asked. “You have a position of power; you can do something.”

“International politics are a tricky thing,” Riley said.

“There's nothing tricky about it,” Mia said. “People are suffering and you choose not to help. Your country focuses on its own problems instead.”

“I'm helping you, aren't I?” Riley asked.

“Because it furthers your own agenda,” Mia said.

“That's cruel and untrue,” Riley said. “Before the war there were one hundred ninety-six sovereign countries. Do you know how many exist today?”

Mia shook her head, but she wasn't ready to back down.

“Today there are ninety-three countries; tomorrow there might be ninety-two or ninety-four, because countries keep merging and revolting. Before the war Ireland was a small island; now it's a group of small islands and some large ones too. The whole world was rearranged!”

Riley's voice was deepening. Mia felt a pang of guilt. Over half the world was lost in a war.

“Me and you are starting our plan, and I don't even know if my husband is there. I may be putting his life in danger to get your boys out.”

“Just because we were spotted last night and your timeline was pushed up,” Mia said.

“Whatever the reason, I am helping you,” Riley said. “Have you ever come across someone who gave you assistance without benefiting themselves at all?”

Yes,
Mia thought.
Andrew.

Right now she needed this woman's help to save him. Fighting over century-old problems wasn't going to help that, so Mia bit on her pride and shook her head.

“Then back to work,” Riley said.

She clicked some buttons on her computer and a man's face popped up. He was older and distinguished. His dark hair was down to his shoulders and slicked back; his eyes were warm and welcoming. Mia thought he was the type of man American girls dreamed of marrying.

“This is Joseph Ruiz,” Riley said. “He is smart, wealthy, well connected, and evil.”

She flipped to the next picture. It was a beautiful woman, several years older than Mia but not quite Riley's age. Her thick, shiny black hair ran down her back.

“Dalmy Ruiz,” Riley said.

Mia had never heard such a name. Riley pronounced it “Doll-Me” but that didn't match the spelling on the screen. She looked exotic. Mia thought it was fitting that Joseph had wed such a beautiful woman.

“The pride and joy of Joseph's life,” Riley said. “His daughter and heir to his empire.”

“She's too old to live with her father,” Mia said.

Riley gave her a look.

“We're not in America anymore,” Riley said. “Mexico supports its women. She is being groomed to take over Joseph's business.”

“What's an heir?” Mia asked.

Riley rolled her eyes.

“If your father died, what would happen to your mother? His money? His land?”

“I never thought about that,” Mia said. Her cheeks grew red and she looked down.

“Your mother would go into retirement; his land and money would revert to the government, which would sell it and make even more money,” Riley said.

Mia looked up at her with wide eyes. If Riley knew this, she knew other facts about America. Mia couldn't ask another question though. Her focus needed to remain with the boys.

“In other parts of the world it would go to the spouse, the children, or any other person the father chose,” Riley said. “That person is called an heir.”

Riley clicked to another picture. It was an older man. He had the same dark features as the other two. He was heavier-set with cold, hard eyes.

“General Bolivar,” Riley said. “You heard about him yesterday.”

She clicked another button and the three pictures appeared next to each other.

“These are our three key players,” Riley said. “If you want Andrew and Carter back you'll have to work through them.”

“Strengths and weaknesses?” Mia asked.

“Hmm,” Riley said. “Nice question. Straight to the point. I like it.”

She took a breath.

“General Bolivar's weakness is Joseph Ruiz. Joseph Ruiz, Dalmy Ruiz. Dalmy Ruiz, none known.”

A father who cared about his daughter above all else, above money. This was a new concept for Mia, but it made the first step simple.

“Her,” Mia said. “She's the key to getting the rest of them.”

“And how will you accomplish that?” Riley asked.

“Study her,” Mia said. “Learn what she does first.”

Riley smiled and turned back to the computer.

“You're right. I would make you do the legwork but since we were spotted last night I don't think that's necessary.”

She clicked a few buttons and Dalmy's face took up the whole screen.

“What do you know about her?” Mia asked.

“Not much,” Riley said. “She's protected, dangerous, lives in her father's house. I think she's in charge of the girls in the town.”

“So why not become one of the girls in the town then?” Mia asked. “Get close to her, take her hostage, and exchange her freedom for the men's.”

“No,” Riley said. “Too dangerous.”

“What's so dangerous about being a girl in a town?” Mia asked.

“We shouldn't plan on an empty stomach,” Riley said. “Go get yourself ready for the day and I'll get us some breakfast. Then afterward you can show me more of your self-defense skills. Try to think about other options too. Never turn your brain off.”

Riley closed her laptop and Mia stood up. It was becoming easy for Mia to read Riley. Her sudden change of subject made Mia all the more curious about the town, but as she would in a game of chess, Mia decided to wait to make her move.