The Collection (7 page)

Chapter 14

FROM VICTIM TO HERO: GRANT MARSDEN REPRESENTS THE AMERICAN IDEAL

—
American Gazette

“And now the deceased's husband will speak,” the funeral director said.

Grant went to take center stage. Everyone was sitting outside on his back lawn. “Lawn” was an understatement. It was the acres on which his mansion and many secondary houses sat. He walked up to the podium and looked at the jar of ashes on display. He wondered what was inside, knowing it wasn't Amelia. After nodding at the contents he looked out over the audience.

It was his business acquaintances mainly, the heads of all the military departments and their wives. Some lower-level individuals he dealt with frequently. Members of his team and Rex, his most trusted assistant, assembled with other staff for his home. Greg Finnegan had brought his partner, and some of his media counterparts were present too. Strangers, but their cameras lined the back row and all were going to feature this speech at some point on their programs. Grant was disappointed that the grand commander hadn't attended. None of Amelia's family was invited, of course, because her family was Grant now. Ha.

Grant wasn't nervous about giving the speech he'd prepared; he hoped he could muster up some grief. He tried to think of different situations that would allow him to display some real emotions. Grant thought about what his mother and father must have been like, but Grant had had a good life and felt better off without them. He envisioned Rex passing on; that annoyed Grant more than brought tears. Then he decided if grief wouldn't come he would show the world his anger. That was easy to conjure up with the image of Mia flying off in his helicopter fresh in his mind.

“My wife is dead. I worked so hard and chose with caution, never thinking this was a possibility. I'm angry that my hard work went for naught and I'm angry that I lost so much. I racked my brain thinking of what I could have done to deserve this. I fought for my country, I work for my country, and I live for my country. Focusing on these strengths, I realized this is no punishment. This is an unfortunate occurrence that I will survive and grow from. People will learn from this. Protect your wives and daughters. I know when the time comes for me to wear the titles of ‘husband' and ‘father,' I will.”

The speech was memorized and Grant took turns making eye contact with his audience. At the end he spoke into the cameras. He picked up the vase of ashes and took off the lid.

“This should symbolize not the passing of life, but a new start for myself.”

With that Grant turned around and scattered the ashes behind him. The people in the crowd clapped. When he turned to face them they were standing. Some of the women were wiping away tears. It was perfect. He smiled with them and nodded his head. The grand commander was right; these people didn't want a victim, they wanted a hero, and Grant was playing his part.

 

A
fter Grant had shaken hands with everyone present, they packed up their things and left. Grant's employees scattered back to their posts within his great estate. The last one left was Rex. Rex lived on Grant's property in one of the smaller homes. Today he joined Grant in the walk up to his mansion. Some people thought it was too large, but not Grant. It was a symbol of his wealth and he was happy to show it off. One of the television reporters had asked to schedule a tour, thinking the people would love to see the great house.

“I'm sorry, boss,” Rex said. “Good speech. That must have been hard.”

“It was,” Grant said. “I should never have split up the team. My gut told me she was in the Gila Bend area. If I'd had you with me none of this would have happened.”

“We can still make it right,” Rex said.

“No,” Grant said. “I'm forbidden from leaving the country. There are more pressing matters at play.”

“Than your pride?” Rex asked. “I've been doing some research.”

Grant hunched his shoulders down and put a defeated look on his face. He glanced around the property to make sure nobody was in view. Then he brought his arm up and nailed his employee in the gut. This caught Rex off guard, and the large man fell to his knees with his arms around his stomach.

“I didn't lose,” Grant said.

He left Rex on the grass.

“Don't forget your place,” Grant said. “I'm still the one in charge.”

With those final words Grant walked into his giant house alone. He closed the door behind him and an echo sounded through the halls. He made his way toward the stairs, which were gold plated and lined with red carpeting. The whole house was red and gold, the colors of his country.

“Sir,” Brandon, Grant's chief of staff, said, “it was a perfect ceremony. My condolences again. Can I bring you something to eat?”

“No,” Grant said. He didn't bother to turn around and continued up the steps.

One of the main reasons he wanted a wife was so she could handle the staff. Housework was a woman's concern. Most men weren't willing to let their wives have a job, and Grant didn't think he wanted the type of woman who would be in his employment. Grant's wife should have been the one dealing with Brandon.

Grant turned down the hallway and into his bedroom. This room was the third largest in the house. He went straight for his closet, pulling off his suit in the process, feeling instant relief. Grant checked the cell phone he'd left there, upset that there was no call. Next he dressed in his normal attire—today it was blue plaid shorts and a baby-blue polo. He slid on his moccasins and left the pile of dirty clothes in the closet, knowing Brandon would pick them up later. He was the only servant permitted in Grant's room.

He was starting out of the closet when his pocket vibrated. He pulled out his phone and didn't recognize the number.

“Hello,” Grant said.

“Please hold for the capital,” a woman's voice said. The call switched to music.

Grant hated that women could work for the government but not for private citizens. Even though Grant was a government contractor he didn't have the right to that supply of workers. If he had then maybe a wife wouldn't have been necessary at all; he could employ the unmarried to run his household for him.

“Grant,” the grand commander said.

“Sir,” Grant said. “This is unexpected.”

“You've done well,” he said. “And that was expected. I'd like for you to come to the capital tomorrow. After lunch.”

There was a click. The line went dead. Grant smiled; the grand commander was all business. Grant appreciated that. The personal phone call raised his spirits. His plan had been to head down to the workshop and start tinkering with inventions. He didn't see that happening anymore. The invitation to the capital would make it too hard to concentrate. Grant was thrilled. He tried to remember the last time he was this happy.

As a child in one of the government orphanages Grant was well liked by most of the boys and his teachers, but that didn't mean the feelings were reciprocated. He was much different back then, lacking the self-esteem he now possessed, plagued with shyness and a miserable stutter. He'd been released the same day as four others, including Erik, a pompous ass who teased Grant for his speech patterns.

While Grant had developed into a very different man, some of his characteristics had always been present, including his thirst for revenge. The five thirteen-year-olds had gathered on the street and debated where to look for work. Grant had spent years waiting for this moment—not to be free from the orphanage but to take his vengeance.

He walked up to Erik and acted as if he was going to whisper something into his ear. Instead Grant slid the butcher knife he had stolen from the kitchen out of his long-sleeved shirt and straight into Erik's gut. Erik didn't know what had happened, and the other young men weren't paying any attention.

“It's a hard world out here,” Grant whispered. His stutter was gone.

Grant yanked his knife out and backed away. He enjoyed the look of terror on Erik's face. Erik brought his hands forward, covering his wound. Grant started walking away, not wanting to run or draw attention. He tossed the knife in a garbage can and rounded a corner. That was the first man he'd ever killed, and he had felt such vindication.

Yes, that was perhaps the last time he'd felt such pure glee. Grant wondered what his thirteen-year-old self would think of him now. Wealthy, adored, and receiving personal phone calls from the grand commander. Grant's smile faded.

Erik crossed you once and you took care of him; now you let little girls beat you.

Grant heard his own voice in his head.
No, the game isn't over. She hasn't won; I haven't shown my hand yet.
He knew his plan wasn't moving fast enough and doubted himself for a moment. Then the moment passed and Grant let himself relax a bit. Patience was a necessity to victory, and Grant knew she would come home in due time.

Chapter 15

America is a worldwide bully. If the Registry isn't stopped, how long until it spreads into other countries?

—Comment from the
Global Reporter
message board

“What if we break into Dalmy's house at night, take her hostage, and then trade her?” Mia asked.

“I told you,” Riley said. “The house isn't an option. It's impenetrable.”

“But you broke into an army base.”

“I broke into an oversized, poorly guarded militia front,” Riley said.

“Why don't we bust in there and break them out?”

“One person undetected was risky enough,” Riley said. “Going in with two and moving out with four is a death wish.”

“Five,” Mia said. “We're looking for Nathan too.”

“Five,” Riley said. “That means locating the men, and I don't have a map or the aerial surveillance to get that information.”

“You keep shooting everything down,” Mia said. “The best option was still my first suggestion. We become Dalmy's girls, then hold her hostage. I can make a new friend.”

“How will you explain our presence? An American and an Irishwoman wandering around in Mexico?”

“I'm here on my honeymoon and ran away from my husband,” Mia said. “I stuck out my thumb and you picked me up. Then our car ran out of gas.”

“Days after a helicopter crash?”

“Do you have a better idea?” Mia asked.

Riley was quiet.

“I think I should go alone,” Mia said. “That way you can cover for me if anything goes wrong.”

“Back to me saving you again,” Riley said.

“Not me,” Mia said. “Andrew and Carter. If something goes wrong, get them out.”

“And what if the soldier who saw us is there?”

“You threw him over a cliff. I think the odds are in our favor that he's out of commission. Tell me what is wrong with this plan. A straight answer.”

Riley paced back and forth. Her brow was furrowed.

“Don't lie,” Mia said.

“Dalmy's girls . . . ,” Riley said. “They're not her friends. They're her employees.”

“I can cook,” Mia said.

“They all have the same job.”

Mia wasn't following. It still didn't sound too bad.

“I can only research so much on the Internet,” Riley said. “I'm not sure what this town is all about, but the inhabitants are bad men. The women who live here work to please them.”

“I thought the militiamen lived there,” Mia said.

“No. They live on the base.”

“So a town of bad men that has an army behind it and women please them? . . . Oh.”

It took saying it out loud for Mia to understand what Riley was getting at.

“Please them . . . ,” Mia said. “But that's illegal unless you're married.”

“Only in America,” Riley said. “It's the oldest profession in the world. So if something went wrong, that's the life you'd live.”

“Never,” Mia said. She wasn't ready to think about intimacy at all, let alone with a stranger.

“That's why your plan won't work.”

“I'll get out of there before it comes to that,” Mia said. “I have to save Andrew and Carter.”

“We'll find another way,” Riley said.

“There is none,” Mia said. “We're running out of time. They know someone is watching them; how long until they look for us? Then we'll both end up Dalmy's girls.”

“We could leave,” Riley said. “You and I. Go back to Ireland, get some reinforcements, then break out your friends.”

“And how long would that take? I'll never leave them. I know you won't leave Nathan either.”

Riley was silent.

“I came up with a solid plan,” Mia said. “It will work. Dalmy will take me in and when she's at her weakest I'll hold her hostage and trade her for the boys.”

“They'll come after you,” Riley said.

“I won't free Dalmy until I'm out of harm's way,” Mia said. “If Joseph loves his daughter like you say he does, he won't chase me until she's safe.”

“If it came down to it and you had to kill her, would you?” Riley asked.

“I've never killed anyone . . .”

The image of the RAG agent on the ground came to Mia's mind. She remembered slamming the rock into his face over and over. A shudder went through her body. How could she forget so soon?

“I would,” Mia said. “If I had to I would kill her.”

Riley raised an eyebrow at Mia's response. She nodded her head in agreement.

“Then it's settled,” Mia said. Her voice was a bit shaky.

“No,” Riley said. “We have the start of a plan. Now we fill in the rest, leaving no room for error.”

“What's first?” Mia asked.

“Once the sun goes down a bit we head outside,” Riley said. “You show me some of your fighting skills and we'll improve from there.”

Mia expected to feel comfort at starting the rescue mission; instead she was met with a feeling of dread. She pictured Andrew and Carter dead in the bottom of a ditch. They were in army uniforms, guns in hand after losing a battle for a cause that wasn't even their own. Whatever risks Mia was taking were worth preventing that fate.

 

T
he cabin was growing dimmer. It was later in the day than Mia realized; she'd wasted most of the afternoon having her ideas shot down. After choosing their strategy Riley turned to her computer and Mia lay down on the bed. She stared at the ceiling, brainstorming about what might help her in her mission. She knew Riley didn't want to discuss it yet, and Mia didn't want to think out loud.

“Let's head outside,” Riley said.

Mia was looking forward to demonstrating her self-defense skills. She'd used them before and Riley had only gotten a glimpse of what she was capable of. Riley turned around and faced Mia. She put up her fists and Mia did the same. Riley toggled back and forth on her feet.

“Hit me,” Riley said.

Mia's mind flashed back to Carter's lessons. She doubted Riley's would end the same way. Mia knew Riley was right-handed and likely to move toward the right. Mia threw her first punch. She anticipated Riley's movements and tapped her in the stomach. Riley looked shocked.

“This is just sparring,” Mia said. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

Riley came forward and swung her leg at Mia. Mia bent down and put her arms out, ready to block the kick from Riley. Mia grabbed hold of Riley's leg and stood up with it, showing she would have knocked Riley to the ground. The redhead backed away. Mia could see she was running out of breath. A few more attempts were made, always with Mia being the victor.

“How are you so good at this?” Riley asked.

“I was trapped in a basement all day with nothing to occupy my time but practice,” Mia said. “I've spent the last two days with you and you're easy to read.”

“So you're anticipating my attacks?”

Mia nodded. Riley came at her with her right fist. Mia lifted her right hand, knowing this was a fake-out. She blocked Riley's left-hand punch.

“Enough,” Riley said.

She dropped her fighting stance and moved away.

“Impressive,” Riley said. “You don't attack though.”

“The best way to stay alive is to keep on the defense,” Mia said.

Mia was feeling proud of herself. She had just opened her mouth to speak when Riley dropped to the ground and spun her leg out. Mia fell onto the dirt with a thump. Before she could take a breath Riley was standing over her.

“I hate to break it to you, but a couple weeks in a basement is nothing,” Riley said.

She reached her hand down and pulled Mia up. The pride vanished.

“You're still in good shape,” Riley said. “If I was reading you I wouldn't have thought you could defend yourself at all, but you're no professional.”

Mia gave Riley raised eyebrows as she dusted the dirt from her clothes.

“So you think I can handle one surprise attack?” Mia asked.

“That's one way to look at it,” Riley said. “I think it's best if you avoid fighting at all. Then there's no need to worry.”

“Not an option,” Mia said.

“Someday it will be,” Riley said. “Once you rescue your friends, what is your plan?”

“Guatemala,” Mia said.

“You're close,” Riley said. “It's the next country down. Several hours south of here.”

Mia's eyes lit up. She had never dreamed it would be that easy.

“Why Guatemala?” Riley asked.

“I met someone on the Internet, a former American who is living there,” Mia said.

“Do you think it's a trap?” Riley said. “American Internet is pretty closed off. You'd need special skills to hack into that . . .”

“What?” Mia asked. “Do you know a group of Americans who have those skills in Guatemala?”

Riley nodded her head.

“Where are they? What are they like?”

“You should know better than me,” Riley said. “You're the one going to spend the rest of your days with them.”

“It's not like that,” Mia said. “Please, tell me what you know.”

Mia was thrilled. She hadn't had the time to think much about S or their late-night chats. Mia would soak up everything Riley had to offer on her mystery correspondent's home.

“Some people out there want to help Americans,” Riley said. “Women's rights, that sort of thing. There are small pockets in certain countries dedicated to that cause. I'm assuming that's what your contact in Guatemala is about.”

“That's fantastic,” Mia said.

“Is it?” Riley asked. “You escaped. Your friends are being forced to take up a cause now and you'd lead them into another. Why not live your life for a bit?”

“You're not living your life,” Mia said. “All you do is move around the world searching for a ghost.”

Mia regretted the words the second they left her mouth.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean that,” Mia said.

“It's fine,” Riley said. “You're right. Maybe I don't want to see you head down the same path.”

“Right now my path just leads to rescuing Andrew and Carter.”

Riley nodded her head.

“Promise me your goals will remain uncorrupted,” Riley said. “The world already has enough villains.”

“Of course,” Mia said. “You don't think the Americans in Guatemala are bad, do you?”

“I think they're extremists,” Riley said. “Things aren't as black and white as they seem, Mia. Don't let your head get so locked in one direction that you can't see the destruction you leave behind you.”

Mia was silent. Riley smacked at a bug on her arm.

“Come on,” Riley said. “We have some more work if we're going to get moving on this.”

Riley walked inside the shanty and Mia followed. She didn't understand what Riley meant about things not being black and white. To Mia they were. The way America treated all their youth—not just the females—was wrong. Mia shook her head.
One mission at a time,
she told herself. Right now it was rescuing her friends.