The Gambit (7 page)

“We have ten minutes before the feds get here,” he announced, expressionless.

“Ten minutes?! Are you serious?”

He had pressed a button on his watch moments ago.

“We probably have nine now, get up! You have to get out of here, fast.”

Where the hell am I going to go
?

“Dad, what did Sheriff Aldridge say?”

“He said the IT guys
accidentally
crossed up the wires, and they created a fake accident outside of town. A couple ambulances were all they needed. It backed up traffic on the turnpike for miles. They called me on a secured line. Apparently someone working for them is well-versed in cyber-security.”

“They did it because of who you were to them…” I murmured.

“Yes, he said they gave us the window because of my tenure.”

I felt grateful that my dad’s title as retired Sheriff assisted me in my evasion.

“Get your shit together, Owen. You have to leave now! They will have our street blocked off in minutes.”

He shuffled me towards the back door, and as we made it onto the porch, I turned to him.

“Dad, you can’t stay here. You have to go somewhere! A hotel, or maybe your second cousin Bobby’s place in Chester. He’s not related, is he?”

He shook his head and dismissed my statement with his body language.

“I’m not worried about me, Owen. I’m worried about you.”

“But Dad, if they can’t have me, they will come for you. You’re the only family I have.”

He grabbed my shoulders and gave me a shake.

“That’s exactly my point. You’re the
only
family I have. I can’t lose you, Son. Get out of here, now!”

He pushed me down towards my bike and walked with me. He glanced at his watch.

“Five minutes. Five minutes until they’re here.”

I turned around as we reached my bike.

“Dad, I…I don’t know how I will get in contact with you, but I will find a way.”

He wrapped his arms around me in a firm hug.

“I love you so much, Son. Take care of yourself, please. We will figure this out. Whoever created this lie will be exposed.”

“I hope so,” I added with uncertainty in my voice.

His brow furrowed from my statement.

“Owen, you can’t just hope. You have to take action! You know that better than I do. Look what you and Cole have accomplished in Washington. You didn’t get to where you are by
hoping
. You are where you are now because you didn’t sit on the sidelines during the Confinement. You figured out a solution. Don’t give up your dream just because of this, Son. Who knows what will happen with the polls because of the attacks.”

The polls
…

Hearing his comment was like running face-first into a wall. A fire began to burn inside me. The same fire I felt every time I saw my scar. My father’s words had rekindled the fire.

“Thank you, Dad. Be careful. All right, old man?”

He laughed, “I might be old, but I can still kick your smart ass if I wanted to.”

“I love you, Pops.”

“I love you too, Owen. Stay in the backyards. Go now. If you circle around the lake you can bypass the streets and get back onto the turnpike. Go somewhere, some place that isn’t family, or to someone you haven’t talked to in a long time. Hurry!”

I hit the ignition switch and began to carefully maneuver through the edges of the neighbors’ yards. I had to get around shrubs, speed up when dogs came hurtling towards me, and be careful not to slide down to the lake. This kind of riding, especially in the grass, was ten times as difficult as speeding down the interstate at 150 miles per hour.

I was halfway around the lake. I knew I would be coming up on the back road that would lead me away from my house, and also keep me from the direction where the feds would be coming from.

My dad’s voice echoed in my mind. “
Go somewhere, some place that isn’t family, or to someone you haven’t talked to in a long time
.”

My thoughts hit a dead wall. Everyone I knew was in D.C. It’d been ten years since I graduated high school, since I’d lived here.

Who do I know? Someone who I was close with but hadn’t talked to in a while
.

That was it. As I made it back onto asphalt, I knew my destination. I knew I’d be safe there, at least for the evening. Only back roads would be used. No highways or interstates.

I drove down the suburban street and glanced at the houses to the left.
Which one is Grey’s?
I saw the maroon paneling and the color confirmed the house’s familiarity in my mind. I pulled into the driveway and parked the bike on the side of the garage. Nervously, I glanced around at the surrounding houses to see if anyone was outside. Luckily, the coast was clear.

I banged on the door with my fist.
Come on, Grey. Come on.

The door opened and Grey pushed open the glass storm door.

“Owen! What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, with wide eyes.

“Well nice to see you too, Grey,” I answered sarcastically.

“Get your ass in here. Did anyone see you?”

“No, not that I know of.”

He shut the door behind me and quickly locked the deadbolt. Inside, not much had changed since the last time I had visited him. It was the typical bachelor pad living room. There was a flat-screen TV, a PlayStation 4, and a saggy old couch. There were minimal decorations and plain white walls. It was obvious it was a rental property. I could smell popcorn, like he had just popped a bag.

Grey stared at me like I was a ghost, as if I had just appeared out of thin air. He almost seemed
scared
.

“We need to put your bike in the garage,” he announced. “I’ll go open it, and you go through the backyard and pull it around.”

I nodded my head and walked out the back door onto the deck. The grass was covered with dead maple leaves. I reached my bike, and when I hit the ignition switch I tried my best to let the engine idle. I was afraid the noise would draw attention to myself.

I pulled it around and quickly parked it in the garage. Before I could turn it off, the garage was already closed behind me. Grey didn’t wait to let me in. He just closed the door and left me in the dark.

When I walked into the kitchen, I turned into the living room to see Grey sitting on the edge of an ottoman, anxiously tapping his foot on the ground with his fingers interlaced.

Perhaps he was praying I would disappear. Who in their right mind would want to be an
accomplice
to last night’s attacks?

“What, do you think I did it?” I asked him nonchalantly.

He glanced up at me with his expression contorted. Maybe I should have seemed less relaxed when I posed the question.

“
Did
you?” he spat.

“Fuck no. I had nothing to do with the bombs.”

My words didn’t appear to placate Grey at all.

“Then why did you jump out of your seat and walk up the steps right before the bombs went off? Have you even seen the news?”

“Not since this morning. I was in a coffee shop having breakfast, and then the story came in.”

Grey stood up and grabbed the remote from the old, weathered love seat across the room.

“Look—you need to see this shit.”

I saw the image fade in on the flat-screen as he turned it on. He didn’t even have to change the channel. I guess Grey had been watching it last. It was set on CNN.

“…The last time authorities caught him on video was just an hour ago, getting off I-95 onto the Midlothian Turnpike. We now know he went to his childhood home off of Oakengate Lane, behind Salisbury Lake. His father, who still resides there, has been taken into protective custody and is being questioned on Owen’s whereabouts…”

Motherfuckers
.
They have my dad…

“Just wait,” Grey said. “That is just the beginning of the shit they’ve been spewing on here.”

“…Now, let’s go over to Shanna, who is with body-language expert and renowned psychologist, Dr. Nina Grant…”

The camera switched views to a female reporter who sat across from the doctor. They were both sitting in powder-white stationary chairs.

“…So tell us, Dr. Grant, what do you interpret from the video footage of last night’s attack at the final debate? What indicators are seen with the fugitive, Owen Marina?”

They had an interactive TV screen, perhaps a smart computer, behind them. The doctor stood up and began using her finger to point around the screen. The video was of me standing up out of my seat at the debate and walking up the steps. Then, the feed caught the bombs and black smoke filled the auditorium.

“…See, in the moments before he stands he keeps glancing around the auditorium, almost like he was waiting for something…”

I
could not
believe what I was hearing.

“…When he stands, the guards immediately attempt to intercept him as he began to climb up the steps.
Boom
…and then they go off. See, this area right here…” She used her index finger to draw a red circle around the front few rows of the Convergence Party. “…was the hardest hit. The front rows had the most casualties. Interestingly enough, Owen was sitting in those front rows, and just
happened
to get up at the perfect time to save himself from critical injuries.”

“He was fleeing the bomb authorities presume he helped create.”

“Yes, and you see here if we zoom in. That is sweat dripping from his hairline. We are all aware now that the other suspect, Alexei Malchikov is deceased, so the CIA has made a statement saying this was an attempted suicide bombing.
Attempted
, because Owen is still on the run. Maybe the weight of losing his own life was too much to bear?”

My jaw was slowly falling lower and remained agape.

“They are making you out as a coward,” Grey interjected. “The media has gotten a taste for you and they want more.”

“I can tell…” I mumbled, still flabbergasted from the picture the news was painting of me.

“Owen, w
hy
did you stand up?”

I turned to look at Grey. He stared at me with distrust behind his brown eyes, and he kept a cold, standoffish disposition. When he spoke, his mouth was hidden behind his scraggly, black beard.

“You have a DVR, right?”

“No. Of course dude, it’s 2016.”

“Rewind it back before I stood up.”

He rewound the newscast to the right spot. He pressed play. I saw my head move to the right, toward Alexei.

“Stop,” I said. “Look.”

“What?” Grey asked, confused.

I stood up and pointed at the blond-headed Alexei.

“
He
is why I stood up. Minutes before the bombs, in the footage they
aren’t
airing, I was looking around at my party and realized that I didn’t recognize him. I even asked Cole if he had ever seen him before, at any of our fundraisers or meetings. Cole was at a loss for words, too. He was wearing our colors, Grey…and to top it off, sitting in our section, staring at the debate if he was some fucking emotionless robot!”