Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga (13 page)

Denny scratched his chin and worried for Chad.
 
He truly felt sorry for the young man.
 
Huntley had been given a great gift and an even greater responsibility to use that gift for the betterment of all mankind.
 
For his trouble, it sounded as if he'd been abused and used by more people than Denny could count.

No,
Denny thought as he scanned the far off vista,
I'd much rather be out here, a prisoner of my own thoughts perhaps, but free otherwise.
 
He glanced over his shoulder.
 
There's no one out here to tell me what I can and can't do.
 
The only thing I must do is hunt so I may survive to help others.

Come in and we'll talk.
 
John's words echoed through his mind again.
 
Denny stared at the town, suddenly sad that so little in the way of light flickered up from the dark houses and buildings.
 
Salmon Falls had seen so much suffering lately—after all that, why was John so upset now?

Denny groaned and stretched his aching shoulders.
 
Whatever it was, it would keep until morning.
 
The only thing he wanted to contemplate now was his sleeping bag, a belly full of roast venison, and a warm fire and his sleeping bag.

C
HAPTER
13

Washington, D.C.

The White House.

Presidential Emergency Operations Center.

P
RESIDENT
H
AROLD
B
ARRON
STARED
at the floor as he shuffled along.
 
Gruber lead the way while a guard on either side of him held his arms in vice-like grips.
 
He barely had enough strength in his legs to keep moving and every time he stumbled, they lifted him off the ground and propelled him forward.
 
Gruber laughed and pushed the President inexorably forward.

Barron lifted his head and stared glumly at Gruber's back.
 
Was he really an agent?
 
He works for Jayne…and Reginald.
 
Barron occupied himself with wondering whether Gruber had ever gone through actual Secret Service training—whether he had at one point been a good man, loyal to his country.
 

Did you join for all the right reasons and slowly give in to corruption or were you always selfish and greedy for power?
 
What are you getting out of all this?
 
What did Reginald promise you?
 

Reginald.

Hatred twisted in Barron's gut and for a few seconds, new strength invigorated his body
.
 
I have to get revenge.
 
For what they did to me—what they made me do to this country.

Memories of his family filled him with regret and his shoulders slumped again.
 
The last time he'd seen his wife and children they'd all been so happy.
 
Moving into the Vice President's mansion had been the point at which his life began to unravel.

The floor in front of him was blurry.
 
Barron blinked and tried to wipe the moisture on one shoulder.

"Stop struggling," grumbled Gruber.
 
"Walk."

"Keep moving," agreed the other guard.
 
Barron lifted his head and tried to see past Gruber.
 
Down the length of the darkened hallway, light seeped around the edge of two doors.
 
He couldn't remember if this place was a hospital or if they were still in the Bunker.
 
It had been so long since Jayne had put a gun to his back and betrayed him.
 

Me!
 
The Goddamn President of the United States!
 
Marched me out of my office at gunpoint like a common criminal…

The first days of his imprisonment were dark.
 
They threw him in a room with no windows and no lights.
 
The only sound he heard was the beating of his own heart and the ragged breath in his chest.
 
The only light appeared when the door opened and a tray of food dropped unceremoniously at his feet.
 
Three times a day he marched to a small bathroom.
 
There wasn't even a cot.
 
He slept on the floor, shivering until he fell asleep.
 
He never even knew such a room existed in the Bunker.

Barron repressed a shudder and tried to fight back the nightmares that clawed at him in those dark days.
 
Has it been days or weeks?
 
Maybe only hours…

He'd had no sense of time at all, but his imprisonment seemed to last an eternity.
 
Visions of all the death he'd caused—by action or inaction—haunted him and nibbled at his sanity.
 
He'd screamed, howled, and raged to no end.
 
When he could scream and pound on the door no more, the President collapsed on the floor and waited for death.

But then the door would open and two rough men would drag him to his feet and down the hall to the toilet.
 
Someone else would show up and drop off food—just enough to survive.
 
Scraps of bread and a little cloudy water.
 
By the time they finally pulled him out and cleaned him up, Barron wasn't entirely sure who he was anymore.

The clothes he wore belonged to a bigger man but mostly fit him across the shoulders.
 
He looked down and glanced at the suit that hung limp around his bone-thin arm.
 
I think I remember this suit… What have they done to me?

"I said, are you ready?"

Barron looked up and blinked.
 
When did we stop walking?
 
He licked his parched, cracked lips.
 
"I'm thirsty."
 
He wanted to swallow but his throat was too dry.

"Shut the fuck up," growled Gruber.
 
He grabbed the lapels on the President's coat and jerked him forward, bringing Barron's face inches from his own.
 

"You better toe the line in there," Gruber said with a jerk of his head toward the door.
 
"You think things've been bad for you lately?
 
I'll introduce you to an entire new world of suffering if you fuck this up."

The President wanted to spit in his face, smash his forehead into Gruber's nose.
 
He wanted to struggle, fight, growl—resist—but he just nodded meekly.
 
It was easier that way.
 
You beat me…you win.

"You understand what you're supposed to do?" asked Gruber, one eyebrow raised.

The President stared at him.
 
Don't make me say it.
 
Give me that at least
…

"I asked you a question."

You bastard.
 
The President looked away.
 
"I'll do what you want," he croaked.

Gruber smiled and stepped back, gently smoothing the front of Barron's coat.
 
"There.
 
That's much better.
 
That wasn't so hard, was it?"
 
Gruber glanced at the guards.
 
"Let's do this."
 
He turned and opened the doors, bathing them all in blinding light.
 
Barron closed his eyes against the pain and felt himself unceremoniously pulled through the doorway.

"Oh my goodness," cried the siren's voice.
 

Barron kept his eyes shut.
 
If I can't see you, you can't see me…

"What have they done to you, love?"
 
Soft hands enveloped his face.
 
He smelled her.
 
The heart-racing perfume permeated his every thought.

Jayne
.

Barron's senses pricked up.
 
The President felt more himself than he had in what seemed like a lifetime.
 
Strength flowed through his legs once more and he stood fully on his own.
 
He opened his eyes, and they adjusted faster than he would have thought possible.
 
He looked around, more alert than he'd been in days…weeks?

The Press room.
 
They were in the Bunker's Press room.
 
He took in the familiar sights: the royal blue drapery hanging on the walls, the American flags flanking a mahogany podium emblazoned with the Presidential Seal.
 
Microphone stands, teleprompters, expensive cameras—it was from another life.

We're still in the Bunker!

"I will have a word with Gruber," Jayne whispered as she stared into his face, her eyebrows creased in concern.
 
Her fingertips caressed the ridges on his forehead and his now prominent cheekbones.
 
He wanted to close his eyes and go to sleep.
 
Her touch promised safety.

Wait—you're the one who did this.
 
The President stared at her, wanting to be angry but as his eyes devoured the beauty before him, his rage melted under her touch.
 
She was breathtaking, and it'd been a long time since he'd seen her prepared for a public appearance.
 

Her hair lay in long, soft, glossy curls that embraced her as she moved.
 
Her skin fairly glowed and the gray suit she wore enhanced her graceful curves but made it clear she was in charge.

"There, there, dear—this will all be over soon enough."

"What…" Barron licked his lips.
 
"What do you want me to do?" he asked quietly.
 
After the initial adrenaline rush of seeing her, he felt almost weaker than he had before.

"Come over here," said Gruber, dropping a heavy hand on the President's shoulder.

Barron shuddered and almost fell.
 
Jayne stepped up and wrapped him in an embrace, the softness of her chest pressed to his own.
 
For a moment, he forgot all of it and only wanted to be alone with her again.

Hold it together.
 
You will only have one shot at this.
 
You need to save your strength.
 
He garnered the strength he had left and tried to appear as weak as possible.

Barron fell into her arms and let her hold him up.
 
He went over in his mind how he would do it.
 
Doubt swirled around him like sharks waiting to strike.
 
Would he be fast enough to put his hands around her throat?
 
Would she fight back?
 
Would he be strong enough to squeeze the life out of her before Gruber or a guard put a bullet in the back of his head?
 

He looked into Jayne's eyes as she helped steady him back on his feet.
 
He thought there was genuine concern there—no, not concern—pity.
 
She won't have time to fight back.
 
She doesn't believe I can do it.
 
The pity in her eyes fanned the flames of rage that had only smoldered in his chest.
 
Jayne was another one now on the long list of people who had lost faith in him.

"Back up!" she snapped at Gruber.
 
"I gave you specific instructions—this was not what we planned!"
 
She smoothed Barron's coat and stepped back to look him over.
 
"He has to be presentable—"

"He is," argued Gruber.
 
"He looks a little skinny but—"

"Goddamn it," she seethed, causing Gruber to step back.
 
"He looks like he stumbled out of a concentration camp!"

Barron's eyes opened a fraction.
 
He'd never seen Jayne lose her temper.
 
Ever.
 
That was what made her so dangerous.
 
What's going on?
 
Why are we in the Press room?
 
Something has you on edge… Is it Harris?
 
He got the National Command Authority up and running didn't he?
 
The codes worked didn't they?

Jayne paused and the anger in her face vanished as if it had never been there.
 
Her lips spread into a glistening ruby smile.
 
"You find something amusing, love?
 
Perhaps you like it when I get mad, mmm?" she purred, stepping close.

He felt the heat rise in his cheeks.
 
If she didn't step back something else would rise.
 
The betrayal by his own body made it even worse.
 
In the midst of all this, after all she'd done, she still held that power over him.
 
He hated himself for that.
 
His anger flared anew and his resolve hardened.