Nation of Enemies (31 page)

 

Chapter 66

I
N
THEIR
BED
, Lily moves closer to Cole, straining to hear Sebastian's voice on the other end of the line. One phrase is clear:
Get out.
She sinks back into her pillow. Another long journey lies ahead. This time, with Kate gone, there are no goodbyes, nothing left behind. And this time they have science on their side. False science, yes, but the scanners won't reveal the truth. Tears stream from the corners of her eyes, dampening her hair. Let this be the last time. The end of living in limbo. The end of living in fear.

There's no time to waste. She bolts up in bed. They'll bring only what they can carry. Luckily, their belongings have been pared down, most items forgotten in boxes. Rushing through the house, she gathers the necessities. A change of clothes. Toothbrush. Kate's watch. A tablet. She packs one bag for each of them.

Cole finds her near the front door, hunched over their luggage. “Sites are down,” he says. “Central News, Washington Online. Two of the network sites. All offline.”

“You think it's related to Sebastian? To what he said?”

He nods. “It's too much of a coincidence. Someone's afraid of leaks. Especially three days before the election.”

“The terrorists are powerful enough to shut down the news sites?”

He doesn't answer. The air is electric, sparking her nerves. Suddenly, he grabs his jacket.

“Cole?”

“Could be the terrorists. Could be the government.” He takes her hands in his and tells her that someone in the government orchestrated the State House attack. Her head swims.

“The government was behind Kate's murder?” She feels disoriented.

“The Liberty Party wants to strengthen the MedID system,” he says. “To make us more reliant on government systems. President Clark is strongly pro-­MedID. And Richard Hensley, of course, since it was his idea. But James Gardiner wasn't a supporter.”

“So they killed him?” She shakes her head.

“It's a theory.”

All this time, they've never been safe. From anyone, on any side.

“We're going back to London?” she asks.

He nods. “We know what to expect now. And we have your family there.”

“Thank you.” She wraps her arms around him, buries her face in his neck.

“For what?”

“For keeping our family together.” Her hand glides down his arm and rests on his MedID. For one quiet moment it's the two of them, safe, in their house. Sleeping soundly, Ian and Talia are innocent, unaware of any danger. This may be the last peace they'll know for a long time.

 

Chapter 67

J
O
NATHAN
IS
SURE
the world has gone completely mad. Seated next to the Reverend in BASIA's Command Center, they study a wall-­sized monitor. A digital map of the United States details state lines with stars denoting capital cities. Countless lines representing airplane routes crisscross one another. Alongside Jonathan at the board sit two other techs. Via the FAA tracking system, one cross-­checks soldiers with their assigned flight numbers, confirming they are en route. The other stands by to take all phone networks and carriers offline nationally.

“The Great BASIA Migration,” Reverend Mitchell says. “Our birds have taken flight.”

Incessant thoughts of Steven interrupt Jonathan's concentration. In the basement of Mitchell's house, his stepdad lies handcuffed, recovering from the gunshot wound. In such close proximity to the Reverend, Jonathan has ongoing fantasies of attacking him in some way. Perhaps it will need to be less obvious than lunging at him with a crowd of witnesses.

“Jonathan.” The Reverend swivels in his chair. “Give me a status.”

He glances behind them to the two security men that have been at Mitchell's side since Sergeant Anderson left on his mission. “We have access to and control of power grids in forty-­eight states. For each grid, I've conducted tests that created outages in off-­peak hours. I restored power within minutes to minimize suspicion.”

“Did you say forty-­eight?”

The door opens and Hannah enters, carrying sandwiches. She passes them out to everyone in the room. He watches her, tries not to make it obvious.

“Sit, Hannah.” Mitchell pats an empty chair so that he sits between her and Jonathan.

Jonathan chews the inside of his cheek as he watches him run a hand over her back. The asshole is probably keeping her here as a silent threat. His feelings for her must be obvious.

“Back to your status,” the Reverend says. “What's happening with the remaining two power grids? Where are they?”

“D.C. and Virginia. They're impossible to test. Any outages will raise a red flag in seconds.”

Mitchell's neck blooms red. “Unacceptable!” His hand slams down on the control console. Hannah and the other techs jump in their seats. She shoots a worried look at Jonathan.

“It'll be fine. I'm almost in.” Jonathan's tone carries an edge of impertinence. “But their firewalls have firewalls. It's D.C., after all. The NSA, CIA, Air Command are all in Virginia. The security is solid.”

“Nothing's solid.” Mitchell's voice is a growl. “That's why you're here. It's the only reason you're here.”

Breathe. Just breathe
. He glances at the men with guns blocking the door. Swiveling to face the monitors, he says, “I just need another few hours.”

In silence, they eat while the techs work. Though he's familiar with Huan Chao's dream team of hackers, they function separately, working on different aspects of the mission. That means he's the only one working to control these power grids. The only one. Jonathan lowers his sandwich. He has leverage here.

“Hannah,” he says. “Is this hard for you?”

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“It must be like watching the Planes.” She blinks. Reverend Mitchell shakes his head, opens his mouth to speak as Jonathan adds, “Is it hard being with the man who killed your father?”

A smack across the face knocks him from his chair to the tiled floor. His cheek burns and a trickle of blood escapes his nose. Inexplicably, the pain feels good. Maybe it just feels good to see this bastard lose his shit. Jonathan wipes the blood away with his hand, stands up and returns to his chair. The guards haven't moved. Hannah's hand covers her mouth.

“These men and women volunteer their ser­vice,” Mitchell seethes. “They're heroes. Ours is a mission that won't be won without bloodshed. Because without sacrifice, there can be no change.”

Hannah places a hand on the Reverend's arm. In a steady voice she looks at Jonathan and says, “My father went by choice. I'm here by choice.”

“Amen, Hannah,” the Reverend says. “Shut your mouth and do your job, Hudson. Perhaps you'll get out alive. Don't forget your stepfather is counting on you.”

“Yes, sir.” Asshole-­mother-­fucking-­bastard. He should have killed him that night on the deck.

Mitchell stands and moves to the monitor. One by one his fingers touch the plane icons, prompting faces of the BASIA soldiers flying those planes to pop on screen. “Hannah, please leave us.”

She gathers the dishes. When Jonathan passes his plate to her, their fingers touch, and she sends him a quick squeeze.
Yes
, he wants to say.
I found the maps. Memorized the exit routes. Thank you, Hannah.
The door closes behind her.

Mitchell doesn't look at him when he speaks. “Hudson. Tell me your plan for Tuesday.”

“I've set up an alarm clock of sorts. Using a complex algorithm that ties all the grids together, at precisely midnight, Eastern Standard Time, they'll simultaneously shut down for twelve hours.”

“And backup generators?”

“Buildings have backup generators that we can't control. But the outages will cause mass havoc across every major facility and system for miles. At least that's the hope, right?”

“Hope is irrelevant. We have faith.” He breezes by as the security team opens the door for him. “Complete your assignment, Hudson. Get a handle on D.C. and Virginia.”

They can make sure he sits here, but they have no idea what he's doing. He purposely left D.C. and Virginia off his list. All he wants is to survive and save Steven. Maybe even take Hannah out of here. Is there a way to cause a malfunction in Mitchell's plans and still go free?

 

Chapter 68

T
HE
FLIGHT
TO
Washington, D.C., had felt like an eternity to Sebastian. Too much time to think. Now his taxi cruises alongside the National Mall, along with the commuters who make their way into the city during morning rush hour. Not since Bureau training has he been here. The government has spent millions in defense of the capital. It's as though a protective bubble lies above the historic structures. In contrast, the outskirts lie pockmarked and charred from numerous attacks.

His eyes sting. Somewhere in D.C., his BASIA team is preparing, though they've been instructed not to make contact. Typical Mitchell, controlling everything down to the last second. Nerves and lack of sleep have left Sebastian feeling shaky. Visions of Renner's bloodied body come in flashes. He rolls his head, cracks his neck. He needs distraction. And maybe some food.

At the hotel, he checks in under another false I.D. The lobby is a blur as he rushes through, taking the elevator to his room on the fifth floor. Tossing his bag on the bed, he empties his pack and combs through the BASIA supplies: ballistics skin, addresses, coordinates, event schedule, a semiautomatic and a disassembled long-­range rifle, ammunition, contact lenses, and latex gloves. He studies the lenses, the gloves. The fingertips on the gloves are imprinted. The prints must grant access to high-­security areas inside the convention center. Mitchell has planned for every scenario.

Sebastian pushes open the drapes on the window. A spectacular view spreads out before him, sun glinting off the U.S. Capitol. He's spent his career in pursuit of justice. But serving a murderous government was not his intention. Turns out no one is actually protecting the country. He flexes his hand and stares at the cross that stains his palm. He's got nothing to lose now.

 

November, 2032

 

Chapter 69

I
N
AN
ABANDONED
school cafeteria in Cambridge, Cole sits across from Karen and Sean on long benches attached to tables. A random location, far from the eyes and ears of government agents. As good a place as any for saying goodbye.

“We should feel proud,” Cole says. “Project Swap has a life of its own now.”

“Never thought I'd be part of a revolution,” Sean says.

Karen shakes her head, smiles. “A revolution.”

And it is. Cole couldn't be more proud. Across the country, their ­people are cleaning MedIDs in homes, at parks, in cars. In turn, many with cleaned chips are meeting, either for support or for political reasons. In time, another political party will rise.

“But you called us here to say goodbye?” Karen furrows her brow.

“I need to take my family away. Our flight is tomorrow night.” After Sebastian's visit, he didn't need time to deliberate. They're all packed, ready to go. And in the past day, he's devised a plan to rescue Steven. “But I need to ask your help one more time.”

“Whatever you need,” Sean says.

There's no time to sugarcoat it. He dives into the details of freeing Steven. Reverend Mitchell's residence should be near empty on election night. An associate of Sebastian's on the inside will smooth the way. Without her, this rescue would be impossible. It's simple, in and out. But the plan requires one more person.

“I grew up in front of a computer screen,” Sean says. “My only weapon is a keyboard.”

“And you've been fierce with it,” Cole says.

“I'll do it,” Karen says.

“Can you shoot?”

She straightens. “You wouldn't guess it to look at me, but I grew up going to a shooting range every weekend in New Hampshire.”

“Eternally surprising me.” He remembers his first impression of her, the mousy, obstinate resident he almost fired. “This is good. A man and woman will raise less suspicion.”

“What will Steven do when he gets out?” Sean asks.

“That's up to him,” Cole says.

As they leave, the sun is slipping into the horizon. Cole wonders if he'll ever see his partners again. He pulls his scarf snugly around his neck as he gets into his car. Time is surging, unstoppable. And there's not enough of it.

 

Chapter 70

T
AYLOR
WATCHES
THE
red light brush her daughter's forearm, eliciting a beep from the computer. As Sienna goes back to drawing on the floor, the tech rotates his chair, his back to them as his fingers rapidly tap the keyboard. Thanks to her father's private hacker, Sienna's DNA has been purified, her MedID number raised to a safe 84. And after much thought, Taylor is changing their last names. To Mason. It's the only option that feels meaningful. She leans down and kisses the top of Sienna's head, breathes in her scent. No matter what, home is right here, with her.

At first she couldn't stomach the idea of faking their MedIDs—­lying and giving in to this hierarchy of numbers. But with both their numbers under 75, they'd never gain citizenship in another country. And they can't stay here with her father in power. Now, more than ever, ­people would want the Hensleys dead. She imagines herself and Sienna in a new life, far from politics and war. Cleaning their MedIDs is the only way out. It's hard to imagine leaving the United States forever. Back home in Boston her bed is unmade, breakfast dishes are still on the table. Pieces and parts of her life abandoned. Returning is impossible now.

The conservative suit they chose for her feels like a straitjacket. Tomorrow is Election Day. The collective energy of her father's staff, the press, and the world is electrifying. On their way to this office, they'd passed campaign chaos throughout the mansion, with ­people checking off lists and making final calls. Her imagination stirs, whipping up a black-­and-­white room with bars on every window and door. Then even bigger—­the outline of the United States with bars running vertically across it.

She can't stop thinking about Will. Carter's accusations peck away at her memories. But after hours of debating with herself, she's made a decision. Believing in someone doesn't come easy for her. Regardless of the Reverend asking Will to “protect her,” her feelings for him are real. Now that she and Sienna have clean MedIDs, maybe there's a chance for the three of them to escape all of this.

The tech's jacket is draped over an empty chair. She eyes it, locates the pockets. When she'd left with Carter, he confiscated her phone with the excuse that Reverend Mitchell could track her.

She rolls the wheels of her chair a few inches over the carpet, until the jacket is within reach. She leans forward, eases her hand into one pocket and then another. Nothing. The tech concentrates, doesn't move from his work. Slipping her hand inside the coat, she finds a breast pocket. Bingo.

She stares at the phone. Little good it will do her without the fingerprint to unlock the screen. There's only way to do this. Glancing at Sienna, she hesitates, considers their options one last time. But it has to be done. Silently, she begs Sienna to keep drawing, eyes on the ground.

Quickly, she scans the room for potential weapons. There, on the bookcase, is a trophy of her father's. Metal, solid. Casually, she stands and wanders the room. Glancing back at the tech, she sees he hasn't budged. And Sienna is deep into her project. Taylor picks up the trophy.

“All set.” He picks up the scanner. “Can I get your arm please?”

Luckily, he's still turned to the screen. She sets the trophy in her chair and offers her arm. The scan is over in an instant.

“All set.” He taps a few more keys. “You're now officially a seventy-­nine.”

“Thanks.” Her hands shake as she picks up the trophy and holds it just behind his head.

“So—­” Suddenly, he swivels in his chair to face her.

The trophy held high, she swings it and hits him on the side of the head. The impact shocks her.
What did I do? Holy shit
. He falls to the floor, unconscious. Blood trickles from his hairline. She drops the weapon.

“Mommy?” Sienna screams. “Mommy!”

“Shhh, keep drawing, baby. Don't look.” Taylor locks the door.

“Mommy you hurt him! Why did you hurt him?”

Sienna's questions are a running stream, but Taylor needs to focus. She presses the man's index finger to the screen and it opens. The phone keypad appears. What's Will's number? It's a faint memory. Frantically, she tries one after another, to no avail. Finally, “Hello?”

“Will?”

“Who is this?” a male voice says.

“Taylor.”

“Taylor! Where are you? Are you in D.C.?”

“Yes, my father's making us stay with him until the election's over.”

“Listen very carefully, Taylor.” His grave tone makes the hair on her arms stand on end. “You need to stay far away from your father tomorrow night.”

“I'm supposed to be by his side at the acceptance speech.”

“Break your arm. Faint. You can't be there.”

“Why? What's going to happen?”

There's a knock on the office door and someone on the other side jiggles the doorknob. A male voice shouts, “What's going on in there?”

She whispers, “What is it, Will?”

“BASIA has a mission. Mitchell's soldiers will be there.”

The knock on the door turns into pounding.

“Are they going after my father?”

“Please, just stay away from the party. I can't stop—­”

A great slam against the door, one after the other.

“Please find us, Will—­”

A forceful shove swings the door open as a Secret Ser­vice agent storms in. He aims a gun at Taylor.

“Is that necessary? It's a phone, not a weapon.”

“Depends how you look at it.”

The agent snatches it from her, leans down and checks the tech's pulse. Using a voice-­activated sensor on his uniform, he calls a medic. Sienna's mouth hangs open, too stunned to speak or cry. Breathing heavily, as though she's run a mile, Taylor sits on the floor and wraps her arms around her daughter. The guard was right. A phone can be a powerful weapon.