State of Emergency: Jack Emery 2 (12 page)

“Hi Jack. It’s good to see you.” Her voice was soft, weak.

“How did you get out of the house?” His fingernails dug into the his palms. “You were in the front room. Where did you go?”

“What?” She wiped at her face, which contained tears mixed with a look of confusion. “I was out front. They rolled up in a SWAT van so I stayed where I was.”

Jack was speechless. He’d like to think that if he was in a similar situation he’d try to intervene, to help his friends or at the least make sure there were enough witnesses to keep the cops honest. The fact that she’d stood back and watched it happen – watched Celeste be taken – shocked him. It drove home the fact that he barely knew her at all, despite all that they’d shared in Chicago and Indianapolis and at the kitchen table in Celeste’s house in New York.

“Look, Jack, cool your jets, okay?” The conviction in her voice increased. “A lot of people important to me have been locked up too, just like Celeste.”

Jack huffed. “But—”

“No Jack.” She held up her hand. “You’ve lost one person, I’ve lost everything. While you were inside the house dealing with Celeste’s arrest, my phone was lighting up. A lot of people got picked up all over the country. A lot of colleagues, friends and allies – and their families – got locked up or killed.”

He tried to hold his anger, but it dissipated. She had a point. He let out a long breath. “Okay.”

Her face crumpled. “They arrested Brad as well.”

“Your fiancé?” Jack stepped closer and hugged her. “Why? Where—”

“It doesn’t matter!” Her voice was a little louder than she’d probably intended.

He backed away from the hug. “We’ll get them back.”

Her eyes were squeezed shut and her hands balled into fists. “It’s not just family and friends, Jack. We’ve lost people as well. Matt Barker got shot dead trying to protect his sister. The south-east was hardest hit. We’ve lost good people there. They know we’re not toeing the line, so they’ve targeted our loved ones.”

“I know.” Jack shrugged. “We can go back to Chicago if you—”

“No.” She opened her eyes and her eyes locked onto his. “That’s what they want.”

“What do you mean?”

“If they wanted me, or you, they could have scooped us up. But doing that would only embolden more of us, right?”

He wasn’t convinced. “Maybe.”

“They want to twist our arms. For each of us that gives in there’ll be one less voice speaking out and trying to recruit for our cause.”

“I understand.” Jack reached out and grabbed her hand. He gave it a squeeze then let go again. “I just wondered where you’d been.”

“Catching up with an old friend. I needed to figure out how they tracked down all our supporters.” She stopped in front of a café and opened the door. “After you.”

Confused, he walked inside. The café was tiny, with only four small tables along the left side and a breakfast bar with eight stools. Only one table was occupied, by a man with his back to the door. Jack turned to Elena. She had a broad smile on her face, a strange contrast to her tears. Given the news she’d just shared, he couldn’t understand why. She gestured toward the seated man. He turned around and saw a face he could nearly kiss.

“Jack! Mate!”

The hug was high impact. Jack and Simon Hickens wrapped their arms around each other and slapped each other’s back hard. Though he hadn’t seen the surly IT pro from Chelsea for over a year, it was like they’d never been separated. More importantly, if he was standing here then there was at least one person who hadn’t been scooped up by FEMA. Simon had a habit of helping Jack out of binds, so it felt good to have him here.

“Sorry to hear about Celeste, mate.” Hickens backed away and gestured them over to his table. “She’s being held in Illinois by FEMA, but I can’t get an exact location.”

Jack didn’t even ask how he knew. Knowing which state she was in didn’t change much. “Doesn’t matter, we can’t get her out of a prison camp.”

“No.” Hickens shrugged then dug into his pocket. He placed a couple of small flip phones on the table. “Take these.”

Jack sat and looked down at the phone, then something clicked into place in his mind. He looked back up at Hickens. “NSA?”

Hickens nodded. “They tracked all of your mates down. All of everyone’s mates. Celeste included, given I’m sure you couldn’t resist calling to kiss her goodnight.”

Jack could kick himself. It was so obvious. While Guerrilla Radio might have been growing in influence, with that influence came an increase in membership, communication and activity. Like a spider’s web, the further out from the center the network spread, the less it could be watched and protected by the core membership. FEMA, through the NSA, had taken advantage of that, scooping up the details of any known Guerrilla Radio member and the people important to them.

“The mass detentions were designed to shut Guerrilla Radio down.” Jack shook his head, then turned to Elena. “Detain supporters, scare off the less committed.”

“Then isolate and attack the core.” Her features were grim. “In sum, stem the growth of the resistance.”

“That’s where these come in.” Hickens smiled and pushed the phones toward them. “Think of that phone like the rubber that protects your giant cock when it’s doing the dirty work. Most of the time, you’re fine, but when you need it you’ll be glad you’ve got it.”

“This will hide us?” Jack raised an eyebrow.

Hickens shrugged. “They know who you are, but they won’t be able to find you using electronic means if you’re careful with these.”

“Thanks.” Jack hefted the phone. It was heavy and square. It felt like a trip back to the mid-’90s. “Vintage.”

“Pre-PRISM, with a few of my personal modifications.” Hickens shrugged. “They can’t be tracked or listened in on. Don’t let them out of your sight.”

Jack stared. “Simon, I could kiss you.”

“Nah, mate, but thanks.” Simon winked. “Save it until we end these bastards.”

Jack smiled. He was glad to have Hickens on board. More importantly, he now had an idea about what was happening, where Celeste was and how to fight back. His network of friends and allies was shrinking and he was fighting the government he’d worked so hard to protect, but it was a start. The hopelessness and desperation of an hour before had been replaced by a seething, angry determination. He was back among friends.

“We need to make a move.” Jack pocketed the phone, his gaze shifting between Hickens and Elena. “They think they’ve won, that we’ll just sit on our hands in fear.”

“Most people will, mate. Don’t kid yourself.” Hickens shrugged. “You lock up someone’s friends or spouse, they’ll shut up well enough.”

Jack slammed his fist down on the table. “There’s enough shit going on around the country that people will act, if they’re given the confidence and support they need.”

Elena put a hand on his fist. “What’re you up to?”

“I’m going to talk to some old friends.” He smiled. “I’d love you to meet them. I’m taking charge of this shit. We’re not just getting information out now.”

Elena and Simon spoke in unison. “What then?”

“We’re forming the goddamn resistance ourselves.”

Mariposa pressed the button on the Xerox and waited as the yellow light ran across the gap. Once the light went out she lifted the lid and removed the document, as the machine whirred and spat out the copy. As she grabbed the pile of papers out of the hopper she wished again that her office had a faster machine, but it would have to do. She looked around, satisfied that the office was still empty.

This was the best material she’d been able to get her hands on yet – evidence showing that the orders for attacks on Guerrilla Radio members in the south-east had originated from this office, when Richard Hall had been in town. She’d copied documents showing the attackers had been given orders to kill any journalists not willing to identify the leadership of the organization. Along with the information about the attacks, she had information about the immunity granted to State Guard troopers charged with crimes. The charges ranged from petty theft and assault, right through to rape and a murder. None of the charges had proceeded, nor had there been any coverage in the media.

FEMA’s involvement with the atrocities was a serious matter needing air and sunlight to disinfect. She had no idea how to get the information out, but she’d compiled a dossier large enough to sink FEMA – thousands of pages of classified documents. She’d figure out a way to get it out, but first she needed to get through the day. She stifled a yawn. The doubt that had clouded her thinking had dissipated. She’d also started to feel better about her role in the administration of the executive orders, the crackdowns and, if she had to admit it, the brutalities. She wasn’t innocent, but she was doing her best to make amends. She smiled at the thought and hummed a tune as she walked to her office.

A squeal caught in her throat and she stopped dead in her tracks. Two men in suits were waiting for her. The larger and younger of the two was perched against her desk, staring at his cell phone. The older man, forty or so, simply stood with his arms crossed. She felt a flutter of fear, but forced it down. She wanted to run, but if she acted guilty she was doomed. She gripped the documents tightly.

“Who’re you?” She raised her voice and mustered all the outrage she could bring to bear. “You’ve no right to be in this office unsupervised.”

“Ms Esposito.” The older man raised an eyebrow and ignored her bluster. “May I ask that you sit down?”

“You may not. I’m the supervisor in this office and I’ve got work to do. My staff will be here soon, including my secretary. You’re welcome to make an appointment.”

The younger man laughed, pushed himself off the desk and stepped forward inside her comfort zone. “We don’t make appointments.”

Mariposa felt a chill down her spine as the younger man’s blue eyes stared at her from his expressionless face. He was apparently waiting for her to act. She felt trapped in her own office with a pair of large predators stalking her. Though she didn’t know what they wanted, she could guess. The door was at her back and she could try to run, but doing so would only confirm everything they were here to accuse her of.

“Very well.” She crossed her arms. “What can I do for you?”

“We need you to come with us.” The older man shrugged. “Voluntarily.”

“You’re joking?” She stepped back. “I’m not going anywhere. Who are you?”

“Classified.”

She took another step back and started to turn. She didn’t get the chance. The older man lunged at her, grabbed an arm and held it tightly. She pulled her arm. “Let go!”

The younger man spoke. “This is your last chance, Ms Esposito. Voluntarily or in cuffs. Your decision.”

“Go fuck yourself!” She screamed as loudly as she could as the older man grabbed her other arm. She struggled but failed to escape his tight grip. “
Help!
”

The younger man smiled. With her arms held she spat at him and did her best to kick out at him as he drew closer, but it was difficult in heels. He laughed as he pulled a hood from his jacket, dodged her blows and placed it over her head. She kept screaming as the blackness descended and breathing became harder. With each shout she sucked in a breath, but the hood prevented much air from entering her lungs. She needed to get it off her.

“Let me
go
!” She gritted her teeth against the pain. The hood was suffocating. Her heart pounded in her chest. “Let me
go
!”

“Stop struggling and you won’t be hurt.” The older man’s voice was strained. “You need to recognize the situation and look after yourself here. Think about your son.”

“Okay. Okay.” She stopped struggling. “I’ll come with you.”

“Wasn’t that easy? Give us the answers we need. You’ll see your boy soon.”

She nodded and did her best to breathe. She let them lead her out of the office, through the cubicle farm and out of the building. She hoped that one of her staff members would arrive and take issue with her abduction, but they’d probably thought of that. She was marched down steps, bundled into a car and driven for about fifteen minutes. As they drove, neither of her captors said a thing. It added to her worry. She tried her best to calm herself and concentrate on breathing.

Then the process reversed. Out of the car, into a building, onto a seat, hands cuffed in front of her. All the while she tried to quash her fears and prepare for the questions. Light pierced the darkness like a supernova as the hood was lifted off her head. She squeezed her eyes shut then blinked repeatedly, waiting for them to adjust to the brightness. When they did, she saw the older man seated across from her, hands steepled in front of him. There was a manila folder on the table.

“Please.” Mariposa leaned forward. “There’s been a huge mistake. I—”

He stopped her by holding up his hand, then tapped the folder in front of him with his index finger. “I don’t care. I just need you to admit that you’re responsible for the illegal copying of 11 734 hard copy and electronic documents belonging to the Federal Emergency Management Agency.”

“I—”

He didn’t let her interrupt. “Some of these documents are classified and have the potential to cause great harm and embarrassment to the organization. If they were made public, they’d severely endanger public confidence in the organization and our current mission to fight terrorism.”

Mariposa was fucked. She could think of no way to stop them. She’d done her very best to trawl as much information as possible, but hadn’t released a single page. If she had it might have gained her some public profile and protection. As it was, they knew what she’d done but nobody else did. She’d been careless. In her rush to stop the atrocities, she’d given little thought to the consequences or her own safety.

Somebody had clearly noticed and informed the authorities. She regretted now that she hadn’t taken more precautions and also started the release. She’d wanted to have a complete dossier before taking that step, but maybe she’d delayed because she was afraid. Now she had a mountain of information that had been wasted. She was on her way to prison and the information would never be seen. She’d failed.

“I’ve nothing to hide.” She started to sob and a tear rolled down her face. She was terrified, but all she could do was deny. “I want my lawyer.”

The man smiled. A second later she heard a whoosh of air from behind her. She started to turn her head toward it when her vision exploded with stars. She screamed, fell forward off the chair and hit her head on the table and the ground on the way down. She instinctively grabbed at her head, but it was made difficult by the handcuffs. She heard laughter.

“You don’t get a lawyer here.”

Mariposa inhaled deeply, coughing as she tried to catch her breath. She crawled to her hands and knees then spat out the blood that was pooling in her mouth, leaving a metallic tang. She’d bitten her tongue on the way down. She ran her swollen, split tongue along the front of her teeth, probing. Several of the teeth on the left side were gone. But worse than the pain was the fear.

“Get up, Ms Esposito.”

She spat again and shook her head, trying to clear the fog. She rolled onto her side. She had no chance of getting up while cuffed, but did her best. The guard who’d hit her in the head stepped into her view. It was the younger man, with a jet black baton held limp by his side. He’d hit her and also been at her to get up off the floor. She’d never been more afraid of someone in her life.

“Had your fill?” He hit the baton against his open palm several times. “Ready to admit what you’ve done and get on with it?”

She coughed and spat again. “Okay.”

“This is your last chance. If you don’t give us what we want I’ll need to interrogate you.” He lifted her from under her arms. “Do you understand?”

She nodded. “I think so.”

He frowned. “You’d better, or social workers will take young Juan. If you cooperate we’ll hose your blood down the drain and you’ll be back with him tonight.”

The mention of her son hit her harder than the baton had. She nodded. The game was up. She had to think about Juan now. The younger man helped her back to her seat with a tenderness that confused her, given the violence. After that, the questions came thick and fast. Mariposa answered each honestly. It took hours, but by the end of it they had everything.

“So you confirm that you copied the documents and built an enormous cache of classified material that you intended to release?” The older man slid a piece of paper and a pen toward her, hours later.

“Yes.”

“Sign this declaration and we’re done here, Ms Esposito. You’ll be able to go home.”

Mariposa picked up the pen and signed the document.

“We’re done here.” The older man stood.

She stared up at him, exhausted and terrified. “What now?”

“You’ll be detained. I thank you for your honesty.”

Mariposa flared with rage. “You promised I’d be able to go home to my son.”

“I lied.” He shrugged. “I appreciate the cooperation you’ve given us, but you need to get used to the idea that you’re never going to see your son again. It’s only because of your service to FEMA and your cooperation that you’re making it out of this room at all. If you’re free before you’re ninety, you can consider yourself lucky.”

She started to stand, but the younger man pressed the baton down on her shoulder. She kept trying to rise, but the pressure increased. The message was clear: give it up. She wanted more than anything to keep pushing, but she’d had enough. She sat back down in the seat and fought back sobs. The tears rushed out of her, a torrent of regret. Her moans became deep and long.

***

Jack looked down the table and felt the memories come flooding back. Though the building was different and so was the boardroom, it was the first time he’d been around a corporate table in a long while. Sitting at its head, he felt both excited and exhausted at what was to come. Some the most prominent figures on the east coast were in the room, all looking to him for answers. They were captains of industry, senior bureaucrats, emergency services chiefs and even a few military men and women. Half had been selected by Peter Weston, one of the few people in the world Jack felt he could still trust.

The rest had been chosen by Bill McGhinnist. The former Director of the FBI had been a casualty of Richard Hall’s takeover, a lone voice of reason around the National Security Council table. Jack had reached out to him, they’d met, and discussed what he was planning to do. McGhinnist was dubious it would work, but was pleased to contribute. They’d worked together to end the threat of Michelle Dominique and the Foundation for a New America, only to find themselves back in another fight for America’s future less than two years later.

Jack hoped that everyone in the room would form the nucleus of the organized resistance, if they could be persuaded to join. To get them all here without attracting the attention of FEMA had been an enormous challenge. If they were true to their word, there wasn’t a cell phone or electronic device in the room, they’d all swapped modes of transport at least three times before making their way to the building and told none of their staff, family or friends about the meeting. The precautions weren’t foolproof, but were the best that could be done at short notice.

Jack took a deep breath. He wasn’t really sure how to start. It wasn’t every day you asked people you barely knew to commit treason. “Thanks for coming in, everyone. You’ve all placed yourselves in incredible danger coming here.”

“No shit. So why don’t you get on with it, son?” Cormac Thomas was the gray-haired, ten gallon hat-wearing chief of the largest broker on Wall Street, about the only sector untouched by the executive order. He had been dragged here by Peter Weston.

“Okay, let’s skip the niceties, then.” Jack nodded. “You’re all aware of the draconian regime we’re currently living under. It started bad and it’s getting worse, and you wouldn’t be here unless you agreed that something needed to be done.”

“You bet my granddaddy wouldn’t have stood by while the government fucked everyone up the ass and told them to smile.” Thomas pounded the table. “But I’m going to need some convincing before I put my nuts on the chopping block for you.”

The comment drew a few smirks and nods, but Jack could still see a lot of skeptical faces at the table. A degree of concern about the situation and the influence of others had brought most of them here, but he knew that wasn’t enough to keep them involved or to compel them to act. He’d made a career out of telling powerful stories. Now he had to do it again, to the most influential audience he’d ever had. He’d had precious little time to prepare, and it looked as if this group was going to need every last ounce of convincing. He hoped he was up to it.